It wasn't what I expected, when he said he brought home a gift. The fridge reeked of stinky pig's feet, if you ever have lived in the country in the summer you know what I mean, especially if you are near a trough.
"You brought home cheese? Are you sure it is still good? Where did you buy it? How long did it sit in the car?" I quizzed that French Husband of mine who bought the cheese the other day when he was skiing in the Alps with Sacha.
Before I ever came to France, General de Gaulle famously remarked that it was impossible to govern a country with 365 different kinds of cheese. With that said I want you to know that some cheese shouldn't be called cheese… and some husbands should stick to skiing… I dared said that to that man of mine.
He gave me his famous imitation of a baby crying, he does that when he thinks he is wrong, and it always makes me laugh. As I laughed I thought why not cook the cheese, it might not be as bad as it smells.
I wrote on Facebook last night:
"Yann brought home a slab of cheese as stinky as 12 pig's feet on a hot day. Throwing it out was not an option. I baked it with potatoes, leeks, cloves of garlic, cream fraiche, and eggs, baked it in a tart. OH MY GOD it was so good I could kiss those piggy's toes, instead Yann said I had to kiss his… Not quite the same…. and well the results were far better."
Far better.
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Thank you for your responses yesterday, I love each and everyone of you tartelettes!!
My childhood friend Laurie wrote that she was a long banana with a pair of coconuts. That still has me laughing.
Your responses confirm to me that we could have been friends since birth! Thank you for confirming my belief that blogging connects the world, and twins separated at birth.
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