Monday Dinner Adventure
I have dinner with my host family every Saturday, Sunday and Monday. These evenings are usually spent with me in my room beginning at about 6:00, desperately scrounging for something to eat while I wait for the oh-so-European 8:30 dinnertime. But eventually I make it, and I rush downstairs when they call my name, or…ring my bell. Oh yes, there is a bell.
Every Monday the whole family comes over for dinner. Mme Farisy isn’t there usually, because her work is far away and so she spends the night in another town. But to make up for that, M. Farisy’s sister is almost always there, as well as Pierre and Isabelle’s two cousins, who are about my age, and sometimes there is another uncle or aunt as well. It’s a big family affair, and I find myself generally at a loss for words, as I understand very little of the conversation.
Last week was an affair in and of itself, when M. Farisy decided we should have sorbet for dessert. The way French meals work, you feel as if you’re at a restaurant. You start with soup, while the main dish may still be in the oven. You eat the entrée, and salad, bread and dessert, as each are brought out to the table, unlike in America where we just plop everything in the middle of the table or in a big pile on our plates. So the decision to make sorbet occurred right about as we were eating salad. M. Farisy got out the frozen fruit, the sugar, and whatever else you use to make sorbet, and put it all in a big electric mixer of some sort. But in turning on the mixer, it became apparent that something was wrong. Everyone finally decided that it didn’t sound right, but M. Farisy couldn’t help but try it one more time. Of course, in the discussion as to whether it sounded right or not, he had removed the top to the mixer, and therefore turning it on wasn’t the brightest idea.... As M. Farisy reached for a towel to wipe the bits of strawberry off his cheek, and the counter, and the other side of the kitchen, it was decided that we should call the neighbor.
Now, don’t ask me who the neighbor is, or why on earth we would call her for our broken appliance questions, but apparently Violette would know what to do. So M. Farisy called up Violette and declared that she’d be over in two minutes. She arrived in a flurry, carrying a large black box with her. M. Farisy had her look at the mixer, and try it out a few times (with the top on). She poured out the fruit, sugar and mush concoction and examined the blades on the bottom. Still having no idea what was wrong, she declared that it was broken (gasp!) and pulled yet another mixer out of her big black box. She set it all up and told M. Farisy that she would try it this time. However, M. Farisy then informed her that there simply was no more fruit left, and we therefore couldn’t make sorbet tonight. With a look of “Why on earth did you call me then?”, she took the broken mixer, left the new mixer on the counter, and returned home.
After finishing our lovely dessert of white cheese and jam, the boys declared they had work to do and must get home, and I went back up to my room, to do nothing but write this story down in order to laugh about it again and again.
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