The final installment of La Collection Française. I’ve given you butter raw, baguette raw, butter with bread, the presentation of French soap, and now the best way I have experienced the presentation of, my favorite subject, butter. Again. But what is a collection without a little opulence? There’s always room for a little more opulence. I want you to imagine sitting, a stiff white tablecloth waterfalling onto your knees as the sun hits your back that sits atop a small wicker chair at a small, very full round table. There is wine, there is also sparkling water, there is a silver basket, also starched-napkin-lined, filled with bread, there are frites, and more than you think you can eat. You will eat them all. The mayonnaise and ketchup come separately after you ask, they’re in individually portioned jars that pop as you twist them. The menus are too large for the table so you make your decision quickly, it’s easy anyway, you know the classics. You know what you came here for. It’s 2pm or 4pm or 9pm without the sun on your back, but the cigarette smoke lingers always and never smelt so unoffensive, it’s only how this outdoor setting is supposed to smell. The butter to your bread is served in a sterling silver clam shell with a pearl-handled knife and it distracts you from the pedestrians for a moment. Actually, it whisks your heart away and back again, landing it back in the present of this perfect dining experience in Paris, replicated worldwide and in this artwork, but always, only, in Paris.