Tony picked up the local paper this morning - just the Metz region, not Figaro or Le Monde or anything like that. Check out the picture in the sports section:
He's the man...
In the midst of preparations to return home, I have a few more posts for you. The first is about dealing with a foreign language. People in foreign countries don’t necessarily speak English. And, after all, why should they? But what do you do if you don’t speak their language?
We're reaching the end of our time in France, and I'm at that difficult stage where it is time to use things up. On the other hand, you don't want to eat stuff that isn't very nice. So I compromise - undoubtedly not everything will get used up, but I'm not buying 10 pound bags of potatoes either. (I think that the good stuff, like the rest of the bottle of organic olive oil, gets used by our landlords or the lady that cleans the gite. Some of the other stuff - the herb tea bags that weren't all that great, etc., may suffer a less socially conscious fate, but so it go
The French language was traditionally the language of diplomacy, due to the myriad possible shadings of words, and it seems that this subtlety has extended into the home furnishings market.
Nice is amazingly picturesque, as I mentioned before, particularly the old city and the area around the sea. The rest of it just looks like a French suburb - that is to say, not that much more interesting than any other suburb you've ever seen, except that they have more bread shops. Speaking of which, check this out:
The next day I took the bus into Nice - Nathalie's apartment is probably 20 kilometers away. I made a spa appointment for a facial, and I planned to do some gift shopping and rubbernecking. After arriving in Nice, I went into a Tabac to buy a city map and figured out where the spa was.
In case you all had been wondering what has happened to me, I've been in Nice. I admittedly could have blogged from there, but one does occasionally have to stop blogging so that one can actually do something to blog about. This will be part one of a series of two posts (if two can be a series...). The first will be about - here's a shocker - food, and the second will be more general.
This is the third year that I have played a recital in the church of Saint Martin, Hayange. It has a splendid large Dalstein & Haerpfer instrument in a beautiful acoustic, and it is very fun to play there. Since I know that the organists among my readership are eager to know more, here are some pictures. But first, here is the front:
We did indeed throw a dinner party last night. (Question - why does one "throw" a party? Why not "toss" it, or "smack" it?) Aided by my able assistant, Con, (aka Tony's mother) we served up a feast which the French people that we invited probaby thought was completely British, and Con thought was rather French - in other words, fusion cuisine. And before I go any farther, I apologize for the lack of pictures. Yesterday was rather fraught, what with practicing and getting lost several times for different reasons, and all the shoppin
Today I was cooking for one again, sort of. Tony and Con went to Lyon and Grenoble on Tuesday - Tony had colleagues to visit, and Con had Improving Sights to visit, inbetween coffee bars and walks. They didn't return until later this evening.
I went to the store and what looked good was ratatouille fixings. Here they are: