M woke me up at 11:30a, which was probably good since I was awake so long during the night.
Having just finished lunch, I feel compelled to tell you about it. We’ve been drinking Pierre Callot, blanc de blancs champagne, brut, although one day we had Moet & Chandon brut imperial which we didn’t like as much. For my readers who are not familiar, the typical French meal begins with an aperitif with a snack like breadsticks or baguette and cured meat like salami. Then comes the main course, some form of meat. A cooked vegetable dish is served either with or shortly after the meat. The salad rests on the table this whole time, but you eat it after the cooked vegetables. I have fond memories of my second favorite ex-boyfriend (Eric) sitting down to lunch with the family, serving himself some salad, and passing it to the person next to him. No one had a problem with him eating it first, but the poor guy had to do it on his own since it wasn’t yet time for the salad course. After salad comes cheese (which is the same every day until a given type of cheese is finished and replaced with another wedge either the same or different), and finally fruit which is sometimes served with yoghurt and/or pudding as an additional option. Coffee is another option here or shortly after. The whole process takes about 2.5 hours depending on how much time you have.
M bought a book about the cathedral in Epernay. It took 400 years to build, and the substantial building looks it. After 300 years, it caught fire and partially burned down. When they finished restoring it from the fire, they decided to be done even though it lacked some key components they’d planned for like 7 spires (it has spires, just not all 7). Can you imagine a building now taking 400 years to build? Our political processes would never permit that. People want to see major infrastructure completed while they are still in office so they can claim they did it all themselves. We learned this afternoon that one of the angels, which I noticed right away, smiles. When the Germans were destroying the church, they beheaded all of the angels except the smiling one. Is this a lesson?
After my very long sleep and quick petit dejeuner, we drove to the small town of Hautvillers which didn’t have any underground parking. It definitely rivals other towns claiming to be the prettiest in the world, but it makes no claims. It doesn’t need to. The land here is the most expensive per square meter in all of France due to its ability to produce grapes for bubbly. Don Perignon is buried in the church.
Prunelle came with us to the village. It rained intermittently. So, when we returned, her little paws may have been muddy. She’s a dog; so, very excited a good bit of the time. R didn’t want her tracking mud all over the house of course, and scolded her almost immediately. Prunelle retreated to a tiny little square of carpet and waited there until R had cleaned Prunelle’s little paws. She’s not leash-trained, but otherwise she may be the best, least crazy dog I have ever met.
When I declined champagne at lunch today, R said with shock: “I am probably the descendent of Don Perignon” (the monk who invented champagne). Then the others explained: the monks would visit the houses to explain the bible. They would leave their clogs outside the house when visiting. When the man of the house was returning home and saw the clogs, he would take a little walk instead of entering his home right away.
I said: “I don’t understand.” (Are all Americans as naïve as I am?)
M said: “the monks made more than champagne.”
I still didn’t get it.
M tried again: “many children in the town were of uncertain paternity. But it is only spoken of in very discreet terms.”
At the moment, M is snuggling with Prunelle. The ladies are chatting en francais. JP is napping. I am typing. Perhaps a walk before I return to Paris au voiture avec JP. J&G return from Mallorca tonight, and we’re going to use the rental car to pick them up at the airport. Tomorrow, JP goes to Chine for two weeks for work.
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