This is an organic and biodynamic rosé, b*tches! Ripe red and white strawberries, yumberry, hint of pencil wood, and cranberries on the nose. Similar on the palate with loads of red and white strawberries, a hint of cherries, and ripe cranberries.
Le Musée d'Orsay - Entrée - Grande horloge | by Osbern
Le musée d’Orsay est un musée national situé dans le 7ᵉ
arrondissement de Paris, le long de la rive gauche de la Seine, inauguré
en 1986 après le réaménagement de l'ancienne gare d'Orsay, construite
par Victor Laloux de 1898 à 1900
[ lucien carr has just been on the most wonderful adventure of his entire life. he’s jet-lagged, and he’s hungry— but most importantly, he’s home.
paris had been an absolute dream. nelson had told him that he could do anything, and that’s exactly what he had done. throughout the duration of his journey, lucien had climbed all 674 steps of the eiffel tower (and had travelled the rest of the way to the top via the elevator), visited the louvre and the catacombs, sat on the railing of the pont des arts at sunset (and remained none the wiser to the love locks— cadenas d’amour– that had been removed from the bridge only a year prior), had travelled to the southern side of the river, the side with the name of dual meanings– la rive gauche– an earlier era of parisian artists and writers like rimbaud and miller and hemingway, as well as the simple name for the southerly half of the seine. he had wandered around the place de la bastille, and even managed to fit in a meal of coffee and waffles with traditional jams and homemade gingerbread at the café de la paix (yes, the café de la paix from the story that he had read with andrew a mere month ago). he’d even tried frog legs after having formed a drunken wager with a stranger in a bar— the other man had bet €20 that he wouldn’t have the courage to taste the foreign meal. long story short, they really did taste like chicken. he’d stayed up until the wee hours of each morning and had talked about his visions and ideas and writing in bars and on the streets and had made conversation in broken french with just about anyone who cared to listen to him.
truth be told, he had been sorely tempted to just stay in the city of light and love and freedom forever.
deep down, though, he knew that he didn’t belong there. he belongs here, in new york, with his (admittedly not-so-shitty) job and his small room with it’s big view and his fantastically irritating friends. if he was being honest, he had to admit that he’d even missed a few of them— andrew and harry in particular (though he would never admit the latter). it had been a new concept— yet spiritually necessary— to refrain from talking to them during his trip, and he’s a little glad to finally be home once more.
rolling his suitcase into the house behind him, lu immediately drops his keys onto the counter and makes a beeline for the fridge. a quick glance at the microwave tells him that it’s almost midnight, so he only vaguely recognises the fact that he’s behaving like an asshole as he fishes out a container of pasta from the fridge and pushes it in through the open door (there’s no metal inside this time— he checked). he presses start, and watches the container spin around on an axis for a few moments before turning back towards his previously discarded suitcase. the low hum of the microwave serves as an underlying background noise while he busies himself with taking his jacket off and throwing it over the elongated handle of the suitcase.
he hadn’t said goodbye to anyone before setting out on his trip. he hadn’t even informed anyone where he was going, which is why he begins to wonder if anyone had actually realised if he had been absent from the penthouse after waiting in silence for another few moments. footsteps sounding from behind him pull lucien from his thoughts, however, and he turns with a start in order to try and catch a glimpse of whoever has just stepped into the kitchen. ]