Before Ratatouille, there was Anatole.

Although I do not yet have children, I have a good-sized collection of children’s books that grace my personal bookshelves. Some of them I acquired thanks to very fortunate connections (friends who worked in children’s publishing); some of them were gifts; some I bought for myself; and some are from my own cherished childhood collection. With a love of children’s books and a passion for all things French, one would think that I would have already met the legendary Anatole. But I hadn’t.

Several weeks ago, I had the great pleasure of enjoying lunch at the home of my friend, Joan, a retired librarian who has been introducing me to wonderful books for the past twenty years. Our lunch was an intimate affair – I thought the only guests would be me and my mother. Turns out the dining room was set to accommodate Joan, my mother, me, and an entire village of French mice. Joan made a delicious lunch of quiche and salad and savory muffins. As she finished her preparations in the kitchen and plated our food, she encouraged me to read aloud a children’s book that had been carefully placed in front of my chair on the dining room table.

The book, by Eve Titus, starts like this: "In all France there was no happier, more contented mouse than Anatole. He lived in a small mouse village near Paris with his dear wife Doucette and their charming six children – Paul and Paulette, Claude and Claudette, Georges and Georgette." I instantly fell in love with our fictitious guests!

Anatole is an honorable mouse, and when he realizes that humans are upset by mice sampling their leftovers, he is shocked! He must provide for his beloved family – but he is determined to find a dignified way to earn his supper. He goes to work at the Duvall Cheese Factory, leaving tasting notes to guide the cheesemakers in their work – "good," "not so good," "needs orange peel" - and signing his name. When workers at the Duvall factory find his notes in the morning, they are perplexed – but they realize that this mysterious Anatole has an exceptional palate and take his advice. Soon, thanks to Anatole, Duvall Cheese Factory, is making the best cheese in all of Paris! They would like to give Anatole a reward – if only they could find him…

This year marks Anatole’s 50th anniversary. And it is truly a classic, still fresh and charming and utterly delightful. I see so many possibilities for this wonderful book; I’d love to organize a reading of Anatole followed by a basic lesson in French cheeses. It would be great fun for both children and adults. Eve Titus wrote several books about the adventures of Anatole, and I cannot wait to read them all!  I thank my friend Joan for a wonderful lunch and for introducing me to a new friend. Anatole may be the smartest mouse in the world, but Joan is the sweetest woman.

As for me, I’m inspired to take a break. I think a little snack of crackers and fromage is in order…

My friends, Cheri and Elizabeth, call them "God Winks" after the similarly titled book by Squire Rushnell. I call them Signs from The Universe because I like to imagine God (or whatever you call your higher power) as a force as big as The Universe. I think the more you look for those signs of coincidence, fate, serendipity, or destiny, the more you find them. And I find them a lot. Or, when I don’t find them, The Universe wallops me over the head with them. Here’s a recent example:

Earlier this year, I wrote a blog post entitled Secrets of a French Femme Fatale. In the post I mentioned several books that promise to reveal how we can dress like French women, eat like French women, act like French women, and seduce like French women. One of those books was French Women Don’t Sleep Alone. I did not know the author; nor had I read her book. I had simply cited it as one of several titles that promised to reveal that "je ne sais quoi" that French women seem to possess in spades. Much to my surprise, not long after publishing that blog entry, I received an email from the author of French Women Don’t Sleep Alone, Jamie Cat Callan. It said: "Hello there – I’m actually writing to you because you mentioned my book "French Women Don’t Sleep Alone" on your blog and I wanted to thank you. Also, I was wondering if I could be of some help – (here she proposes a top secret plan that shall be revealed later). In any case, I love your blog and I adore the photos of you with the cake hat! xo Jamie"

Now first, let me say that I was over-the-moon excited and flattered to receive such an email! I couldn’t believe that a published author had actually read my blog, liked it, and contacted me about working together. How cool is that? Cool is exactly how I tried to play it. I replied to Jamie, saying that I was interested in the prospect of working together, but I would have to review her book first.  Jamie graciously agreed to send me a copy for review. What can I say? If you read this blog, then you know that I’m a slut for books!

