For lunch today, we ended up in the little perched village of Moustiers where we had lunch on the terrace of an elegant little restaurant called Les Santons. I asked the server what that meant -- and she didn’t have a clue. If they can’t translate their own language, I guess I shouldn’t feel to bad about not being able to speak it.
Brad ordered the full meal. (Lunch takes over two hours, so why not?) For his appetizer he got three little pieces of fish plus a rice cake made of celery and rice and three little lines of sauce. He pointed out that it looks like the Libyan flag so of course we expected terrorists to burst out of the kitchen at any moment.
Following a divine meal -- including chocolate mousse for dessert -- we were sitting quietly when a bug flew up my nose! I’m not kidding. Well, if you’ve ever had a bug fly into your ear (and who hasn’t) you know how annoying it can be, but believe me, up your nose is even worse. Your first impulse is to slug yourself in the nose, but something tells you this would be a bad idea so you do the next best thing which is to jam your index finger up that nostril. (If you were thinking rationally at this point, you would realize you have just effectively trapped the bug in its new home: your nose. But who’s thinking rationally.) I was in this pose -- me with my finger up to the first knuckle in my nose -- when the distinguished looking French man at the next table turned to look at me and, somewhat aghast, turned immediately away. I was helpless to explain, in French or any other language, that I was simply trying to get a bug out of my nose. So I just sat there and acted like it was an old family custom. He was probably Libyan anyway.
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