A little pocket of France

Last night, on the way home, we stopped in at the Citroen service park where our French translator had to pick up something. It was like stepping into a tiny pocket of France in the middle of Finland.

They were all sitting together, none of this each mechanic grabs some food stuff for the Citroen team. It's a proper family occasion. I walked in front of the dining area and suddenly 24 sets of eyes were on me. These are French men lets not forget. I felt more naked than nude.

Dessert was proferred and accepted. How do you decline a man who whispers suggestively "vous desirez un petit dessert?" Profiteroles filled with alcohol infused cream, ice cream squares set amongst blackberry coulis, a mini creme brulee. Exquisite. I was not in Finland any more Toto.

I tried to remaining charmante while I scoffed, aware of the stares of the kitchen team, the big eyelashes of one, the handlebar moustache and Michelin starred-belly of the chef.

The air was rich with please and thank you, good nights and bon soirees. If there were doors around their service area, I am sure they would have been opened for me.

We have been invited back for lunch. A pleasure for both my stomach and my femininity.