Thanks to Saint Sylvester
Saint Sylvester was the 33rd pope of Rome who maybe did a few things worth remembering but none, I'll wager, as great as arranging to die on 31st December. Combine the celebration of a Saints Day with the old Roman tradition of eating as much as possible just before the beginning of a New Year (to bring good fortune in the coming year) and you have as good a reason as any as to why, for the fourth year running, we were to be found in the Salle de Fetes with 200 other revellers this New Year's Eve.
If there is a commune in France that knows how to enjoy an evening with quite as much esprit de corps, savoir-faire and joie de vivre then lead me to it. Aperitifs are served between 8 and 9. Dinner's eight courses begin around 9.30 and the last course is served somewhere between midnight and 1am. This year, after foie gras we ate scallops, wild boar, duck breast with morelles and flambeed fruit kebabs. Dancing continues until the morning with soup brought out for those still standing at about 4.30am.
This year the theme was Asterix and the hall was suitably decorated with trees, woodland scenes and gauls with a huge pot of magic potion (that would be Pousse Rapier, the local aperitif) on the stage and allcomers from three years of age to the very elderly took part together in a great evening of jollity, dancing, singing, eating, drinking and the obligatory hugging and kissing as the hour struck. You are left wondering how it is possible for so many people to have such a great time without any signs of drunkeness, fighting, vomiting, falling asleep or gendarme appearances. But you have my word on it, it is possible as we have seen for the fourth time running. There is always plenty of alcoholic drink on the table; they are topped up with wine during dinner, a seriously alcoholic 'eau de vie' appears with a little lemon sorbet plopped inside, then there is 'fizz' of a good type and armagnac to finish.
The French here don't seem to have learnt yet that the only way to have a really good time is to get blindingly paralytic, fall under the table and forget everything that had happened by the next morning.
Long may it last.
If there is a commune in France that knows how to enjoy an evening with quite as much esprit de corps, savoir-faire and joie de vivre then lead me to it. Aperitifs are served between 8 and 9. Dinner's eight courses begin around 9.30 and the last course is served somewhere between midnight and 1am. This year, after foie gras we ate scallops, wild boar, duck breast with morelles and flambeed fruit kebabs. Dancing continues until the morning with soup brought out for those still standing at about 4.30am.
This year the theme was Asterix and the hall was suitably decorated with trees, woodland scenes and gauls with a huge pot of magic potion (that would be Pousse Rapier, the local aperitif) on the stage and allcomers from three years of age to the very elderly took part together in a great evening of jollity, dancing, singing, eating, drinking and the obligatory hugging and kissing as the hour struck. You are left wondering how it is possible for so many people to have such a great time without any signs of drunkeness, fighting, vomiting, falling asleep or gendarme appearances. But you have my word on it, it is possible as we have seen for the fourth time running. There is always plenty of alcoholic drink on the table; they are topped up with wine during dinner, a seriously alcoholic 'eau de vie' appears with a little lemon sorbet plopped inside, then there is 'fizz' of a good type and armagnac to finish.
The French here don't seem to have learnt yet that the only way to have a really good time is to get blindingly paralytic, fall under the table and forget everything that had happened by the next morning.
Long may it last.
posted by Fran Nustedt at
2:51 AM
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