PANDEMIC DIARY

POOH LA LA!

November 5, 2020

While writing my October 28 blog post, “Because I remember”, I forgot. I forgot to include a memory that makes me laugh every time I think of it…except I forgot to include it. The nice thing abut blogging is that I can clean up an oversight by writing about it. And, this demands its own space. Problem solved.

It took place in France. Adele and I were in Dordogne. We had a house for a month near the village of Sarlat. The Dordogne, a department in the Southwest of France, is sometimes referred to as “le Perigueux” after its most famous town, Perigord. That should give you a hint as to what the Dordogne is famous for: truffles; pate de foie gras; duck and goose; and walnuts. The French also know it as the most stalwartly traditional region in France. When you are in Dordogne, you eat as a Dordognian. This is a hearty, rustic, authentic area whose heritage is reflected in the food, topography and its people. Let us not forget fairy-tale castles and grandly majestic chateaus, often hidden by morning mist that sits upon the turrets and towers like frail, wafting cotton puffs flowing down the Dordogne river.

To further pursue and absorb the regional customs and pleasures, I made a reservation at a restaurant on a most picturesque canal in a small, nearby village. Located in a historic building, the dining room was decorous yet not staid - a balance of propriety and a casual air. We were greeted graciously and brought to our table overlooking the waterway and seated.

The waitstaff was clad in one of the many service outfits typically associated with French waiters, as you see in the picture below.

The menus and wine list were presented for our examination and the waiter departed to allow us time to review the menu. When he returned it was with pen and pad in hand ready to discuss preferences, answer any questions and take our order. Our waiter was young and conversational with halting English and heavily French-accented. Still, he communicated well, was prepared to respond to our inquiries being thoroughly familiar with the menu’s offerings and seeing that we were prepared to order lifted and readied his pad and pen for us to convey our evening’s culinary selections.

However, before we could articulate our choices, the young man, deadpan and enigmatically took two steps back from the table, and while still facing us, let out,

“BRRRFFFFFPPPPPPHHT”

a rip-roaring fart. And, then, as if time stood still for those seconds, the waiter stepped back to the table with the same non-expression, pad and pen on the ready, and stood there…waiting to take our order. The waiter was so surprisingly casual upon his return, uncannily poised, and totally self-forgiving, like someone with crime-related amnesia, that we, too, simply went with the ‘pooh’ and placed our order.

Never had we needed to refrain so wholeheartedly from laughing at a truly comical moment. That we didn’t break into fits of hysterical laughter was testimony to the young man’s poise, so seamless was he in the execution of his duties. Dinner over, we paid our bill, thanked the staff and bid farewell. The moment we stepped out onto the street, Adele and I peed in our pants with laughter.