While biking along a river on a quintessential French road, we passed a giant ice cream cone. It was set back from the road, and though Tony missed it, I didn't.
It was winter, though a mild winter, and supposedly French people don't eat ice cream in the winter. However, Americans do. At least these Americans.
Having witnessed the superiority of French baked goods over American baked goods, I believed the ice cream would also be superior at this little crêperie on a quiet French lane.
But each time we biked this pleasant road, the crêperie was closed. My craving for French ice cream multiplied each time we rode by.
And then one day, voila! It was open.
We had previously walked into a boulangerie that advertised glace or ice cream, and when we walked in and asked for ice cream, the woman behind the counter just shook her head. We'd obviously had made a French faux pas.
So when Chez Zoe's (the little créperie with the giant ice cream) was open, we were a little hesitant to ask for ice cream. I waited outside with the unlocked bikes, and while arguing who would be brave enough to ask for ice cream, it was decided Tony's better French would have greater sway. He stepped inside and did the unthinkable.
They had ice cream! They usually didn't serve ice cream in the winter, but for us they would. Tony exited with a double cone and we stood at the little green table and shared bites of another incredibly yummy French palette pleaser.
The moment was sweet.
We vowed to return, and one night, walked the 45 minutes to Chez Zoe for dinner.
It was closed.
When we road our bikes past Chez Zoe, we always stopped to see if it was open. Soon a note appeared in the door window. Closed because of illness. Opening in two weeks.
Two weeks passed and Chez Zoe was still closed.
And then a pandemic and the closing of all restaurants in France.
I left France knowing I would never have a meal at the little crêperie on the quiet lane along the river.
Truly, one of my saddest regrets.
Now, with Tony's imminent departure, with only 12 days left of French culinary experiences left, he has taken to calling Chez Zoe's to find out if they will be open with the nationwide June 2nd reopening of all French restaurants. What a famine it has been.
Madame Zoe answered the phone and was sorry to inform Tony that no, she would not be opening until fall due to construction. "She remembered us well though, as the Americans who wanted ice cream even though it was winter."
When restaurants closed to in-house dining but allowed take-out, Tony was an appreciated regular; when he called, the proprietor would say, "Allo Toneeee." He even got a free drink one day from the kebab place because "Your wife taught my family English."
Au revoir France. Il t'aime.
It was winter, though a mild winter, and supposedly French people don't eat ice cream in the winter. However, Americans do. At least these Americans.
Having witnessed the superiority of French baked goods over American baked goods, I believed the ice cream would also be superior at this little crêperie on a quiet French lane.
But each time we biked this pleasant road, the crêperie was closed. My craving for French ice cream multiplied each time we rode by.
And then one day, voila! It was open.
We had previously walked into a boulangerie that advertised glace or ice cream, and when we walked in and asked for ice cream, the woman behind the counter just shook her head. We'd obviously had made a French faux pas.
So when Chez Zoe's (the little créperie with the giant ice cream) was open, we were a little hesitant to ask for ice cream. I waited outside with the unlocked bikes, and while arguing who would be brave enough to ask for ice cream, it was decided Tony's better French would have greater sway. He stepped inside and did the unthinkable.
They had ice cream! They usually didn't serve ice cream in the winter, but for us they would. Tony exited with a double cone and we stood at the little green table and shared bites of another incredibly yummy French palette pleaser.
The moment was sweet.
We vowed to return, and one night, walked the 45 minutes to Chez Zoe for dinner.
It was closed.
When we road our bikes past Chez Zoe, we always stopped to see if it was open. Soon a note appeared in the door window. Closed because of illness. Opening in two weeks.
Two weeks passed and Chez Zoe was still closed.
And then a pandemic and the closing of all restaurants in France.
I left France knowing I would never have a meal at the little crêperie on the quiet lane along the river.
Truly, one of my saddest regrets.
Now, with Tony's imminent departure, with only 12 days left of French culinary experiences left, he has taken to calling Chez Zoe's to find out if they will be open with the nationwide June 2nd reopening of all French restaurants. What a famine it has been.
Madame Zoe answered the phone and was sorry to inform Tony that no, she would not be opening until fall due to construction. "She remembered us well though, as the Americans who wanted ice cream even though it was winter."
~~
It turns out Tony is and will be remembered in Niort France for at least a little while. Shortly after our arrival, we learned the small town of Niort rarely saw Americans and no one knew of Americans who lived there. When we spoke, people guessed we were from England, even though we lacked a British accent.When restaurants closed to in-house dining but allowed take-out, Tony was an appreciated regular; when he called, the proprietor would say, "Allo Toneeee." He even got a free drink one day from the kebab place because "Your wife taught my family English."
Au revoir France. Il t'aime.
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