Making a statement like that isn't going to win me any brownie points. Nonetheless, I was really looking forward to finding out what a foie gras ice cream tastes like after hearing a long-winded rumor that Le Pigeon was going to set up a cart to sell the stuff at the Pearl District's Bastille Day celebration last Saturday.

Why? Because I'm a terrible person with no soul and a crooked spine, obviously, and, well, wouldn't you be curious to try some too? The rumor proved false and I should have known better to think that anyone could get away with such a public display of wanton culinary recklessness in this town. At one time, at least, the east Burnside eatery had foie gras eclairs on their menu.

I made do with a much more boring and much less controversial ham and cheese crepe and a bottle of Orangina. French people were there or least wannabe French people. They spoke French. A lady who sold me a crosseant said "merci" as she handed me my change.

I don't know if actual French people living in actual France celebrate their independence by jumping into public water fountains, waiting 20 minutes in the hot sun for crepes, letting their kids fence, watching waiters run around in circles and listening to a hipster work his way through a cover of "Ziggy Stardust" on stage because he once played a few clubs in Paris but that's how these things are done in the Pearl District.

And I have no complaints. Except for the lack of foie gras ice cream. And the limited space set aside for food carts. And the fact that one of the organizers kicked a mime out of the waiters race. And that the mime didn't sneak back in at the halfway point to keep things interesting. The two waiters right up at the starting line were exceptionally skilled at speed walking with trays and they blasted away the competition.

Labels: Europe, the french