Pushing the Limits of the Waistband | a Dinner Adventure in the South of France

Ludovic, my husband Pascal, me, David

You haven't lived till you've been out with friends dining at a French restaurant that serves a 6-course meal and keeps you up well past your bedtime. Even the cat gives you the evil eye..wondering why you've been out so late. With a full stomach, and feeling like you just might burst, you'll swear that you'll eat nothing buy veggies the next day to off-set the massive amount of food that you somehow inhaled on this evening.

It was a chilly January night in the south of France. A cozy dinner and good wine at a restaurant sounded just perfect. Our ride picked us up and whisked us away toward food heaven. Early evening in January is dark which kept me from seeing the landscape during the next 45 minutes that we were in the car, but as always, the evening lights that decorate the foothills are a pleasure to see. Like twinkling Christmas lights.

up and up we go...

My husband was becoming quite hungry. As his wife, I knew this because he had become very quiet. But we drove on. Winding this way and that. Climbing and descending, ears plugging and popping in accordance. Then my husband said, "Are we in Italy?!" and everyone laughed, because it did seem like we'd been driving forever. The car seemed to be climbing higher and higher, twisting and turning on S-shaped roads. I looked out the window to see hundreds of tiny lights far below us. We were climbing along the edge of a mountain or large foothill I suspected, and the drop off was steep. Reminding us that a portion of the mountain was still above our heads, I saw signs warning drivers of falling rocks.

Our minivan full of people, laughter and good conversation, then turned onto an impossibly small street, which I was surprised and slightly horrified to find out was a 2-way street. Part mountain goat, the vehicle climbed and climbed, with much gumption I might add, until finally we reached the top. The streets are small, and everything seems like it's hiding from you, especially in the dark with minimal street lighting. But eventually we found the restaurant, and just in time too, as my husband was starting to eye the car upholstery as a hamburger.

We were welcomed by the restaurant's owner to a very warm, rustic, and pleasant establishment. Still in the holiday spirit, the proprietor had all the Christmas garland up. The place had a Provencial feel to it, and when the aroma from the kitchen hit you, you knew you were in trouble. Mmm, comfort food. We are going to test the waistbands tonight! I'd read about restaurants like this. Buried deep in France's countryside, the restaurant's patrons easily fall victim to the aroma of the kitchen's simmering meats and sauces, and will-power will be of no match for the temptation that each mouth-watering platter will tease you with. To further seal the deal, the jovial owner who slides the platters of heavenly food onto your table will smile warmly at you, and the turned up ends of his bushy mustache just sort of say, "Go on, eat, and relax..you deserve it." And as if that's not enough, you notice on the table several bottles of red wine and buckets of chilled rose.

But before you take your seat and dig in, you must say Bonsoir to all 25 people in your party. It's a typical French custom that you double-cheek-kiss tout le monde. This is meant to break the ice and just gives everyone a chance to meet. And important to note, it's just the smallest part of the side of your lips, if even, that should actually touch the recipient's cheek. You're essentially kissing the air next to their head. If you receive full lip contact on your cheek, that's wrong, not to mention gross. Being American, this is still a hard custom to get used to. Alas, you must follow the ritual, and before you know it it's done!

Finally, we seated ourselves at the long, narrow, Z-shaped table. The table itself was beautiful for a country restaurant but I doubt my hungry Frenchman noticed! Dressed in white linen, the table was decorated with ruby red linen napkins and cobalt blue bottles of water. Moments later, the first course arrived....

Luging in the Alpes ~ It's Not Just for Kids

There aren’t many places in the world where you can be at a sun-kissed beach lined with palm trees in the morning and then be in the rugged mountains knee deep in snow by lunch. Welcome to the Alpes-Maritimes region in the South of France. 

With some friends, I went luging in the Alpes on a beautiful January day, played like a child and had a blast! I don’t remember the last time I went sledding. 

When we started the trip, the temp in the car read 15°C (that's 59°F for you folks back home). By the time we reached our destination, just a couple hours later, the temp had dropped to 1°C (33°F). But the day was ideal – Brilliant blue skies, no wind, and peaceful. Those of you who like me grew up around snow know the kind of day I'm talking about. Snow is everywhere, but you end up skiing without your jacket, because it's too hot! 

We luged on three hills in all, but it was the second one that deserves mentioning. After warming up on a smaller hill, we trekked on over to a monster hill which I would've called a mountain for sure. There we found a bunch of serious (crazy?) people sledding. Philippe pointed toward the top and said, That’s where we were going. Eh?! Say that again? It was the mother of all hills, the black diamond, the Grand Pooh-Bah, the commander-in-chief, OZ. I felt pretty tiny, scared, and expendable. Wait a minute. Are those little kids sledding down that thing? OK, step aside people. 

