Jesse and I spent a lovely couple of days in the south of France. We ate great food, drank great wine, sat in the sun – life was good. (I suspect there’s a ‘why we should all move to the south of France’ post in my future.)
On our last night, at the home of friends in Montpellier, we were served for dinner:
- cheese (5 varieties)
- foie gras
It was, as you might expect, delicious. It was also the sort of meal that, when eaten with any kind of frequency, would kill you at a very tender age.
I refuse to believe the key to the French paradox is eating only small meals of cheese and foie gras. It must be having meals of cheese and foie gras only for the benefit of tourists.
Oh, how the French must laugh at us foreigners, scratching our heads in wonder at their indulgent diet and good health. When they’re alone at their dinner tables it’s a strict diet of steamed carrots and brown rice.
I’m just sure of it.