Wednesday, May 15, 2013

Rocks and other hard French things...

Jude and I had a Big House Out and About Day today.  It was filled with Minor Adventure and Mundane Duties.

I've been running all over the city to see if I could find une canne de marche.  It would be good to have one as it would complete an outfit I'm working on.  Bowler.  Evening coat.  Stick.  You know.  That kind of thing.  Just to see how the French will react.

Today, I walked Jude down to her hair appointment.  After being introduced to a Brit who spoke perfect French, I ducked out and went in search of une canne de marche.  Pharmacies here seem to stock, from time to time, some rather stylish walking sticks.

Well, I struck out. But Jude came home after her appointment with three loaves of bread and a very cute hair cut.  She did a little shopping on her way home after having her locks bobbed.

One of our concerns in moving here was the availability of bread that she could eat.  Jude is gluten intolerant and can't eat eggs and a fair number of other things too.  Yet, within a week of landing in France she'd found that the food system here is well aware of allergic reactions to mean and nasty things and have come up with a rather broad range of alternatives.

My wife now enjoys sarassin and quinoa based breads.  There are nut based breads too, if they are to your liking.  All this can be found at just about any natural food store anywhere in the city.

I've decided to give up my search for a walking stick.  Well, for now at least.  Do I really need to confuse the Parisians any more than they already are at the sight of me coming down the street?  I thought not.  I'm challenging enough to French Sensibilities as it is.  I'm sure of it.

So I sat down at this computer to work a few more images.  I did some house chores and Jude started to cook what smells like it'll be a wonderful stew.  We gathered up our laundry from a wash cycle we performed on them earlier before heading out for Locks Bobbing and Stick Hunting.  Jude dove back into the kitchen to continue cooking and I heard the Call of the Trappists and popped open a brew.

Suddenly I hear her say "damn!  This thing won't cut!!"

One of her loaves of bread was hard as a rock.  A jack-hammer couldn't pass through it.  It had been bien cuit.  If there is one sacred thing in France that is completely insupportable, it is inedible bread.  It was time to take the rock back to the store and see what could be done about it.

After practicing a few lines of French, we headed down the street... and into the store we marched, rock in bag in hand.

Jude said, in her best French language, "I bought this bread this morning.  I would like to demonstrate something to you."

Out of the paper bag came the rock.  With a firm hand and a solid WHACK! the sales lady with startled owl-wide eyes understood immediately the problem. 

"C'est dur!" 

To which I replied, for emphasis, "C'est trop dur!!"

The situation was quickly remedied with a fast hand-off of a new loaf.  Only to find out is wasn't one of the breads my wife could eat.

No matter.  I will eat the "not the rock".  It tastes good with butter.  Yes.  I've already had a slice and confirmed that French Bread Alignment as well as Peace, if not Prosperity, has been nearly achieved.

We can go to another store tomorrow and pick up the proper loaf of bread.  With all this walking about I may need une canne de marche.

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