Saturday night was a lovely, intimate evening at a friend’s
house to help celebrate her 40-mumble birthday of the day before. There were
only seven guests (plus children).
The evening was balmy, still and pleasant, with enough
warmth for us to sit outside for hours enjoying crudités and an assortment of
dips (a homemade tapenade, spicy guacamole, and a broad bean/mint/lemon juice dip). For
drinks, we started with an unlabelled white wine direct from Monsieur Host’s home
town of Nantes that he stores in his cave
(a special cool room under the house) where he has a pretty exciting number of
bottles ready to be enjoyed. We moved on to Champagne once (most of) the guests
had arrived, and the merriment began in earnest. I must say, that tapenade was better than
salty chips and a cold beer on a hot day in Hong Kong, and it kept us happy for
the hours it took until the coals were thrown on the two Weber barbecues at
about 9.30pm. Monsieur Host entertained us all using an electric heat gun (like
a hairdryer but much more lethal) to fire the barbecues to a roaring heat. The
aroma of the Toulouse sausages was a little unsettlingly good, so we tucked
some more into the tapenade instead and continued our bilingual banter on all
manner of subjects (with my slowly getting better French and their practically
perfected school days English - oh well - good practice).
The children were astonishingly well-behaved and
self-managed. They ranged in age from 8 - 11 years, a mixture of boys and
girls. The adults completely entertained themselves while the children completely
entertained themselves; jumping on the trampoline or popping over to the local
school for some kick-a-ball-around play and then popping back to refuel with
drinks and nibbles (no, not nipples
as my Swedish friend once misheard with alarm/delight). There were no fights or
furies, and they were a pleasure to have around. And yes, they all proffered
their youthful cheeks for un bisou (French
double-cheek kiss greeting) from all the adults as they arrived.
Finally, dinner was ready and we all sat down at a
long table inside the house with a few more bottles of this and that to enjoy
(rose, red and more white). The wine just kept appearing (courtesy of M. Host
and his careful ambles downstairs to find more supplies). I figured someone was
drinking it because the bottles kept emptying. I don’t think it was me, but I’m
not sure. We were all quite merry (sometimes shrieking laughter from the girls,
usually directed at Madame Hostesses charades-like-punctuated stories, and
booming guffaws from the blokes: and yes, that's right, the topics were probably shopping
(girls) and football (boys), of course…).
Now, something interesting to note: if you are invited
to arrive to a party at 7pm, feel free to take that liberally, and arrive anytime between
7.15 - 11pm, that’s no problem at all! The final guests arrived at about
10.30pm and sat down to a late-ish (you think?!) meal which included a delicious
tabouleh, roasted skinned peppers, a Greek salad, plus the divine Toulouse
sausages). Yum and yum some more!
The children were still impeccably behaved. The
mademoiselle of the house had fallen asleep on her bed, while my daughter propped
herself up on my shoulder. She came to life when it was time for dessert
(11.45pm), and she lit the 40-mumble candles that she had decorated our
homemade chocolate cake with. It was an inferno I tell you and I thought the
plate might melt. Madame Hostess gamely blew them out, or tried to, as they
were mostly trick re-lighting candles. She just thought that at 40-mumble her
puff was not was it used to be…
So, after homemade berry cheesecake, homemade mousse
and homemade slightly singed chocolate birthday cake, plus a dash more
wine, we headed home at just after midnight. That was my family anyway. The
rest stayed, possibly to the early hours (knowing their capacity and
durability). And yes the wine was still flowing.
It was great fun: lovely, memorable, relaxed French
dinner party. Thank you Clare and Hervé.
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