The end, tho. 😂
This is my neighbor’s father (he’s 89) serenading us towards the end of a four-hour luncheon.
No reason in particular – these lunches take from 2-4 hours and happen almost daily. They rotate amongst the houses, especially within Mr. D’s family. Five of the six “children” (all now over the age of fifty), and their mother, live within walking distance from one another. Often multiple generations show up, piling out of the car. The other day, D’s sister and her family arrived in a tiny auto. As if in a clown comedy, they all tumbled out, covered head to toe in paint. It was noon so they all just put down the paintbrushes and headed over to grandmother’s.
Somehow, I got adopted into all of this and join the rotation a couple times a week. When Mr. D says, “Bonne”, in this sort of final and succinct manner, it’s the end. Everyone disperses and goes back to their business.
Today we started with rosé champagne and tomato feuilletée. Followed by Moules marinières and homemade frites using a churro machine. Brilliant! A romaine salad with walnuts. Rosé wine from Bourgogne. And two desserts from the local bakery – chocolate layer cake and a strawberry cheesecake.
And while the coffee was being served, rounds of wine were still being poured. We tried a local liquor made from apples. It’s sort of like calvados but closer to Cognac. The rights and permit to make this is a local tradition and passed down by inheritance legally from father to son.
I waddled back to the house and took the girls, Pearl and Rose, for a walk. They had been so patient. And I ran into Mr. D as I made my way up the street. I told him I was going to work in the garden this afternoon and he shook his head and said, “Non. Saturday is not for working.”
Well, what Mr. D says, goes. Bonne.
Bisous and big hugs 🤗 from France,
🇫🇷 France 🇫🇷, forever.
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