Memories from a perfect French afternoon

I've been thinking a lot about my favorite memories of France. One afternoon that stands out is a Wednesday when the Dude and I accompanied our main meuf and mec Missy and Thomas to Cluny. We meandered along the streets in search of a good place for a nibble, but in true French fashion almost every place we tried was closed during that ambiguous time betwixt lunch and dinner.

Finally we found a charming hotel/restaurant that deigned to have us dine with them. Because it was between meal times we couldn't order from the menu, but the proprietor offered to whip up an hors d'oeuvres platter for us of charcuterie, cheese, and a puréed nomnom with some potato chips with which to scoop it up.  We sat in the courtyard, enjoying one of the first warm days we'd had that spring. Our departure from the little world we'd built for ourselves in the preceding months was inching close enough to make us appreciate our time together, but not so close as to make us too sad to enjoy each others' company.

This is what we drank:

This is what we ate:

 

And this is the Monsieur Fatty Fat Cat who was there:

 And this is what Monsieur Fatty Fat Cat ate:

Photos courtesy of Missy Rococo.

Circle of life

Cluny used to be the center of Christendom. The papacy was headquartered here, and the church was the biggest church in all the land until St. Peter's in Rome was constructed. Then the French Revolution came along and people were all, "Boo, Church! Boo!" and they dissembled it stone by stone, leaving only a bell tower and change.

Now Cluny is a quaint little village clinging to its not-so-quaint Medieval past of grandeur and glory for the benefit of all the abbey-hopping tourists. They have some sort of institution of higher learning there that apparently encourages its students to decorate and wear their own quidditch uniforms.

We also saw a cat eat a lizard.

Fin.