I live across the street from a groovy little bar/bistro called Général Beuret. It appears that there's no real story behind Beuret, however it is a clever homophone of "beurré," which I believed can be translated to the colloquialism "plastered."
Général Beuret is a total neighborhood hangout. From my window I can see the enormous blackboard where they write the day's specials and I can spy on the diners and drinkers. There are always tons of people of all ages and sorts there. It's friendly, relaxed, and (gracias a Dios) reasonably priced. The staff always ask what you're having three or four times, but I like 'em, so that's alright.
The General has nourished my body and need for people-watching for some weeks now, so it's time to give a little back with a haiku:
thanks for that one time
when I got beer and fries
they changed my life
So local,
Maria
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