Read Online Our House is Certainly Not in Paris by Susan Cutsforth - Free Book Online

French way of life, no one shouts or loudly laughs their heads off and the ring of a portable or a noisy child is seldom heard. It is not chic to behave in such a way. On the rare occasions we have lunch at our favourite restaurant in Martel, Le Jardin des Saveurs, although it is just menu du jour , the bread crumbs are swept off the crisp tablecloth after the first course. The waitress comes with a petite pan and brush to ever so discreetly whisk the crumbs away.
    This is the sort of attention to detail that I simply love.
    When we are invited to dîner with friends, no side plates are used for the bread that invariably accompanies every meal. If we are lucky enough to be invited to Jean-Claude’s and Françoise’s, the pain is especially delicious as Françoise makes her own bread. The pain is simply placed on the tablecloth next to your dinner plate. Hence all French homes have a tablecloth that often stays on the table throughout the day. While I now have two tablecloths, both farmhouse checks, and both gifts, I don’t think I will ever have a plastic one as many French households do. While very practical, I simply don’t find them attractive at all.
    The apéritif hour is something else I find especially civilised. Only one apéritif is usually served, at the very most two. Bread sticks or a small dish of olives or peanuts is always placed on the table, for it is rare to have a drink without some small accompaniment. We find this a great way to catch up with friends, as it is simply so easy and the protocol means that people rarely linger longer than an hour, for they then head home for dîner . This suits our style of entertaining just perfectly. When we are invited to dîner, usually just one apéritif is offered before eating, as there will be wine with the meal. Jean-Claude has a plastic carrier that was once used for milk bottles. When we have an apéritif on their terrace, he brings it out with pastis, gin and other choices in it. Despite the reputation of the French for drinking vast quantities of wine, in fact it is surprisingly far less than at home. Vive la difference.

13
Isabelle’s Petite Shop
    Visiting Isabelle’s shop has become a part of my weekly ritual. As well as going to the twice-weekly markets to buy our fruit and vegetables, on Friday morning we now go to Martel once a week to do our grocery shopping. Such a prosaic task has become one of pleasure. We have now established the habit of first having our weekly treat of going to the boulangerie to choose a delectable pastry. There is always an immense pleasure in lingering at the counter and gazing at the sumptuous array of mouth-watering pastries.
    Then across the road to the locals’ café , as opposed to the ones in the market square that tend to attract the tourists. While the café is right next to the road – we seem to be attracted to places situated on roads, just like our petite maison – like so many French towns, it overlooks tubs of brightly coloured flowers. We order our espresso, ‘ Deux café s’il voux plait.’ Yes, I can actually manage the simple phrase for ordering two espresso ...
    and we linger over our melt-in-the-mouth croissants .
    It is a chance to sit and observe the daily life of a small French town. The café is also a Tabac . There is a place to precariously park right at the front of the café and the locals dash in to buy their Gauloise . It is like a drive-through tobacconist. Once when I went in to pay for our espresso , I was puzzled by the fact the young woman behind the counter did not move from one end of it to the other, to collect my euro . After quite a while, I moved to the other end of the counter to pay. I told Stuart about the puzzlement of paying. Ah, the first end of the counter is the Tabac section and you can only pay for those purchases there. Hence the dash-in-drivers who hastily grab their daily Gauloise .
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