The club at the Ritz Hotel is the best sandwich I’ve ever eaten. It has a top-layer of bacon outside the bread. I ate it with knife and fork while sipping a perfect Negroni and people-watching. At a table next to me was a fashion photographer and an agent who was trying to lure new talent. Seated at the other table was Sean Avery, the hockey player, who spoke with the management about being concerned with paparazzi. I had no idea who he was but he kept repeating his last name to the staff so I Googled him. After leaving the Ritz’s Restaurant Vendome I ventured down to Bar Hemmingway for two more perfect drinks. After four cocktails in four hours it was time to make my exit. The doormen got me a cab, an unmarked black Mercedes. I had a Princess Diana flash — Ritz Hotel, Mercedes, Saturday night — as the car headed through the Pont d’Alma tunnel where her fatal accident occurred. I held tight to my seat belt and closed my eyes.

At La Coupole I dined on fresh green salad, oysters and sole meunière. I’d read about the dish in Julia Child’s My Life In France, a book I finished my first week in Paris. The sole and the memoir were a joy to consume. The restaurant is a beautiful brasserie, rich in history.

My favorite meals were at La Potee des Halles (3 rue Etienne Marcel, 1er), a traditional Paris bistro. The first night in Paris I went looking for a restaurant but couldn’t find it and ducked in here out of frustration. What a find! They were so kind to me from the moment I walked in. The waiter brought around a chalk menu and I selected osso bucco. He refilled my wine glass repeatedly while I slowly ate and read my book and took it all in. My second trip to the restaurant I was delighted that he remembered me. I ordered coq au vin and it was the most succulent I’ve ever had. I noticed the small brass plates along the banquette with the names of regulars, some deceased. I loved sitting under the high-up stained glass tulips and listening to quiet French conversations. I decided to make my last dinner in Paris at La Potée des Halles. When I walked in the waiter called out “Bon soir, madame! Your regular table?” The day’s special was honey-braised pork belly. I cleaned my plate but was too blue to drink my glass of wine. When I left the waiter kissed me on both cheeks. I promised to return.

This is the only picture of me with the Eiffel Tower. That’s the tower sticking out of my head like an antenna. I set out on my final morning in Paris to take portraits; I got to this spot and realized I’d left my camera and tripod (and lipstick!) behind. I asked someone to snap a pic with my iPhone. So it goes.