Brognac

Before I get to the viande of this post, I just want to thank the good people over at Wesleying for their shout-out last week, hailing LVEB as "one of the most entertaining blogs, period." That's no small compliment, seeing as how, according to this potentially trustworthy website, there are probably more than a billion blogs in existence. Chew on that for a second. We're basically the McDonald's of the Internet, serving up tasty morsels of Francophilia to you and yours.

Did anyone else get a really carnivorous vibe from that last paragraph? What can I say, ya'll, I got meat on the mind after a weekend of what can only be called décadence. (That's French for "decadence.") I accompanied fellow expatriate Savannah "I Invented Swag" Whiting and her host family to a village called Siecq, a few kilometers from world-famous Cognac, home of distilled wine and trous noirs. The patriarch of the family, Jean-Marie, was born in this town, also in the very house we stayed in, which has been in his family's possession for literally thousands of generations. We pulled up at the maison de campagne at around 19h30 Friday night, just in time for us to think it wasn't going to be all that cold after all. Anyway, after we got settled--which is to say, after I put my backpack on a chair--we congregated in the living room for a little apéritif before dinner. At this point it was just Savannah, Jean-Marie, his wife Toinette (short for Yo What Up I'm Marie Antoinette), Plume, and I. Plume is the cat. More on her later.

The apéritif was an amazing beverage called Pineau, and drinking it makes you wonder why Curtis Jackson hasn't come out with a Formula 50 brand; it's literally grape juice and cognac, are you kidding? This shit is legal? If I said I'm not still fiending for some right now, I'd be lying--call me Pineaucchio. After a few rounds, the second half of the party arrived: JM and 'Toinette's daughter and son-in-law, and their two kids, Alice (4) and Baptiste (1.33). We headed to the table and then embarked on a seriously delicious journey through space and duck, replete with red wine, baguette, and more duck. We finished dinner by forming a huddle and chanting, "Quack! Quack! Quack!" Thanks to a food coma and more pineau, I literally do not remember what I did afterwards.

Saturday rolled around, and I followed by rolling out of bed shortly before noon. Savannah and I had a lot of reading to do, so we hit the books for about an hour before we realized: "Pineau." Post-sauce we started to play ping pong, but she is so bad at it that I had to stop after two rallies. Then we went for a little jaunt en vélo around the village, cruising the mean streets of Siecq for somewhere to relax, have an espresso, play dice, literally do anything that didn't involve crying infants. Instead, we ended up on a surprisingly busy autoroute and almost got run over by dozens of trucks. Grâce à Dieu we made it back safe and sound, though Savannah would like the world to know that the bike seat made her butt hurt a lot.

Two pineaux later, I found myself staring down a lamb shank while Alice recounted some anecdote about a person or inanimate object called Nana. (Recounted is a generous way to describe her storytelling capabilities.) Jean-Marie engaged me in a spirited conversation about why it was good that Jews were outcasts in the Middle Ages--Baptiste was visibly uncomfortable with the topic but, alas, could not speak--and then showed me all of his cool iPhone features. (Side note: Jean-Marie frequently referred to Apple as an orphelin. Cute stuff, JM.) After clearing the table by smashing all the plates against the wall, I finally worked up the courage to ask JM for some cognac. He instantly shushed me, looked in the direction of his wife, and loudly announced that we were going to go play billiards in the shed/shanty/house next door. Savannah, JM and I quietly tiptoed across the backyard to his opium den carrying cameras, cups, and a bottle of 100-year-old cognac. You'll just have to guess what happened next. (Either that or wait until Swag uploads the photos to Facebook.)

Both nights I had really weird dreams that involved basketball, large-scale fraud, and escaping from prison.

Today we did remarkably less than yesterday, but on this day I read more and ate more bread. I also observed my own personal Yom Kippur. In my mind.

On the ride back to Bordeaux this evening, Plume decided to get carsick and literally vomit everywhere. Fortunately (for her (him?)), Plume was not in a cage, but instead free to move about the aircraft and throw up wherever desired. We had to pull over at a gas station so 'Toinette could air out that removable thing that you put your feet on, while JM held a death grip on Plume, whispering (in French), "you are old and sick, soon we will cut you up and eat you." Nothing eventful after that. Oh, earlier, when we pulled out from Siecq, I saw a horse on the side of the road that looked like Pete Wentz.

So voilà, mesdames et messieurs. Cognac in a nutshell. Very relaxing with a subtle almond flavor. Best enjoyed room temperature in a cold, cold room. Avoid operating small machinery, such as a dartboard. Please guzzle responsibly. À la prochaine !