Sunday, May 26, 1991.
What I appreciate the most about this way of life is the weekend mornings. I’m sitting on the front patio, the sun is facing me. The morning sounds slowly are building. Birds are singing in the trees to the right. Far off I hear a rooster crowing. Behind me are sounds like pigeons cooing. Vianeytte and Corrine are still asleep. Michel and I are sitting having a quiet breakfast of toast and coffee. The toast is from a baguette and the coffee is served in deep bowls instead of cups.
Vianeytte is now up and the sounds of life are picking up. Autos on the highway nearby, jets passing high overhead.
It is Mother’s day here, so we have gone to Michel’s parents apartment in Cannes. We have aperitifs (Suze, Pastis or whiskey) and then go to a sea front restaurant near Cannes.
Eating with the French is an experience. Hors D’ovrves were sardines, oysters and crayfish with rose wine and bread. I follow my golden rule and never eat anything, until I see someone else eating it first. The crayfish can be eaten either whole (including the head with those beady little eyes glaring at you) or the head can be cut off. I find it easier to eat the whole thing, the only problem being the eyes getting caught in your teeth.
The other interesting aspect of French restaurants is that they allow you to bring in dogs. Most of the time the dogs are very quiet and just lie down under the table, but occasionally two dogs will take offense to one another, which can be very entertaining, although a little noisy.
Michel’s parents are quite charming. We have a very enjoyable lunch together. I ordered grilled fish with a buerre blanc sauce, fromage, and tarte de poire. Followed with cafe. If I lived here I would probably weigh 220 pounds. Lunch lasted from about 1:30 to 3:15. We drank three bottles of rose between the five of us, but Michel and I had the most.
We returned to the apartment for two bottles of champagne and some sweets. I don’t understand how the French stay so thin, but most are. We left about 7:30 and hurried back home since we were late for aperitifs . . .
Well, we decided that we were too late for aperitifs (with Michel an unusual circumstance.) We do have to make sacrifices in life. I call Connie (my surrogate mother) and wish her a happy Mother’s day. I talk with her son, Carl about the air show coming up in Hillsboro. Then I call it a night.