Friday night after baking a kilo of brioche dough in various shapes and sizes for practical, a couple friends and I met up in the 6th for a strange Bastille Day tradition: the fireman’s ball at the fire stations. Apparently the night before and of the holiday, fire stations across the city open their gates and host what basically amounts to a huge dance party complete with DJ and drinks.
I think I mentioned before that the weather’s been pretty un-summery, and Friday was no exception. Pushing your way through the station’s packed courtyard was made even more difficult by all the umbrellas. (I gave up pretty quickly and accepted the fact that I would get drenched over the course of the evening).
I don’t usually enjoy club/frat-like environments, but the party was actually pretty fun. The firemen didn’t engage much with the crowd, mostly staying behind the bar and serving drinks. But the few that we talked to seemed very nice, not to mention ridiculously good-looking.
We left around midnight in search of some hot food to warm our rain-soaked exteriors, ending up at a little Italian place where we shared penne carbonara and lamb skewers. Definitely a step up from my usual drunk food of choice, chicken nuggets.
Sometimes the best nights are the ones that are most spontaneous.