I received the book, started reading it, and then went on a weekend trip to New York City. While I was there, I begged for an appointment with my friend, eyebrow guru and make-up artist to the stars, Ramy Gafni. I used to be a regular RAMY client when I lived in Manhattan. Now, I order his make-up online and try to plead my way onto his schedule whenever I’m in New York. His make-up and skin care line is fabulous, and his brow work is life altering! Every time I see him, I beg him to bring his product line down South. As per my usual routine, while he was working on me, I started working on him: "I’ll help publicize it, Ramy, I will! Last year when Karen Quinn came to Wilmington, we got newspaper and radio coverage; I’m sure we can do the same for you."

"Well, if South ‘n France does events with authors", replied Ramy, "I should put you in touch with my client, Jamie Cat Callan. She wrote a book called French Women Don’t Sleep Alone." Now, what are the chances of that? This is New York City, after all. A town of millions. For once, I was speechless. When I returned home, I was suitably recovered.  I promptly wrote an overzealous email to Jamie to tell her about the coincidence, which I interpreted as a sign that we must work together. When I didn’t hear back from her right away, I thought I’d probably scared her off with my over-enthusiastic outpouring which could easily have been interpreted as just plain crazy.

But wait – it gets better. A couple of weeks later, I sent a note to my friend and soon-to-be-published author, Joanne Tombrakos. I had just subscribed to Joanne’s fabulous blog, One Woman’s Eye, and I wanted to tell her how much I was enjoying it. Joanne responded with this reply: "Thank you, sweetie! I have been following your blog as well and am really enjoying it!! I am also thinking you should connect with a friend of mine, or at least read her new book, French Women Don’t Sleep Alone. Maybe there is something French you two could do??? Her name is Jamie Cat Callan."

Well, darlings, as far as I was concerned that wasn’t God winking at me, that was God hitting me over the head with a two-by-four! I got the message loud and clear. Jamie and I need to know one another. We need to do something fun and French-y together. So, I did what I always do. I called up Jamie and pleaded my case, "You must come to Wilmington; you must come stay with me; you must properly introduce your book to all of us G.R.I.T.S. (Girls Raised in the South for my sweet northern readers)!: Stay tuned for what happens next…

In the olden days, the toys in Cracker Jack boxes made for wonderful surprises – metal boats and airplanes, magnifying glasses, pirate eye patches, tiny figurines and secret decoder rings. Today, collectors clamor for these vintage collectibles. Sadly, by the time I was a kid, the prizes hidden in the Cracker Jack boxes were pretty lame. I mostly remember temporary tattoos and fun facts (which weren’t that fun at all). It seems that these days the prizes are even worse; this blogger wrote about receiving a puzzle piece!  Yes, that’s right; not an entire puzzle; just one little cardboard puzzle piece.

When I first went to France as a teenager, I was delighted to discover Kinder Eggs. Having grown up on Cadbury Creme eggs available only at Easter time (they were the highlight of our Easter egg hunts), I was thrilled to see that Kinder Eggs are sold year ’round. Instead of a sugary gooey center that resembles egg whites and an egg yolk, Kinder eggs are hollow. The "yolk" is a plastic capsule that contains a really cool toy prize. 

When Pascal learned about my fascination with Kinder eggs, he started buying them for me as treats, often hiding them under my pillow. To this day, some of the Kinder prizes I found in those eggs peek out from behind books on my bookshelves, reminding me of the childlike delight of receiving a treat with a cool prize, no matter what your age. Here is one person’s collection of Kinder surprises. Much better than what you find at the bottom of the Cracker Jack box, n’est-ce pas?

