Here are today's hosts of the Virtual Advent tour:
*Jane of Australia @ A String of Pearls
*Shellyrae @ Book'd Out
*Beth F @ BethFishReads
*Tiina @ A Book Blog of One's Own
*Fran @ Books and Beyond
*Michelle @ Liturgical Time
Today's special shout out of thanks goes to Jane of Australia from A String of Pearls as this is her fifth year of participating in the tour (albeit on a couple of different blogs)! Thank you for your contributions over the last 5 tours and your support Jane! Kelly and I really appreciate it!
Sharing your first Christmas with your new inlaws could be a bit nerve wracking, especially when they speak a whole other language. In Immovable Feast: A Paris Christmas, John Baxter shares his journey as an Australian who has ended up living in France, via America, and how he became responsible for cooking the perfect Christmas dinner for his extended French family. This is his account of his first French Christmas. This quote comes from page 19.
With Jean-Paul present, the meal could begin. A few minutes later, he took his place at the head of the table, and the other dozen guests arranged themselves, with me at the foot.
The marathon of Christmas dinner commenced.
I'd been warned what to expect. After the foie gras, we'd be enjoying white boudin veal sausage with fried apple, then roast pintade - or guinea fowl - a grating dauphinois of sliced potatoes baked with cheese and cream, accompanied by green beans and carrots, followed by cheese, and Francoise's twenty-five-egg mousse - each course with its wine, including champagne with the dessert.
The goose liver was delicious enough for one to spare little thought for the poor bird that produced it.We smeared it into fresh white pain,, larger brother of the more familiar baguette, washing it down with '84 Bordeaux from Madame's own cave - which was literally cave, hollowed out of the rock on which this house was built.
The women never stopped handing around plates, offering more foie gras, and returning to the kitchen for bread or cornichons. Jean-Paul exchanged a few phlegmatic words with Jean-Marie, then fell silent. From time to time he would tilt a wine bottle away from him and stare at the label, as if it might have changed miraculously into a better year.