like the All-Night Pizza-Thing Community Cooking Event. A colleague of mine has been living for about two decades in Bretigny, where they have the last of the area's communal stone ovens. For three days it is stoked with fires (Used to be only two days, but he convinced them of his idea that two was insufficient), and then the fires are alternated with tartes of brioche dough about 20cm across and bearing all kinds of good toppings. It takes all night to bake the 500 or 600 tartes, which are available immediately for sale. So if you're driving from the experiment cavern site in Cessy to your home in Ferney-Voltaire at 3am on the right Saturday... Or you just ask Dick to bring the tartes to work on Monday.And some other things in Frenchness have strangeness.
The USCMS apartment where I'm crashing is home to a singularly ugly amateur painting. As Jessica is explaining to Andrew, it was almost bad enough to be a "croute." Something about the paint being laid on so inexpertly as to develop a baguette-worthy crust. So we pushed it over the edge by allowing Kathy to apply pink pony glitter.
The ... painting ... passed the croute test by being able to hold the glitter--on the flowers, on the figures' eyes, and in the bluish part of what we took to be a sky.
I used to be unable to look at the thing. Now it makes me smile.
_Dr. S
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