that an expat Frenchman living in London or Glasgow would soon drop the habit in favour of more robust tasting liquor, given the dour climate. However, he should be warned that if taken in the same manner and at the same intervals as a Provençal pastis, this would mark him out as somewhat louche.
As the afternoon slowly progresses, the village bells toll. The sound travels across the valley to inform the populace that something might have happened somewhere to someone at some time, but the exact details are unknown as is the time of the ringing. Normally they would punctuate the quarter hour, but in Caromb such attention to frequency is somewhat lax. The bell rings when whoever is in charge feels like it. It might ring to tell the cafe owner that it is pastis time again. This is as exciting as it gets in the afternoon heat in Caromb. There are no holiday villas, hotels and leisure parks, nothing to suggest that people come here for a holiday. No museum. A crow flies overhead and squawks, a fly buzzes, a delivery van trundles up the main street, the ‘Cours de la République’. A good village funeral will get the populace out, as will a wine market with saucisson. Otherwise the pace of life drifts by in slow motion, with only one’s inner gastronomic physiology as guide to the passing of hours. Sun dials are too flashy and accurate in the afternoon heat.
Apèritifs The cafe awning flutters gently in the hot early evening breeze. Pavement tables are being wiped down and chairs rearranged after each customer. The waiter scurries around asking for orders while clearing up. Two common phrases are “vous avez choisi?” “Je vous écoute” - “you’ve chosen?” and “I hear you”. Sometimes it is merely ‘Monsieur?’. Be patient. Remember you are not standing in a queue at the bar waiting to catch the barman’s eye. You
A DAY IN PROVINCE - BENNY GOODMAN
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