I need some eggs so I drop by the neighborhood whole food store. I spy some potatoes and rocket greens and grab those as well. I'm at the checkout, located next to the cheese counter. I can't help but look. And what do I see? Since I'm in Germany: deutscher Käse.
But at the edge, almost hiding, were it not blushing so to speak, was L'amour rouge d'Antoine. How can I, a French student in earnest, pass up Antoine's red-hot love? The name is French but I see that the cheese is indeed made in Germany. "Ich nehme Antoine," I say and add Anton's (as the Germans actually do call him) love to my purchases.
The smiling cashier looks at me and asks if I'm French. Hmm, I wonder to myself, is THAT cheese French? I nod no but smile back pretty pleased that at least he's mistaken me for a Französin. Is it because of my Japanese Onitsuka Tiger shoes that I got in Nice? Because that's the only remotely "French" thing I'm wearing or have on me at that moment. I'll never know the reason because he's suddenly speechless and blushing himself when I ask, "Why, are the French really loyal to their cheeses?"
"Tschüss," he says his polite goodbye and I happily skip out the door with my French goodbye, "Au revoir!"
Maybe I make a better French impression the less I say in Français?
La photo: Merci monsieur_foufou. À Ubud, Indonésie. Septembre 2006.
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