WOODY FRENCH STYLE

Ah yes here he was standing up in the railway station in Agen when I went to pick him up.

Woody had made it to the Ol' Continent.  

Rain.  Did not stop all day.  oh well.  I assured him sun did exist in this country of mine.

It is always a bit surreal to see friends you are used to see often in a particular place, suddenly in a totally different setting, one that is also so familiar, the land of my roots, but where Woody fit as a smiley surprise, a sort of a hidden track. I knew a few smiles were ahead in the Binder household!
And so Woody started his crash course in how to live well in the land of Voltaire. Getting in on Easter friday he was on for a ride!

Jetlag? Naaaa. Did not want to hear of it. Early on Saturday it was on to the weekly farmers market in Nérac. 

Rain.  Again.  No sign of stopping.  But no matter,the American had to start with a few fresh veggies and munched on some croissants, pain au chocolat and other pain aux raisins (his favorite). The training was starting hard and "serious".  Odile and Jean-Claude (my sis and brother in law) coming for lunch, it was time for lesson #2: the aperitif, the almost obligatory ritual before a meal involving guests.  Yes you guessed right it does involve some alcohol.  Of course the "trainee" had to taste some local home brew, a "vin d'orange" (orange wine), my mom's best.  A smile on his face was saying it all.  Encore...  The student was satisfied with his teachers so far!

Then it was on to some home improvement, Woody helping my dad repair an armoire door.  Under the watchful eye of dad the door was back in place, broken chip re-glued.  Fernand (dad) was rather pleased.  Those Americans were resourceful indeed.  Hummm...  That earned Woody a big fatherly hug, and later on a tour of his wood workshop where every tool was made by him during the war.

Rain always.  But there was that little old town of mine to walk through.  A little bit of moisture was not going to stop us.  We'd end up in a cafe for a (bad French!) beer (and a coffee for me) serenaded by the bartender who, I suspected, might have had a bit too much of what he was selling!

Easter day, the training continued.  Our trainee is put to work in the kitchen:  apple peeling duty.  Jean-Claude is overseeing the task.

"I have French words floating in my head". Woody's head is spinning. We find we have the perfect cure. We quickly explain to him after an excellent Easter meal (Tagine of lamb and apples, Vacherin for dessert..) that every lunch time meal is followed by an espresso and a "pousse café" on special days. "Push coffee" literally. yes alcohol again. This time a local Armagnac. Lesson #3: how to properly drink it.


My brother Benoit start by explaining that some people like to drink it after they are done with coffee, in their very coffee cup which would be at an ideal temperature to heat up the Armagnac. As soon as he poured the amber nectar in Woody's cup, my brother Patrice (the General) becomes frantic and turning to Benoit cries in despair:
"You cannot do this, not for someone drinking Armagnac for the first time! Sacrilege! It has to drunk in the proper glass!"
By that time Woody was holding the cup with straight arms, looking at my two brothers with concern.
A loud discussion between two brothers about something seemingly having to do with him or whatever he was holding in his hands, could not be good. All of us around were on the floor laughing.
Patrice rushed back with balloon glasses, and handed one to Woody.
"This is the proper glass!"
Woody was breathing better. He poured the content of his cup in the glass, under the horrified look of General Patrice.
"I'll just act as if I did not see that" declamed Patrice in a very theatrical gesture, covering his eyes with his hand.  More laughters.
Lesson #4: always make sure all members of the family agree on traditions before proceeding.

The following day Woody and I were heading for the South East, Provence rock to climb. Caroline picked us up in Montpellier. A few more lessons were ahead.
Lesson #5: How to find your way on the roads of France: follow the TOUTES DIRECTIONS, or AUTRES DIRECTIONS, signs. Clever frenchies. You reach a round-about (and we love those) searching for your way, not seeing the town name you are looking for.  You can go a few times around before before you figure it out (clever Frenchies indeed): one road goes TOUTES DIRECTIONS (All directions). Handy! How can you be wrong?
"How about the other roads?" ask our clever student. Humm well you always can choose AUTRES DIRECTIONS (Other Directions) if you are not happy with your options.

"No no the other roads those which do not have these signs". Caroline and I looked at him and in a common accord:
"Humm you are on your own on these. No one knows where they go." We retorted with mysterious look on our faces.
Vive la France.