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In the winter of 1988, during my sophomore year in college, I spent a chilly January in Cannes. To this day the only French I truly mastered was, “Bonjour, je voudrais un sandwich — trois tranches du jambon et fromage — et un biere, s’il vous plait.”
Ah, yes. I could ask for a ham and cheese sandwich and a beer — a workingman’s lunch. But spoken in French, even simple delights sounded so much more sexy and sophisticated.
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