Ask Mémée . . .

Here in Gallargues le Montueux, a small town outside of Montpellier, everything is going well. Belle-mère is demonstratively happy to see us, while le Pacha and Beau-père are more reserved. I have already introduced le Pacha to the joys of carving a pumpkin--his smile as he pulled out its guts was priceless. Belle-mère laughed as she watched us working on it, telling the others that "The children are amusing themselves." Still, she was the first to go outside and look at the lighted Jack o'Lantern.

We have already visited Jube's grandparents, Pépé and Mémée, who have been experiencing tough times lately. Their beloved cat Clafoutis was run over by a car last week, and Pépé has to have insulin injections every day from a visiting nurse. Mémée is not pleased with these nurses--"They think they sprang from Jupiter's thigh!"--and even less with Pépé's dietary restrictions (no salt, no sugar, low-fat). She feeds him her pie crusts ("it's just the edge!") and "doesn't notice" when he sneaks slices of her salty bread.

Mémée is also the originator of many interesting phrases (like the cuisse de Jupiter I mentioned earlier). She informed us that her priest had told her that the sin of gluttony did not include "the appreciation of good things." It's only when you eat too much and make yourself sick that it is a sin. She then told us that "the fat priests are the best."

Earlier we had been talking about Spanish tortillas. They are traditionally made with potatoes and eggs, have nothing to do with Mexican tortillas and everything to do with French omelettes. Belle-mère wondered aloud why they are called tortillas. Mémée answered matter-of-factly, "Well, they can't call them omeletas, can they?"