Gary Coleman forever a fixture at Cannes?
Watchu talkin’ about, Willis?
Turns out the diminutive actor, who died today at age 42, has been looming large in one of the great film cities of the world for some time.
You can find this depiction of him near the train station in the heart of Cannes, just steps away from where the film festival takes place every year.
It may be comforting for his fans to know that for years to come, as the Streeps and De Niros and Spielbergs of the world walk to the red carpet, Gary Coleman, with his perpetual smile, will be watching over them all.
Reader Comment – “That’s great about the “s” but what about the rest of the word? The “s” was the least of my worries when looking at the jumble of c’s, q’s ue’s, and yr’s.” – Grace
Well, Grace has a point.
In my last post I wrote about how the “s” in “vacqueyras” is not silent.
I neglected, though, to give an adequate explanation of how the entire word is pronounced. That’s kind of like telling someone “hey, the “g” in “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious” is soft” and leaving it at that.
So please forgive me Grace and here, just for you, is the proper way to pronounce “vacqueyras”.
va-(as in va-cuum) * cquey-(as in ke-boom)* ras-(as in Ras-tafarian)
How many times have you avoided ordering a particular wine at a restaurant because you didn’t know how to correctly pronounce it? If you’re like me, more times than you care to remember.
With that in mind I’d like to pass along a little pronunciation tidbit I picked up recently in Provence.
I had always assumed that the “s” at the end of Vacqueyras was silent because there’s no vowel after it, and of course, any hayseed with a double PHD in French would know that, right? Continue reading
It seems the Russians have finally invaded – Monaco, that is.
I recently spent a very enjoyable morning in the lobby of the Hotel de Paris in Monaco and let me tell you there may be no better spot on earth for people watching.
The Russians were in full force, the men in ill- fitting designer jeans and sweaters, greeting each other with big smiles, a quick hug and two firm slaps on the back.
The women were gorgeous, mostly demure, and decked out in the finest couture that money can buy. The weekly allowance for hair, make-up, and clothing alone for just one of these beauties would probably pay my mortgage for a year.
I’d heard so much about the Russians, how rude, loud, and unsophisticated they were, but at least at the Hotel de Paris, I found them very appealing. They seemed completely unaffected by how others perceived them, they were polite to the wait staff, and there was a gregariousness that seemed pleasantly out of place in the stuffy lobby of this Monaco institution.
So have the Russians really invaded?
If so, it may not be all that bad.
I have been attempting to eat my way through the entire country of France for some time now, so it would be perfectly reasonable for me to have a jaded, rather road weary attitude when it comes to French food, n’est pas?
Been there, done that, right?
Not exactly my friends.
After so many years I am still absolutely amazed at the quality of cuisine, service, and wines that can be found in the most unexpected places in this wonderful country.
Is there someone out there championing the cause of the country auberge, the bistrot de pays, the common man’s stomach?
If not, sign me up, I’m your guy.
Why am I on such a foodie high?
Simple. My wife and I have just dined at Le Petit Cafe in the strangely charming Provencal village of Oppede Le Vieux (that’s Peter Mayle country by the way, and if he hasn’t been here he’s really missing out).
Situated on a charming corner of what appears to be the town’s only drive-able street, Le Petit Cafe is Continue reading