This week has been really hectic for me at work because my team is hosting a workshop and software validation session here in Méru. Our colleagues from Germany and the US flew in, we locked ourselves into a few conference rooms, and hammered out the first round of testing on the new release of the software.
Anyway, that stuff is boring, but the best part about workshops is always the group dinner.
On Wednesday we met in a small village about 20 minutes from Méru at a restaurant called Ratapoil, which means “naked rat”. It’s a really unusual place, with mannequins in the garden, comics painted on the front gate, and glass flowers hanging from the ceiling. And my favorite part, the animatronic artist.
Apparently the artist Honoré Daumier used to live in that building in the late 1800’s, and to commemorate him the restaurant owners had an animatronic replica made. So in the corner of the restaurant sits this life-like plastic man who occasionally leans forward and draws pictures. And he’s good! He drew me a picture of Don Quixote during my last visit. It’s a little creepy, but fascinating.
The menu was equally interesting, with such delicacies as lamb’s head, veal’s head, and rognon blanc, or sheep testicles. Oh no, I’m not kidding. Testicles.
My colleague Hervé, a French guy, of course, ordered the rognon blanc, and when his meal arrived he challenged me to try it. And I did. It tasted like kidney, which isn’t a good taste. The guy sitting next to me said, "Well there’s a good way to scare off a date". But at least I tried it, and it made for a good story to tell Dave that night.
Later in the evening we were discussing famous writers and the name Emile Zola came up. I asked, “Who’s Emile Zola?”
There was a fair amount of discussion in French, then Dominique announced “Les Miserables.”
Then he realized, “No no, that’s Victor Hugo”.
More French chattering, and I thought we were done talking about it and started mentally wandering into another conversation. A few minutes later they must have reached a conclusion and I heard “Raisins de….” Hervé leaned forward and said to me “Raisins of Anger”.
I said “What are you talking about?”
He said “It’s a very famous book. ‘Raisins of Anger’. Don't you know it? No wait…Grapes of Anger.”
I said, “Grapes of Wrath”?
YES! They all said triumphantly. What’s a "wrath" anyway?
No, I said, that’s John Steinback.
They gave up. But apparently Emile Zola is a very famous French writer.
Anyway, that stuff is boring, but the best part about workshops is always the group dinner.
On Wednesday we met in a small village about 20 minutes from Méru at a restaurant called Ratapoil, which means “naked rat”. It’s a really unusual place, with mannequins in the garden, comics painted on the front gate, and glass flowers hanging from the ceiling. And my favorite part, the animatronic artist.
Apparently the artist Honoré Daumier used to live in that building in the late 1800’s, and to commemorate him the restaurant owners had an animatronic replica made. So in the corner of the restaurant sits this life-like plastic man who occasionally leans forward and draws pictures. And he’s good! He drew me a picture of Don Quixote during my last visit. It’s a little creepy, but fascinating.
The menu was equally interesting, with such delicacies as lamb’s head, veal’s head, and rognon blanc, or sheep testicles. Oh no, I’m not kidding. Testicles.
My colleague Hervé, a French guy, of course, ordered the rognon blanc, and when his meal arrived he challenged me to try it. And I did. It tasted like kidney, which isn’t a good taste. The guy sitting next to me said, "Well there’s a good way to scare off a date". But at least I tried it, and it made for a good story to tell Dave that night.
Later in the evening we were discussing famous writers and the name Emile Zola came up. I asked, “Who’s Emile Zola?”
There was a fair amount of discussion in French, then Dominique announced “Les Miserables.”
Then he realized, “No no, that’s Victor Hugo”.
More French chattering, and I thought we were done talking about it and started mentally wandering into another conversation. A few minutes later they must have reached a conclusion and I heard “Raisins de….” Hervé leaned forward and said to me “Raisins of Anger”.
I said “What are you talking about?”
He said “It’s a very famous book. ‘Raisins of Anger’. Don't you know it? No wait…Grapes of Anger.”
I said, “Grapes of Wrath”?
YES! They all said triumphantly. What’s a "wrath" anyway?
No, I said, that’s John Steinback.
They gave up. But apparently Emile Zola is a very famous French writer.
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