As you may have noticed, these accounts shall now be taking on a more vinous (and beerous more importantly) feel, at least until the real restaurant onslaught begins (yes yes, the good restaurants are coming). So less on the food side and more on the adventures of Jolly European Banjo. Also these last few days have been really about doing bugger all and lying by the pool, so tales of drinking will help fill in the gap left by lack of activity.
Today we go the market in Toulon, made fresh fruit and veg at very good prices. I slug back a Belgian beer called Affligem. It is creamy and rich, finishing with a sour note.
Tonight is to be a big party at the Gabrie residence, so considerable beverages will be required to fortify myself against the boredom of the “I’m from Sydney etc etc” story. I have 2 Heinekens and about 4 glasses of rose over the course of the afternoon, don’t want to overdo it too quickly….
Dinner is a big, grand family affair. I am a little lost, my French seemingly becoming worse with the more I drink.
I play the stereotypical aussie quite well, receiving numerous comments of my lack of shoes. We are in a back garden, in the house I am staying in. What need for shoes? My shoelessness is to become a symbol of my australianism. Fuck it, Give me some more rose.
I only stumble over once, after another half bottle of rose. We eat salted cod with aioli, roasted vegetables and little clam/sea snail things in shells. Then a vast array of cheeses – smoked, cooked, blue, brie, you name it. Then an odd cake called ‘chanteclair’, all meringue and vanilla and praline and ice cream. A little weird (almost like, dare I say it, a slightly better version of those horrendous McDonalds ice cream cakes).
By the end I am happily pissed, smoke cigarrettes with a 60yr old French lady doctor and wander off to bed without saying goodbye to anyone (this clever manoeuvre is known as “the ninja”).
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