At a high-end Paris hotel, where rooms run to the hundreds of Euros, there’s a flock of hens on the roof, a block away from the Eiffel Tower.
During a tour of this most haute coop, the hotel’s manager, herself a very haute Parisienne, curled her mouth into an expression that mixed incredulity and pity (no doubt imagining the culinary deprivations forced by store-bought eggs) and exclaimed, “No chickens allowed in Toronto? Mais, pourquoi pas?!”
