It’s pouring again but I am, as always, perfectly content to sit here in bed. I’m listening to the soundtrack from La Traviata, an opera I saw in Venice – for you non-opera experts (like myself), it was the opera Vivian sees in Pretty Woman.
Today, we celebrated the Confirmation of the daughter of my host family as well as her birthday, which is actually Tuesday. Instead of buying one huge cake, my host mom picked out a bunch of little tarts and treats from the patisserie in town. I decided on a chocolate tarte and omg was it delicious. So everyone had their own little tarte:
Anyway, as always, I was encouraged to eat more than my fair share of these caloric offerings and though, as always, I resisted the first few advances, I gave in eventually because, I mean, have you SEEN the pictures? But, you know what I always want when I have a lot of sweets? Besides a liposuction pump handy? I need milk! But when I asked for some milk, I got the strangest looks. Apparently the French think that it’s crazy that we have milk with our desserts. But look how chocolately my tarte was:
It was like chocolately krackle goodness on top of a tart filled with chocolate mousse and covered with a chocolate krackle shell. Eating that without milk would be like eating oreos or chocolate cake without milk. C’est pas possible!
So after a few minutes of me struggling to convey how milk and desserts complement each other, both sides nodded at each other in that I-don’t-understand-you-so-I’m-going-to-nod-and-smile kind of way, and agreed that we come from two very different cultures. We like milk with our chocolate desserts, and the French believe that jogging is bad for your health (but I guess they don’t need it – see post on skinny French).
I went jogging the next day to burn off the desserts attempting to invade my love handles.