Here’s Martial, who is often to be found opening a bottle of wine for his many friends. Sometimes he opens the WRONG bottle of wine (like a 1991 Vougeot) and makes boeuf bourgignon with it and invites you over to share in his mistake.
I don’t think there is any point to me trying to make beouf bourgignons in the future. Nothing will match that one. Ever.
And here are my dear, dear copines Charlotte and Isabelle. Kinda like Carrie’s Miranda, Samatha, and Charlotte…except they’re French, of course. They’re also much better cooks, and don’t have as many (in fact any) Manholo Blahniks.
I would so love to be able to have one of our café‘s again. *gallic sigh*
And then here are two of my surrogate French sons – Gabin and Eloi.
And two of my surrogate French daughters – Capucine and Alix.
And Mauhault, Franck’s goddaughter, with the bluest eyes you have ever seen.
And there are more people I would like to cram in Franck’s suitcase although he didn’t take photos of everybody – members of his family, Arthur, Marc-Olivier, etc. etc. etc.
Somebody really has to get working on that Star Trek tele-transportation technology. I mean, we can send a man to the moon, why can’t we send someone instantly from France to Canada?