The Favoured, The Fair and Ms. Vérité Claire

12 Twist and Turns (part 2)

It seemed another unfair judgement on Anita, but seeing how Nina was nursing a fairly serious wound, Julia opted not to point it out.

Nina looked at Julia's bikini and said, "Sweetie, not the lime." Julia preferred the yellow one anyway. "We're having supper at the Verre D'Hiver tonight," she said, exaggerating her small stomach with an exhale. "The whole terrace is reserved for a few tables. Heated of course. Ever have raclette before?"

"No."

"It's similar to fondue only you scrape the cheese off the wheel with a hot knife and you drink the kirsch. Remember what I look like in this suit now. It won't look like this tomorrow."

******

To the envy of many of the New Year's Eve revellers, the maître d' of the Verre D'Hiver delivered the Aster party to the formal dining terrace overlooking a winter wonderland which included sculptures from the day's ice carving showcase and, slightly further away, the seasonal highlight of a giant illuminated ice maze. The terrace too was decorated with ice figures cavorting daringly close the umbrella topped heat lamps encircling three reserved banquet tables. Julia thought their own table, prepared already with plates of meats and breads and veggies alongside various blocks of cheese and heating implements for the raclette knives, looked something out of Norse folklore.

They took their seats. Orson had pulled out a chair for Julia between Brom and himself. Brom paused before sitting, perhaps to give Orson a chance to change his mind. "This is familiar," he mumbled quietly to Julia. "I thought I said dim-sum." Julia smiled, uncomfortable, while Orson pretended not to have heard.

The area was warm enough that Julia could do without her powder blue winter coat, but also warm enough that an ice statue of a rather grotesque looking jester was melting from its hook nose and dripping onto Julia's white faux fur collar. She adjusted her chair and remarked, "I wonder why it is the French love clowns so much."

"I don't know if they love clowns so much as irony," Orson said.

Anita giggled into her wine glass.

"Are you saying the French don't have a sense of humour?" Don asked.

"I think they like the duality of comic tragedy."

"What's more tragic than an English clown slipping on a banana peel?"

"Zat no one sinks about ze poor little banane?" Brom suggested.

"Is that why they're Les Miz?" Anita asked.

"That was about the revolution," Nina said tersely, seemingly unable to believe it needed to be explained. "Who's happy during a revolution?"

Anita shrugged. "Clowns?"

"Maybe this sculpture is here to say only fools celebrate the passage of time," Don said wistfully and raised his glass. "Happy New Year. May we live to regret it."  The toast was returned and the meal properly commenced.

"What I'd like to know is how the French developed a love of horsemeat," said Brom. "Do you know how many restaurants here have it on the menu?"

"It's repulsive," Nina said, inhaling a cracker dripping with caviar.

"I'll tell you," Donald said, "I've eaten kangaroo, alligator, seal and reindeer. There's a reason we stick to chicken and beef."

"Men are hilarious. If they can't digest it or get it pregnant then God made a mistake," Nina snorted.

"Not at all!" Donald laughed good naturedly. "I'm just saying our ancestors did the work for us."

"Eating horse is a betrayal," Orson said sternly. "Like eating dog. After all they've done to help those ancestors, it's unforgivable."