Every time I write a post about going back to the original Le Petit Village, the same thing goes through my head, “I’m takin’ it back to the old school ‘Cause I’m an old fool who’s so cool“. I’m such a dork. (gold star to anyone who can tell me what song that line is from).
So yeah, a couple of Saturdays ago The Husband and I decided to meet our favorite honey farmers for an apéro and lunch in Le Petit Bar. Big Man was serving Aioli (Aioli is a traditional Provençal dish of boiled vegetables, salt cod, and homemade garlic mayonnaise).
And not only were we meeting Honey Jr. and Honey’s Honey, but Honey Jr’s rarely seen older brother, Honey B was meeting us (Honey B lives in Avignon and does not work in the family business).
Nothing says summer in Provence like pastis and a rickshaw (actually, that’s the first time I’ve ever seen a rickshaw here, it was parked outside l’épicerie and I have no idea what it was doing there, but I do know that I want it).
I learned something new on that Saturday, there is a special type of pastis called, rosé pastis that’s served in big goblets with ‘piscine‘ written across them (piscine is the French word for swimming pool). I thought for sure that I would love it, so I ordered one, took a sip and decided that rosé pastis is definitely not for me. Since we operate under the ‘waste not, want not’ philosophy, The Husband decided to finish it, and not wanting The Husband too feel weird drinking a big goblet of rosé pastis on his own (it’s not the manliest of drinks), Honey Jr. ordered one as well (now that’s friendship).
After the Aioli and some nougat ice cream for dessert (we skipped the cheese course… hold up, I just saw a pig fly by my window), Big Man set two bottles and some small glasses down on our table and walked away.
Lunch isn’t lunch in France without a digestif. And a trip to Le Petit Bar isn’t a trip to Le Petit Bar without a round of babyfoot
(apologies, you are going to be seeing A LOT of these babyfoot photos