A cheesy tale
by Jilliana
Ranicar-Breese
The story
starts at La Coupole in Montparnasse, Paris when
I found myself sitting next to a good looking
sophisticated American blonde woman of a certain
age. She was alone and so was I. We introduced
ourselves. Her name was Margarita and she had
lived in Paris thirty years. She was very open
and it turned out she went to brocante fairs and
was going to Chatou the next week. I was going
too so we agreed to travel together. She invited
me for a light lunch giving me her address in the
rue de Rennes by the post office.
I never got there because there was a suspected
bomb in the post office and the whole street,
where she lived was cordoned off. I got trapped
in an optician’s on the rue de Rennes for a
few hours. We didn’t have mobile phones then
so I couldn’t explain to my future hostess.
Eventually hours later I got back to my
Montparnasse flat and phoned her to explain. She
invited me again for the Friday of that week, the
day before Chatou.
I arrived chez elle and was warmly welcomed. The
meal was onion soup with a crispy baguette fresh
from the bakery. Then a simple mixed salad with a
vinaigrette and a large Brie de Meaux in the
usual Brie elongated triangular shape.
‘Servez vous’ she said in French. A
little odd for an American to speak in French.
With that I did. Mon Dieu I had committed the
worst culinary crime. I had not cut a slice from
the side but had cut at the top of the triangle
leaving, so she furiously explained, La croute.
The rind.
‘C’est affreux’ she shouted at me.
Time to go without finishing the delicious cheese
and no mention of Chatou, bien sur. A disastrous
encounter never to be forgotten.
Written
15/12/24 at Nightingale.
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