A 'hon hon hon' night!
A few weeks ago, I told Brigitte (host mom) that I wouldn't need dinner this past Monday, because I had tickets to the ballet, but stupid me got the dates wrong, and it turned out that I was not only event-less that night, but dinner-less as well.
I came home with a bad baguette in tow (sadly the Chinese bakery around the corner -the only one ope
n on Mondays- have mastered all but the bread), and moped in my room with a ventre grondant (grumbling stomach) until, suddenly, like an angel from the heavens, my host mom peeks her head in ("Allo Ceen-tee-ah!") and asks me why I'm not at the ballet. It was embarassing enough to have to explain I got the dates wrong, but definitely worse as she caught me mid-bite of my 2-foot-long bread baby. Anyway, pride set aside, I told her about my mix-up, and she said, "C'est pas grave (It's not serious)" and something along the lines of dinner being different but she had enough portions, etc.
Sooo it turns out Brigitte's brother was in town, and we were having a special treat for dinner.
Way to party crash Cynthia. Seriously. Brigitte's brother, whose name I never found out but I have an inkling it's something stereotypically French like Henri-Pierre, is by far the Frenchiest of the French. He stands about 6ft tall and looks identical to actor Edward Hermann but with a Beakman's World touch to his hair. If he hadn't told me he lived in the campagne (countrys
ide), I would've guessed him as a lecturer or a tenure professor at a university-- the ones that never prepare a syllabus, go off on tangents, smell a little musky, and have worse attendance than the students. He has a bellowing voice and flailing hand gestures that make me pray I don't find his food on my plate. Throughout dinner (2.5 hrs BTW, a new record), he was fascinated that I was an American and would incessantly try to incorporate English expressions into his stories, even when they don't make sense. He told a story about a Swiss cousin with a 16-bedroom house in Bern and managed to use "Eez raining cats and doogs" and "You arrre pooling my fooot." He also always ended with a "Dank you very moosh," haha. He is a character, and I very much enjoyed meeting him! Trop drôle.
So dinner was tartar du boeuf-- raw beef with a raw egg in the middle, and everyone would mix in the sauces/ingredients they wanted which included chopped baby pickles, onions, tartar sauce, hollandaise sauce, bearnaise sauce, and something like thousand island dressing. The beef tartar was served with fries and mashed potatoes. Um hello, totally gourmet MacDo! And we wonder where hamburgers came from. After was the cheese platter (low-fat Camembert, Facilien something, and this smoked one) and dessert (grapes, Moroccan dates, and flanby/pudding). What a 
dinner to not miss! Although I'm pretty sure I wasn't supposed to be there, I am so thankful they invited me.
<-- a="" beef="" dad="" his="" host="" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVpH-Iu-jiW_sbAv_BwClX9FEC5tfoQDPp5sg4BCNqIyTTxDnhdFD-cI2EL1bHgQb-setQMs_qHxe4Z-SDiDPNfKux55OKGaa78GP4lfWFuL9xicVlZkBZAwiE-QIMHQyX4tEeeRGWUDuE/s1600-h/IMG_6335.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" paul="" perfecting="" tartar="">
Tonight (Tuesday) was a pork roast with peas and mushrooms; cheese; and canned mangoes & these uber crunchy crackers from Renne (France's champagne region).
For more photos of the food, cliquez.
Tomorrow I have no class, so I think I'm going to snuggle in bed and watch a French movie or Sword in the Stone (my fav Disney movie). Probably Musee Branly or Musee d'Orangerie avec Greg, and then Club Queen with the girlies tomorrow. Soupire :)
I came home with a bad baguette in tow (sadly the Chinese bakery around the corner -the only one ope
n on Mondays- have mastered all but the bread), and moped in my room with a ventre grondant (grumbling stomach) until, suddenly, like an angel from the heavens, my host mom peeks her head in ("Allo Ceen-tee-ah!") and asks me why I'm not at the ballet. It was embarassing enough to have to explain I got the dates wrong, but definitely worse as she caught me mid-bite of my 2-foot-long bread baby. Anyway, pride set aside, I told her about my mix-up, and she said, "C'est pas grave (It's not serious)" and something along the lines of dinner being different but she had enough portions, etc.Sooo it turns out Brigitte's brother was in town, and we were having a special treat for dinner.
Way to party crash Cynthia. Seriously. Brigitte's brother, whose name I never found out but I have an inkling it's something stereotypically French like Henri-Pierre, is by far the Frenchiest of the French. He stands about 6ft tall and looks identical to actor Edward Hermann but with a Beakman's World touch to his hair. If he hadn't told me he lived in the campagne (countrys
ide), I would've guessed him as a lecturer or a tenure professor at a university-- the ones that never prepare a syllabus, go off on tangents, smell a little musky, and have worse attendance than the students. He has a bellowing voice and flailing hand gestures that make me pray I don't find his food on my plate. Throughout dinner (2.5 hrs BTW, a new record), he was fascinated that I was an American and would incessantly try to incorporate English expressions into his stories, even when they don't make sense. He told a story about a Swiss cousin with a 16-bedroom house in Bern and managed to use "Eez raining cats and doogs" and "You arrre pooling my fooot." He also always ended with a "Dank you very moosh," haha. He is a character, and I very much enjoyed meeting him! Trop drôle.
So dinner was tartar du boeuf-- raw beef with a raw egg in the middle, and everyone would mix in the sauces/ingredients they wanted which included chopped baby pickles, onions, tartar sauce, hollandaise sauce, bearnaise sauce, and something like thousand island dressing. The beef tartar was served with fries and mashed potatoes. Um hello, totally gourmet MacDo! And we wonder where hamburgers came from. After was the cheese platter (low-fat Camembert, Facilien something, and this smoked one) and dessert (grapes, Moroccan dates, and flanby/pudding). What a 
dinner to not miss! Although I'm pretty sure I wasn't supposed to be there, I am so thankful they invited me.<-- a="" beef="" dad="" his="" host="" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVpH-Iu-jiW_sbAv_BwClX9FEC5tfoQDPp5sg4BCNqIyTTxDnhdFD-cI2EL1bHgQb-setQMs_qHxe4Z-SDiDPNfKux55OKGaa78GP4lfWFuL9xicVlZkBZAwiE-QIMHQyX4tEeeRGWUDuE/s1600-h/IMG_6335.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" paul="" perfecting="" tartar="">
Tonight (Tuesday) was a pork roast with peas and mushrooms; cheese; and canned mangoes & these uber crunchy crackers from Renne (France's champagne region).
For more photos of the food, cliquez.
Tomorrow I have no class, so I think I'm going to snuggle in bed and watch a French movie or Sword in the Stone (my fav Disney movie). Probably Musee Branly or Musee d'Orangerie avec Greg, and then Club Queen with the girlies tomorrow. Soupire :)
sooo this blog makes me smile... because it reminds me of the xanga era
ReplyDeletehahahaha my oncle's name is "Guy" ... i know. that's confusing. and he is something.. j'adore tes descriptions. you actually figured him out quite well, he could totally be a hippie professor (he lived may 68 like one). you're hilarious.
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