The colors of all the veggies delighted me. We spent a couple hours peeling potatoes and carrots, chopping onions and tomatoes, and blending, blending, blending. That bit of soup in the bowl was the first of about ten blender batches. Don't let its slightly odd color fool you; it was absolutely delicious, especially with a bit of crusty baguette. Edith decided, once that soup was done, that some variety would be nice, so she made tomato soup as well with her huge hoard of home-grown tomatoes.
Meanwhile, I decided to make an autumn American delicacy for dessert: Smores.
Fancy ones. The French don't have straight up graham crackers, of course, but these nice flat biscuits are lightly flavored with cinnamon, so they worked just fine. Edith had bought some strawberry marshmallow fluff, so this afternoon I raided her chocolate collection and assembled the smores with milk chocolate chips, pieces of dark Lindt, and marzipan Milka. The French would obviously turn their noses up at our waxy excuse for chocolate (Hershey's), so the old standby was nowhere to be found.
During the post-entree cheese course, I popped the little beauties in the oven for a quick melt and then arranged them tastefully on a square plate. For being what they were, they looked pretty high class, I must say. All of them were devoured, and they appeared to be finger-kissing good. Though apprehensive about the strawberry flavor, I too found them delectable.
But I have go back to the cheese for a moment. There was a cheese so horridly rancid that I shuddered a little bit. It was like the foot odor of a hobo who wears Ziplocs for socks. I have eaten several things which I found distasteful while in France, just for the sake of really experiencing the culture, but that cheese was where I drew the line. No foot fungus cheese.
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