Bastille Day

I think Elise likes to think of herself as part French. So, when I received an invitation to attend the Bastille Day celebration at the French Embassy, I couldn’t wait to share it with her.

I knew as soon as we walked up to the front of the Embassy, I really wished I spoke French. This didn’t prove to be an obstacle later on, but as I shook hands with the French Ambassador to Brazil, I found myself wanting to be able to at least say, “Thank you for having me” in French. (I find my cultural sensitivity is at a new high, because I found myself trying to write an email in Spanish to a colleague from Mexico. I don’t know how to write in Spanish. At least, not anymore and, at least, at nothing more than a high school level.)

After finding a bar, Elise and I made a quick toast and a promise, to one day celebrate Bastille Day in France. We listened attentively as the French Ambassador addressed the very large crowd. It was the first time I had ever heard Portuguese spoken with a French accent. I imagine it sounds much better than Portuguese spoken with an American accent.

A band struck up the French and Brazilian national anthems, followed by a mad scramble for food. Elise and I were lucky enough to be near the churrasco and helped ourselves to two spits of beef coated in garlic. They were to die for. Our only failing was our selflessness, because it was the last good thing we would eat all night. We stood in line for nearly an hour for cheese, baguettes and quiche, but nothing would live up to the pure deliciousness and pure simplicity of grilled meat on a stick. So, yes, in Brazil, the best food was Brazilian and not French. I think the French might have had a problem with that.