No, we’re not going to the Notre Dame for Christmas, although it’s looking gorgeous here, all decked out in baubles and bows. We’ve been wondering what a real French Christmas would feel like, and I imagine that the Notre Dame midnight mass is the most French you can get, when it comes to Christmas. But we won’t be there, and this won’t be the year that Père Nöel will leave us a truffle in the toe of our sock.
Nor will we be at home, even though a chocolate A from Amsterdam invites me to stay in my slippers puttering in the kitchen, nibbling in alphabetic ecstasy as I cook a Christmas feast. Today at the butcher shop there were the most amazing things for Christmas, terrines of pheasant and goose , rabbit paté en croute, galantines of guinea hen and duck, tartlets of foie gras as well as whole fresh foie gras selling for 75 Euros a kilo, and even more. I should have taken notes, but all I did was buy a fat moulard duck breast and a small slice of pheasant terrine for dinner tonight, because we won’t be here for the holiday.
Instead we’ll be trying to say Bon Nadal y Feli Ani Nou! Any guesses? Right, Barcelona, where Catalan is the language, cava is the drink, and a lot of the really hot restaurants are closed for Christmas. However, I have no doubt that we’ll have a splendid time. We’ll be taking a small, slow train down the coast from Montpellier, and the scenery is said to be lovely. Ok, it is supposed to be raining the whole weekend, but forecasts are often wrong. We’ll be there for the final day of the Barcelona Christmas market on Sunday, and I can’t wait to see how it differs from a French market. If I can post from there, I will, but if not, we’ll be back in a few days, leaving plenty of time to get ready for a real French Réveillon de Saint Sylvestre celebration to ring in the nouvel an.
So au revoir, bonnes fêtes, Joyeux Noël, Merry Christmas, happy holidays, and see you soon. May this year bring you the best holiday ever, and please, since eggnog is an unheard of treat here, have an extra cup for me.