Awaken to French Luncheons

Bonjour everyone,

I’ve decided to let you in on a secret. I’m not French. I pretend to be in a very big way. (Je ne comprends pas! I do not understand!) Maybe I need to see some councillor who specializes in split personas, specifically split nationalities and I may be cured in time. Do I have the time to lie around on a couch professing to a total stranger all sorts of whims and dreams, maybe learning how to reprogram myself by perhaps repeating all sorts of rapid eye movement therapeutic games to delete ones memory of all things French?  I don’t know.

I blame my father. He would sing and do a little dance whilst reciting French nouns to me from his little school boy companion, ‘Castell’- known to some as a French Language Book. To me it was like witchcraft. It had powers yet to be overcome.

I blame France too. Heady with gourmet aromas, her gluttonous arms swooping up the world’s best produce and finest cuisines, artistic nourishment and fashionista icons…stop me anytime. France wooed me like the best of lovers and I surrended to France body and soul; hence the birth of My French Awakening!

I feel that now it may be too late and there’s no turning back. My friends don’t discourage me enough. They shouldn’t give me gifts, ‘Made in France’ like Eiffel Tower tea towels (dear Domenica) and books on The Paris Markets (sweet Cathy) and French paper weights, French DVDs, postcards, stationery, jewellery, perfume, brooches, cognac, jams, mustards and so on. My French collection has bred faster than you can say “truffle”.

And my closest friends definately shouldn’t travel to France with me (are you listening dear The’re’se?) and energise the devil within. Revitalising the French spirit comes with untold consequences.

My family will confirm I’m obsessed. It’s out of control. I’m now have an ongoing relationship with a small real estate office in the south of France which sends me emails and photographs of potential homes from chateaus to delapidated barns. I’ll take anything really if I could.

And last weekend, I started hallucinating again and set about pretending my entire home was in France. Rousing friends dressed up with feathered hats and berets, scarves and frills to a French luncheon on our lawn.They actively encouraged me to cook a five course French Provincial menu using my French recipes from The Paris International Cooking School (you remember don’t you?) and my travels across France. There was leek and potato soup, blue cheese tart and auvergnate salad, Mont St Michel style Scallops, beef with Potato Lardon and Aubergine Bitteroise and a choc, nutty, brandied meringue and carmel shard dessert. Oh, did I mention the French bubbly? My son even made French stencils for me for the coffees! Now that’s feeding the addiction if I don’t know what!

Let me show you a few snaps and the extent of my condition.

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You be the judge. It’s not fair really. I don’t live in France. I don’t live in France. I don’t live in France. Awaken. Awaken.

Au revoir,

Best Wishes to you,

Therese Waddell



5 Responses to “Awaken to French Luncheons”

  1. Pretty cool! I feel much the same way (except I turned it into a business). There must be a club we can all join 🙂

    • Hi Wendy,
      Thanks for taking time out to have a browse here. Yes, I think we have a club already! There’s always something new to learn about France though so listening to each other can be so good for the soul! I could certainly recommend a whole heap of France to see and do on your tours and vice versa! Good luck Wendy on your travels! Therese

  2. Hi Therese,
    It all looks beautiful!
    Marg x

  3. Thérèse Says:

    If we didn’t energise that devil, we wouldn’t have those treasured memories that we share along with the laughter!

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