I just got home from a four hour stint in my French teacher's kitchen. My class is serving a five-course meal in the traditional French style to some parents tomorrow night, and we've been working very hard on our dessert making skills.
I love my French class. We're a fantastic bunch. We work really well together, and to be honest we're all freaking hilarious. We also love to eat. I'm rather surprised that any of the food we made today actually made it into the oven. No doubt we'll be stuffing our faces with leftover macaroons tomorrow night.
Our teacher rocks. She's from France originally, and her family still lives there. But she's completely fluent in English, so upon first meeting her you'd have no idea she hasn't lived in the U.S. her whole life. She told me once that when she's trying to remember a book she's read or a movie she's seen, she sometimes can't remember if she read or saw it in English or in French. I can only dream of getting to that level in my language studies. Madame loves our class. She makes us all kinds of food and laughs at the silly things we say during class. I like to think she really appreciates us coming over to cook because we fill her usually silent house with laughter and all sorts of bavardage.
Let's hope there isn't a tornado tomorrow. We wouldn't want all those fancy foodstuffs to go to waste.
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