It’s village fête time. Last year we did our local village with the amazing duck carcass feast. We totally enjoyed it. This year, we tried out the smaller village fête that served traditional Gasconnes cuisine. As the courses slowly unfolded we realized it was a feast dedicated to how many ways you can serve chicken. Each course was lovely and filling. Lots of food. Too much food. I love the food. In the end, we had Champagne ( but not real Champagne from Champagne. It was produced in the Gers and nice, but we’ll see what tomorrow brings ) with “croustade,” which is a nice apple flakey yummness.
Our friend Anthony came along for the ride and hopefully had his fill of accordion music, crazy french fun and a multi course meal where one course is a little glass of alcohol. Before the food fun, he partook in a local classic: blonde beer with a gloob of peach syrup. I’m not sure what he made of this, but as a beer connoisseur, it was his job to try it out.
Brent dusted off his yuppie wear to look fine for the occasion. I think he’s beginning to feel more comfortable in his blue farm pants, but he looks very cute in his farmanies.
Michael wore his shirt as per usual. This is how he rolls. I think he wears his shirt inside out on purpose to gain attention from those i-dotters and t-crossers. We can’t stand disorder.
Minty had a Coke. We don’t drink Coke very often. She could only drink half.
Then she crashed.
Zélie ran around, ran around, ran around, dodged a dude, ran around, ran around, then ate, then ate, then ate. Hours later, after bopping to the beat and after putting her hands in the air and waving them like she just didn’t care. Hours after that. She zombied. Then she mellowed. Then Brent took her and sleeping Otto home.
The accordian – sax ensemble was too much for us to sit still so Lucy and I cut a rug to the giving tunes of waltzes i’ve long forgotten. We were watched and giggled at in a charming way. We took a bow, had a food fight with the neighboring table then quickly made our way to the Hilux. Meanwhile, spritely, young ladies in their eighties were dancing the night away. I was tired. I aspire to dance the way they dance to the wee hours of the fête. And they do this in heels. Gadblessem.