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PAGE 8, AUGUST 18, 2008, THE ISLANDER
n
Dam Barry.
The blue plate special
What lies ahead for the European
Union? This question is very much
on the minds of concerned journal
ists looking for a way to take a
tax-deductible vacation abroad. For
this reason, I recently spent several
weeks assessing the mood in a broad
cross-section of Europe, ranging all
the way from Paris, France, to sev
eral other parts of France.
I would say, based on this trip,
that the biggest problem facing
Europe today is that everything over
there is hard to pronounce. Even the
word "France" is pronounced as a dif
ferent word entirely ("Fwonce"). But
basically the mood of Europe is good,
except when you order your food
incorrectly, in which case Europe can
get snippy. My family and I expe
rienced this personally at a cafe in
Paris called Le Mistral (French for
"The Snotty Attitude"), where we
offended the waiter by committing
the unforgivable blunder of existing.
To make matters worse, when the
waiter, after ignoring us for 15 min
utes, reluctantly came to our table,
I made the horrific faux pas (liter
ally, "hors d'oeuvre") of attempting
to order my food before I ordered
my drink, if you can possibly imag
ine anything so gauche (French for
"American").
The waiter was so offended that-I
am not making this up-he tore up his
order slip, spun around and walked
away in what the French call "une
huffe." So we went to another cafe,
where the waiter was very nice, and
where we wrote, in what we hoped
was French, a letter of complaint to
the Le Mistral management.
After our meal, we marched back
into Le Mistral, where I handed the
letter to the manager, who read it
and handed it to the snotty waiter,
who also read it. The three of us then
had an argument. Unfortunately, we
conducted it in French, which I have
not studied since the 1960s. If you
translated this argument into Eng
lish, it would probably go something
like:
MANAGER: What is the prob
lem?
ME (pointing at the waiter ): There
is a duck in your elevator.
WAITER: I do not know what you
are talking about!
ME (forcefully): Give me the fish
of my uncle!
After several minutes of this, we
marched back out, proud of having
made our point. Meanwhile, back in
Le Mistral, they probably laughed
until tears fell into the bouillabaisse,
and vowed to be even ruder to Ameri
can tourists, in hopes of generating
more linguistic comedy entertain-
By Dave Barry
ment.
I found the European mood to
be mellower in Provence (French
for "Province"), an extremely pictur
esque sector of southern France filled
with picturesque houses and fields
and little picturesque towns con
nected by winding roads upon which
the French whiz around at speeds
upwards of 17 million kilograms per
hour in cute French cars the size of
an Altoids tin.
Provence was once occupied by the
Romans, who built picturesque ruins
until their empire collapsed as a
result of eating too much cheese. The
same thing happened to us. We con
sumed cheese by the metric ton. We
bought it at open-air markets, which
are held in certain towns on certain
days. The rest of the time, France is
closed. (You think I'm joking.)
On market day, all the residents
of Provence get into their Altoidsmo-
biles and whiz to the same town,
where they form a massive traffic jam
and park in every conceivable place,
including on top of other cars. Then
they walk around the market and
buy delicious, inexpensive cheeses,
sausages, breads, pastries, candies
and other delicacies. Then they go
home and throw all the food away. At
least that's what I assume they do,
because, despite living in Cholesterol
World, they're all thin. The entire
population of France weighs less than
a standard American softball team.
But we tourists, not knowing the
local customs, actually ate the food.
Our schedule was: Eat, sleep, then
go to the market again. Eventually,
we had to tie our French rental car
to a post so it couldn't flee when our
bloated bodies lumbered toward it.
In conclusion, the European Union
is an important issue that everyone
should care about. I urge you to go
over there and assess it for yourself.
If you happen to eat at Le Mistral,
and you happen to see a waiter who
looks like a ferret with a mustache,
and you happen to speak French, tell
him, for me, that he has a duck in his
elevator.
This classic DAVE BARRY column
was originally published July 1, 2001. (C)
2008 The Miami Herald. Dist. by Tribune
Media Services. Dave Barry is a humor
columnist for the Miami Herald. Write
to him do Tropic Magazine, The Miami
Herald, One Herald Plaza, Miami FL
33132) □
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