As a speaker of English, lover of languages and wearer of berets, I still find French confounding. Call me gauche, but it annoys me beaucoup when English raconteurs use French cliches. That’s why I only look at Vogue for the couture — the writing is so bourgeois, using French words a-gogo. Forget your pied-à-terre or somebody’s nom de guerre. Or pis-aller, parking under the porte-cochère.
I will concede, however, that pamplemousse is a pretty awesome word that’s fun to say. “Pamplemousse.” See?
But if you and your clique find yourselves in the millieu of Bastille on Bishop, which starts at 6 p.m. Wednesday, July 14, feeling like poseurs without a clue of the patois, just remember: ce n’est pas grave. You’ll fit right in.
Go Oak Cliff, the soirée’s hosts, say in their reportage that several restauranteurs will go tête-à-tête in a mussels contest, vis-à-vis a muscles contest. Plus, we hear that boutique Indigo 1745 is putting together a coquettish French maid relay. Sounds like quite a rendezvous. See you there.
Also, for the above, désolé.
