Page 15 of Cowgirls Love French Kisses
Annie dissolves into giggles while the rest of us just stare.
“What’s so funny?” Étienne finally asks as Annie catches her breath.
“What’s the name of that dish again?” Her eyebrows lift, and she’s obviously holding back laughter.
“Coq au vin.”
“Bwahahaha!” She claps her hands over her mouth, but it’s too late. We join in, just now realizing how ridiculous the dish sounds in English.
Annie's gaze then lands on the dish in front of Gilles, which looks simpler but no less intriguing. “That'sratatouille,” Gilles explains. “Vegetables simmered together until they're just this side of heaven.”
“Oh please, I know ratatouille, but it’s never smelled likethatbefore.” She straightens her back. “I mean that in a good way.”
“Et voilà,” the waiter says as he places theboeuf bourguignonin front of Annie.
“Hold your horses,” she says as she inhales deeply over the stew. “This smells incredible, but I know this dish. It’s Beef Stroganoff!”
The rest of us groan.
Clément leans in conspiratorially as he prepares his tall tale. “You know, Annie,” he begins, swirling his wine with an air of mock solemnity, “this dish you call 'Beef Stroganoff,' it is a poor stand-in for the real dish,boeuf bourguignon.”
Annie raises an eyebrow, her fork pausing mid-air. “Is that so?”
“Oh yes,” Clément nods sagely. “That's a common misconception. In truth, it was always a French creation. Originallyboeuf bourguignon, the legend has it, it was renamed after a French chef who served the Stroganov family in 19thcentury Russia. He made a variation of it for a contest, and somehow it overtook the world! But I assure you, you are going to loveboeuf bourguignon.”
“Well, I'll be,” she says, playing along. “Beef Stroganoff is not what I thought it was. And what if I told you that the Eiffel Tower was originally a Texan oil rig?”
Clément gives a dramatic gasp. “How did you know? That's top secret historical information!” The table erupts into a fresh round of chuckles, and even the waiter cracks a smile.
Étienne raises a glass. “To new friends.”
“To new friends,” we reply.
“Wait, wait!” Gilles holds out his hand to Annie, who is about to sip.
“Huh?” Her lips are millimeters from the rim.
“In France we must toast everyone, looking each other in the eye, and not crossing the arms of another as we pass.”
Annie cocks her head. “Are you serious? Or is this the ‘make fun of the foreigner’ moment?”
“It’s true,” I whisper in her ear. “Santé.” Our glasses clink and I turn to my friends, one at a time. “Santé, santé, santé.”
“Santé.”
“Well, I’ll be.” Annie makes intentional eye contact with Gilles. “Santehhhhhhh.”
We dive in, the flavors burst across my tongue.
The friendly jibes continue, with Étienne leaning across the table. “So Annie, did you get lost on the way to the Louvre and end up back with Mathieu?”
I give Étienne a look that could kill, but he seems to have missed it entirely. His eyes laugh as they remain fixed on Annie.
“The Louvre could wait, I needed a nap!”
The atmosphere is light, and Annie's laughter is the melody that ties it all together.
“And how do you find the city? Besides the passport thieving, of course,” Gilles asks with a tone of gentle humor.
