I was pretty sure that it would be difficult to have the famed French dinner on this trip. I could leave the kids at home while we are in Paris, and disappear to some dining enclave that is 100 euro per person, and have the meal that lasts from 9 to midnight with 5 or 6 courses. But honestly, it’s a little over the top for me, and I am a little intimidated by the responsibility of the communicating the choices to my waiter. My French just isn’t good enough. However, I will say my French vocabulary is getting bigger by the day and I am earning it by making lots of mistakes.
The owners of La Bastide are a Belgian couple that bought the place a year ago. Jan is a competitive marathoner and his wife, Marie Claire, is a wonderful hostess. She gave me a more beautiful way to tell people I can’t speak French. What I had been saying would be like the Spanish equivalent of “no se” or “I dunno.” So I had been saying, I dunno French. Now I say, “Je ne peux pas parle Francais.” It sounds like a soft “Jennifer.” “Jhenepuh pa parl Frohnsay.” (Note: This phrase is always met with a nod and more warmth from the French than before. Not only that, but they have actually complimented me on my pronunciation. I think I can take that as an actual compliment, since the French don’t screw around with being nice to foreigners.)
Again – distracted. Dinner. We decided to have dinner at La Bastide. We weren’t sure how the kids would take it, so we didn’t tell them what was on the menu. Aidan had given me a coupon book for Christmas. Each page entitled me to have him try a new food, without any complaints or stalling. I brought it with me to France. And so, we gathered together with the other guests – many of who were not staying at the hotel, but had come to dine, and we had a real, true French Dinner. We were underneath the 250-year-old oak trees, on a gravel patio alight with dozens of tea light candles, listening to the serenade of a generation of locusts who sang a swelling “ha-ha-ha-ha, ha-ha-ha.” We had aperitifs, a bottle of wine, foie grois, Provencale-style salmon and vegetables, quail, cheese, desert, coffee, the whole nine yards, cooked by local chef Antoine. ( not to be confused with "ala Antoine" - French Rarebit - another Bugs Bunny reference - there wasn't much on tv Saturday mornings in the 70's, these things are burned into my brain. It's not even that I want to remember them, it's just that I can't forget...)
The kids behaved. They ate their food and then I told them what they ate after wards. They were good with it. The sun went down and at about 10pm, we went for a walk to aid the digestion and prepare us for sleep. There was an old cemetery up the hill behind La Bastide. This is getting good. I love Provence.
P.P.S This could be a separate post, but I wanted to share some of the gorgeous colors of the trees in the yard. I don't think it comes across so well on my camera, but the greens, yellows, chocolate and beige browns are enough to make my heart skip a beat.
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