Too much French is bad for the brain.

Friday eve, Darin and I had dinner with some friends in Grenoble. It was dumping snow as we arrived in this metropolitan town which is about 1 hour south of us. While we were lost and trying to find our way to our meeting place, we drove by an area that had (more or less) 20 pizzerias next door to each other. How do they all stay in business, I wonder? Darin tells me it's the mafia that keeps them in business.

Saturday, we helped one of D's friends move from her studio apartment to her new home. Her mom cooked lunch for all the friends who helped. Carrying those 3 - 4 boxes to and from a car was worth the banquet. The mom cooked tartiflette which is a dish typical of this region and is made up of potatoes au gratin, cheese, and cream...no pork though that is typically included in the dish. We also had some of the best goat cheese I have ever had. I wanted to devour the entire block right then and there, but decided to share it with everyone else. I think I might have to start purchasing cheese from the local fromageries so that I can continue experiencing some more of these amazing French cheeses. She also served homemade chocolate mousse which was to-die-for. I let D's friend's boyfriend lick the bowl though I was dying to do it myself.

So for about 20 hours, I was surrounded by people speaking French (some people gave me a break and spoke some English with me) and I would sit there listening very intently trying to understand as much as possible. By the end of the afternoon, I was drained and ready for a nap. It's hard work, I tell you!