It's Me, Sara Louise

This is the story of how we spent the first Friday of fall.

Gregory had the day off work which is always nice but having the day off on a Friday is super nice. We didn’t do anything particularly fall like, there was no sipping of pumpkin lattes while going on a hay ride to an apple orchard to pick bushels before stuffing our faces with sugared donuts and apple cider because this is France, and that doesn’t happen here (although the most amazing montage of Gregory, Fifty and I frolicking through crisp fall leaves while a golden sunset glowed behind us just played in my head and it was lovely).

We did however go for an extra long walk. It’s still warm out, but not so hot that an extra long walk feels torturous. Right now the weather is just right (just right for fall anyway, if it was still summer it would be pure poppycock) and except for the occasional gun shot heard in the distance (hunting season), it was almost perfect.

Although I did find myself giving the stink eye to abandoned old barns and houses along the way because the beginning of fall marks the return of the Nazi Ghost Zombies. They seem to disappear during the summer (I don’t think they like tourists very much) but always return when the temperature dips and the days grow shorter. Fifty and I decided to pick up our pace as we walked home while Gregory lollygagged behind us (he still isn’t a Nazi Ghost Zombie believer… Fifty and I know better).

Gregory decided to make a chocolate flan. He fancies himself a dessert maker and while the gesture is sweet and always appreciated the mess that is left behind is not. This time it was burnt milk all over the glass top stove. Oh Gregory.

I popped open a bottle of Cabernet, one of my ‘fall’ wines (and winter too) and busied myself in the kitchen making a Southwest Skillet Ragu because a southwest skillet ragu seemed like the type of thing one should eat on a first fall Friday. Of course they don’t sell cheddar in my local épicerie, so I looked for Cantal, a decent French substitute but this being Provence and not Auvergne meant that, that too was a no go so I decided that Parmesan would just have to do and it did.

Busying myself in the kitchen preparing a meal is one of my happy places. I’m always quite content chopping and sauteing and the first fall Friday was no different, no different that is until the grossest of the grossest thing happened… I picked up my garlic, which to be honest didn’t look as fresh as it should but since l’épicerie was due to close any second, decided to use it anyway. I sliced into a bulb, cutting off a bit on the side that looked a little blech and a teeny tiny worm crawled out of it. A TEENY TINY WORM! It slithered across my cutting board while I screamed bloody murder until Gregory came and dispatched of it and any sign of that not-so-fresh garlic (NOTE TO SELF: only the freshest of the fresh garlic bulbs in this house from now on). Then I popped over to my lovely neighbor and borrowed a bulb from her (nice neighbors are one of life’s greatest gifts I think). 

Since I had been left traumatized by that teeny tiny worm, it was only fair that I got to pick out the movie for first fall Friday movie night (despite Fifty insisting on this one) and that’s how we ended up watching You’ve Got Mail, which let’s be honest, is pretty much the epitome of fall movie choices. After a couple of hours of Kathleen Kelly, Joe Fox, and bouquet of freshly sharpened pencils, I was no longer crying over spilled milk or grossed out by teeny tiny worms. The end.