This Easter weekend, Pascal and I wish you lots of wonderful surprises. Whether you get bon bons, bunnies, Peeps, or at least one Cadbury egg (like me), we hope you’ll have a very sweet holiday! Don’t forget to join us at our Open House tomorrow night – we’ll have lots of fun surprises for you here, too!

At many of our parties, women ask me about our French counterparts. It seems that we Americans are intensely curious about the mysterious, secretive ways of French women. Why don’t they get fat? How do they always look so stylish? What exactly is that "je ne sais quoi" they seem to possess in spades? A quick search on Amazon.com reveals dozens of book titles that promise to reveal how we can dress like French women, eat like French women, act like French women, and seduce like French women. There is:  French Women Don’t Get Fat, French Women Don’t Sleep Alone, Entre Nous, A Woman’s Guide to Finding Her Inner French Girl, Fatale: How French Women Do It, and All You Need to Be Impossibly French: A Witty Investigation into the Lives, Lusts, and Little Secrets of French Women, just to name a few.

These blog posts at Fashion Nation and The Huffington Post are great primers on what we can learn from French femmes (they may not get fat, but you can take some comfort in the fact that the French word for ‘women’ [femmes] rhymes with ‘hams’). Although there are practical considerations (French women eat less processed foods, exercise more, eat smaller portions, etc.), it seems that the big difference between us and French women is an "état d’ésprit" or state of mind. Yves Saint Laurent said: "The most beautiful make-up on a woman is passion…" Coco Chanel said you should spray perfume "wherever you want to be kissed." 

And consider these dietary "secrets" from French Women Don’t Get Fat:
French women typically think about good things to eat. American women typically worry about bad things to eat.  In other words, French women eat for pleasure and don’t eat thinking about guilt. 

Presentation is just as important as taste; a French woman slowly savors her food using all five senses.

French women know one can go far with a great haircut, a bottle of Champagne, one rich satisfying, low-calorie chocolate bon bon, and a divine perfume.

Likewise, French women get a kick from Champagne, as an apéritif or with food, and don’t need a special occasion to open a bottle.

French women entertain at home and enjoy dining in as much as dining out.

French women know that l’amour fait maigrir (love is slimming).

French women love to sit at a cafe and do nothing but enjoy the moment.

So there you have it: just add a little more pleasure, a little more freedom, and a little more self-confidence, and you too will exude the joie de vivre of a French femme fatale.

Some of my fondest memories of growing up were the times I spent at my great Aunt Lorena’s house. Aunt Lorena always let me stay up late to watch The Johnny Carson Show with her while we ate a late-night snack together. I ate my first nachos (the kind that come in the Old El Paso kit) with her during one of my stays, and she even let me drink soda right before bed! Aunt Lorena always kept a glass of Pepsi sitting on her nightstand to enjoy as she read romance novels into the wee hours.  

While Aunt Lorena immersed herself in romance stories in her downstairs bedroom, I was in the one of the guest bedrooms upstairs reading the Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys mysteries that used to belong to my older cousins. After reading into the night, I would eventually fall asleep. I didn’t sleep in too late, though. It was too much fun to drink the ready-mixed chocolate milk Aunt Lorena kept in the fridge with my breakfast. Later, I would go upstairs to brush my teeth with Aquafresh toothpaste. That striped toothpaste was infinitely cooler than the plain white paste we used at home. While in the upstairs bathroom, I’d sit at the vanity with its electric magnifying mirror and pretend that I was the glamorous Nancy Drew.

The thrill of those mysteries still infects me on occasion. A couple of years ago, I read a book by author Ellen Elizabeth Hunter. She loves the charming historic areas of downtown Wilmington and has set several of her murder mysteries in our town: Murder at the Azalea Festival, Murder on the Ghost Walk, Murder at Wrightsville Beach and more. Now, every time I go to The Pilot House restaurant on the Cape Fear River, I think of the heroine in Murder on the Ghost Walk whose physical description is uncannily close to that of Nancy Drew.

