Tuesday, April 18, 2006


We were late making a reservation for lunch on Easter Sunday, but one of best local village restaurants was able to offer us a table outside. We ignored the weather forecast and were rewarded with a beautiful spring day. We did not, however, share the restaurant with French families celebrating the holiday: only one of the sixty or so patrons present was apparently French, the remainder being undeniably British. It's not that French provincial families rarely eat out (although that's generally true), it's that the Brits "discover" a restaurant and then all their friends pile in. The French then move on, which means that once a restaurant pleases ex-pats, it is virtually obliged to cater to the new clientele to survive. Fortunately for French cuisine, the Brits have not flooded into the Lot as they have in Dordogneshire and the English menu is still a comparative rarity.


Blogger Libby said...

I walked by the house the new Brits in our little commune just purchased . . .the first of that race to infiltrate our valley. I invited them over for aperitifs, and a light dinner . . . they didn't show up until ten pm . . .the woman had fallen in her garden and broken her leg . . . I sent food home with them . . . after visiting a Montana sheep ranch, I can happily report that Blanche is not OBESE!

10:09 PM  

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