With my luge (which is French for sled) in tow, I made my way up the monster, pretending I was full of confidence. Two-thirds of the way up, I stopped, turned around and said, Oh hell no! I felt like I was miles above everyone. Plus, at an elevation of 4,592ft I just felt higher up. The people at the bottom were dots to me. Little black dots. Red dots. Blue dots. And that little snow bank at the bottom is supposed to stop me? 

I’d like to say that my first run was graceful. I’m not sure who it was worse for, me, or the 4-yr-old that I punted into the air like a football. Poor little guy, never saw me coming, even though I was yelling “look out” in French, “Attention!!” Still he managed to be right there and BAM! Up in the air maybe 3 or 4 feet above my head he went. He then executed a perfect 360 midair, like a human pinwheel actually, arms and legs all straight out. He landed right back down on top of me. Ugh. Didn't see that coming. He wasn’t crying, but was clearly stunned into shock. 

Map of The Alps | lucky for me, I live inside the red!

Since neither of us was hurt, I found this to be hilarious, but held back my laughter long enough to say, “Je suis desolée” (I’m sorry) to the boy’s mother…even though it wasn’t my fault. It was a danger zone where she let him stand. Approaching Brige, Philippe and Alice, I was finally able to start laughing. “Tell me you guys saw that!!” Oh if we only had that one on film. 

The rest of the day was fun, and I managed not to send any more children into orbit. I was fast as lightening on my luge, which scared the bejesus out of me. I even managed to pass people going down the hill. Alice the kiddo had fun posing with snowmen, crawling in igloos, and luging with speedy gonzales here. 

Continuously walking back up the hill was a workout, got the pulse pumping. I’d forgotten how alive you can feel when playing in the snow. And I'd forgotten how much sledding can make your arse hurt the next day! 

On the field below us, Brige spotted 2 teams of dog sleds running through the snow. What a nostalgic sight. Neither one of us had actually seen dog sledding before. This was a great moment, and just made the day for me. Standing on that hill, looking around at the snow covered Alps, seeing people luging, skiing cross-country, downhill, and then to be lucky enough to see dog sledding, made me feel fortunate to be there, to be out in the snow...and the snow reminded me of home, Maine. It was a memorable day spent with good friends in a beautiful, wild and pristine Alpine region.

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Pass the Cheese Please

About 500 types of cheese exist in France. Cheddar's not on the list though. But that's OK (although hard to get used to at first) because with so many other cheeses to experiment with, cheddar slowly becomes a distant memory. Until you think about mac & cheese. 

With such a variety of French fromage to choose from, this next statistic shouldn't surprise you, but it probably will! On average, a French person will consume 22 kilos of cheese per year. Oh la vache! 1 kilo = 2.2 lbs. That means that a Frenchman will consume nearly 50 POUNDS of cheese each year! And let's not forget all the delicious baguettes that must accompany the cheese...and the salty, creamy butter from Normandie to be sandwiched in between the cheese and the bread also, if you like. Yes, I like! 

Ludovic, a friend of my husband's, puts the national statistic to shame. Ludovic should be in the Guiness Book of World Records, or something. Ludovic can eat about 1 kilo of cheese per day. My husband has seen him accomplish such a feat many times. That means that Ludovic hits the nation's average in about a month!! 

My favorite French cheese is brie. It does not have a strong, bold taste like roquefort or epoisse, but is very mild instead. The brie's creamy texture makes it very spreadable and oh-so-tasty. In fact, the longer it's in your fridge, and the more time it passes on the table, the better it gets. Like a fine wine, cheese can get better with age.

Then there's the cheese that really makes you catch your breath. The stinky cheese. Getting a whiff of foul-smelling French cheese is like walking into a boy's locker room that's littered with dirty socks after a soccer game. Then put those socks into a duffel bag, and forget about 'em for 2 days. Stinky cheese is like that. Awful! That paints a terrible image I know..but I must also say, that most of the time, the stinkier the cheese, the more delicious the taste. It's true!

My father-in-law has been known to get a big kick out of placing the tray of highly odorous cheeses next to me at the dinner table when I'm not looking. They wait for my face to contort as I react to the smell and then they erupt with laughter. Holding my breath, I take a few wedges, quickly pass the tray along, and enjoy. Mmm....

If you're in the States, it's not as easy to enjoy these scrumptious, creamy, and sometimes offensive-to-the-fresh-air-you-breathe French cheeses. First of all, they're not all available in the US, and second, what is sold there, is marked up so much, that one wheel of camembert can set you back $15 or much more. Here, a wheel of camembert costs just a few euros. A nice wedge of brie is just 2 euros. Baguettes range in price from 45-95 centimes (cents)...making it very easy for us to enjoy cheese any night of the week!!

Cheese is normally served after the main course and before dessert. And one thing I've learned is that you always save room for the cheese. So if you're a cheese lover, taking a trip to France in my opinion is definitely worthy of being on the bucket list.