Well, based on what I've read from a familiar black-edged note left in Box Five this morning, it seems as though Erik has graciously invited Meg and myself to a little informal dinner in the cellars this evening in celebration of a certain traditional American holiday.
He asks that we bring purée de pommes de terre and sauce à canneberge and promises to provide some rare delicacy as as the main course.
I simply hope that he doesn't serve pickled pigs' feet again. That particular dish tends to make me nauseous; and has a singularly unpleasant aroma.
And now I must awake Meg and remind her that though it may be a holiday across the Atlantic, in France we still arise early and practice our pirouettes.
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2 comments:
And what is wrong with pickled pig's feet? Did you at least like the ham or pâté?
Your obedient friend,
O.G.
I hated that pickled pig's feet! It tasted like...feet! Does he really have to feed us those unusual dishes? Thank goodness we had pate this time.
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