When I was little, I flew to Paris for the first time with my grandmother and grandfather who took me to “Angelina” for the best chocolate milk ever. This was a long time ago, way before Angelina believed she would become what she is today.
I remember entering the place and feeling like a princess walking into a palace. The chocolate milk was served in royal tableware and to get to the heap of whipped cream I needed a higher chair.
Today, a double-digit number of years later, if I happen to be in Paris for a week or even just two days, there’s no way I wouldn’t go there to drink that chocolate milk and to feel, just for a brief moment, like that little girl, who always knew deep in her heart that she was actually a princess and fell in love, already back then, with the royal way of serving.