Fajitas in France

It's official. I woke up to the songs of migratory birds this morning instead of cooing pigeons. Completing the picture, the sun was pouring in through the window creating the urge to get up while my eyes were vainly trying to remind the rest of my body that we needed more sleep.

Last night, Julie and Maude (Morgane's best friends) came over for dinner à la Arkansan (also known as fajitas). Periodically during my stay here I've wanted Mexican food but it hasn't been too difficult to deal with (I suppose knowing it's not readily available helps to deal with the urges). Abstaining from Mexican food is probably strange to imagine for most of you since my love affair with the cuisine is well known.

Though I was a bit skeptical of the fajitas seasoning packet we got at Monoprix, I must say it turned out very well. My first bite was unbelievable. It was like I had been in the desert and didn't realize I was dying of thirst until I got the first drink from the oasis. I was ravenous. I think I swallowed two packed tortillas before the girls even began to fold their first.

My mind was sent back to a place that seems so far away in my mind--sitting around the backyard, dinner on the grill, and drinking sweaty bottles of Bud. Memories I guess I was too afraid to dwell on for fear of the funk that they might create. To corrupt Mr. Dahl--Funk or not, a little nostalgia, now and then, is relished by the wisest men.