While walking downtown recently, I stopped in at the new headquarters for Una Luna World Gallery on 226 South Front Street. Una Luna has been around for years, but they just recently set up shop in a building with lots of local history (old-timers will know it as the old Taste of Country breakfast buffet). This import company was started by two teachers looking to supplement their meager income.  The business eventually grew to a full-time venture, specializing in importing handcrafted products from Africa, Asia, and Central and South America. I met the owner, Marcus (pictured here), who really knows his stuff! As I admired baskets, artwork, purses, and home décor items, Marcus told me great stories about the people that make them, the materials they use, their techniques and their inspiration.

When he learned about my business, Marcus immediately went to find The Bon Bon Basket. The Bon Bon Basket is made from savannah grass and raffia by the women of the Chani region of Zimbabwe. "Why is it called The Bon Bon Basket", I asked. Although lovely, it certainly didn’t look the ideal way to store bon bons to me! I had finally stumped Marcus; he didn’t know. Back home, I sleuthed on the internet, but my research proved futile. So far, here are my hypotheses based on the clues I have found:
1) It has a round hole in the middle that looks like a mini bon bon. 
2) It is made with grasses that are tinted pink and brown which we all know are ideal bon bon colors. 
3) "Bon" means good and "bon bon" means doubly good. The craftsmanship on this basket is so very well done, perhaps its maker just declared it "bon bon".

Looks like I’ll be on this case for a while…

In addition to keeping regular store hours, Una Luna World Gallery supports local artists and features an artist each month with "Full Moon Fridays" (always on the Friday closest to the full moon). The event includes live music and a wine tasting. If you’re in the area, go check them out, and see if you can find more clues to solve the mystery of The Bon Bon Basket.

Our Valentines’ Dinner and a Movie Series starts today. We’re serving up a five-course meal with our favorite French-themed romantic comedies.  (The series has been sold out for weeks, but you can still join us for our next group of French movies in March.) Tonight we’ll show French Kiss; tomorrow night, Amelie; and our final movie will be Sabrina.  

For weeks now, there has been a raging debate (between Pascal and me) about whether we should show the classic Sabrina film with Audrey Hepburn and Humphrey Bogart or the updated re-make of the film with Julia Ormond and Harrison Ford. I watched both movies back to back and weighed the pros and cons of each. Julia Ormond and Harrison Ford won out. Why? Primarily because the newer film actually takes the viewer to Paris where we get to see cafes, the Eiffel Tower, the Pompidou Centre and other landmarks; the classic was filmed on a Hollywood stage set and shows only a window with a very fake Eiffel tower in the background. But, I personally prefer the Sabrina re-make because of my love for books.

I saw the 1995 version long before I saw the Hepburn version, and much to my dismay there was another important scene missing from the original. In the new version, one night Sabrina comes home to her father’s living quarters. He lives over the garage of a billionaire’s estate where he works as a chauffeur. Sabrina’s father is reading a book when she walks in, and the camera pans around the carriage house to overflowing bookshelves and stacked books in every nook and cranny. Sabrina says:  "I love many things about you, Dad. But do you know what I love best of all? You decided to become a chauffeur because you wanted to have time to read." As an avid reader who treasures my books, this struck me as a most romantic idea. Imagine choosing your profession so that it allows you to indulge in your favorite past-time! I absolutely loved that moment, and over the years I have re-played the scene in my mind dozens of times.

It’s true that I love books so much – the way they feel, the way new books smell, the emotions they illicit – that my respect tends to border on compulsion. I will not write in books (unless it’s to inscribe one as a gift); I will not highlight text in books; I only dog ear pages under the rarest of circumstances; and I read books from cover to cover without ever cracking the spine. Even my most well-used books often look new. That’s why I found this blog entry depicting ways to use books (other than for reading) simultaneously fascinating and horrifying. I actually could appreciate most of the pieces featured, but I especially enjoyed this chair which gives new meaning to the idea of arm-chair reading.