Diner a la campangne

Last night I was invited by one of the professors at my school to have dinner at his house.  He is a history teacher, but he has an advanced-level class on English-language European history, and he wanted to have the opportunity to practice his English with me.  His wife is also English-speaking (she works with British foreign exchange students as part of her job), so it was a bi-lingual evening. 

If the language of the night was not predominantly French, however, the setting certainly was.  M. Meunier and his wife live about 20 minutes outside of town, absolutely in the middle of the countryside on an actual farm, surrounded by bucolic fields of corn (wheat, to Americans), and vineyards.  It was like a travel brochure for the region.  I desperately wished that I had had my camera with me, although it probably would not have been quite the thing for me to be taking pictures of my hosts.  The farm belonged to Mme Meunier's parents, and her brother now runs it, while they live in the farmhouse.  The building itself is from the 19th century (coming from a state where most buildings are 100 years old at most, it is constantly amazing to me how common it is to live in a more-than centenarian home in Europe).  When we arrived, Mme. Meunier and their little girl were out in the farmyard, looking for the cat, who had disappeared that morning--it turned out she had accidentally become locked in an armoire, from which she was rescued shortly after my arrival.  The little girl, who is two and a half, was absolutely darling.  She was in love with the cat, and when she invited me to join her in coloring before dinner, she insisted that I draw "un chat."  It reminded me of Le Petit Prince: "dessine-moi un mouton."  I could communicate pretty well with her, although with my shaky comprehension and her shaky pronunciation, trying to understand her was a bit like trying to understand French spoken over a New York subway operator intercom--fuzzy, and prone to fading in and out.

Diner itself was for the most part delicious, although I am still having minor culture shock moments over bizarre French meat options.  Take for example, a snack that we had as an appetizer, whose name unfortunately escapes me--it was a pre-packaged bit of fish, make from the leavings and unused bits of a fish carcas reconstituted into to breakfast-sausage sized cylinder, which you then dip in mayonnaise and eat.  I kid you not.  I don't think this is to everybody's taste, even in France.  M. Meunier admitted that it was not his, so I did not feel so bad about being unable to manage more than a few bites of mine.  The rest of the meal was lovely, though--simple but high quality ingredients, just like they always say about French cooking.  I think that this time abroad is going to usher in a whole new era in my understanding of cheese, although that may be a topic for another posting in and of itself.