Some cities have a way of demanding a second chance. And that was exactly the case with Montreal. My first trip was less city exploration and more an extended exercise in retail recovery, lost luggage will do that to you, which meant the city I’d heard so much about remained largely unvisited.
As a self-proclaimed Type A traveler, I’m the one with an icon-coded Google map, a meticulously organized itinerary, and at least three backup restaurants for every meal. So, spending an agenda-free afternoon in Paris felt like I was rebelling against my natural wiring. It was equal parts liberating and mildly terrifying—with a definite emphasis on terrifying.
There are a few weeks every summer when Nashville quietly becomes a better city, and it has nothing to do with a buzzy new restaurant or another honky-tonk opening on Lower Broadway. It's tomato season, that fleeting stretch when heirlooms arrive at farmers markets in shades of red, yellow, green, and purple, still warm from the field and tasting exactly as summer should.
When Ina Garten speaks, we listen, or at least I do. So when the Barefoot Contessa dropped a glowing recommendation for the Twenty-Two Club, a charming little pop-up supper club in Paris, my curiosity ( and appetite) went into overdrive. I mean, if it’s good enough for Ina, it’s practically a commandment for food lovers everywhere, right?
There are a few weeks every summer when Nashville quietly becomes a better city, and it has nothing to do with a buzzy new restaurant or another honky-tonk opening on Lower Broadway. It's tomato season, that fleeting stretch when heirlooms arrive at farmers markets in shades of red, yellow, green, and purple, still warm from the field and tasting exactly as summer should.