;)
This is the Boucherie just down the street from me. Isn't it cool! The butcher looks the least French of anyone I've seen here. He's got that mid-west salt-of-the-earth vibe going. No scarf thrown casually round the neck just so. No ancient but perfect sweater that I'd kill to run across in a vintage store. I think the last time I was in there he was wearing a dunk-hunting vest. And his English is as good as my French. HA!
;)
I went in the other day to get pancetta, and he sold me something like it. We figured out what I meant, he and I together. The hunk of meat he sliced me was beautiful - solid and heavy, and when I chopped it into bits and sauteed it the whole family came running to see what the smell was. I made pasta: garlic, parmesan, parsley, a little olive oil, and this wonderful hand-cured meat. That's all. At dinner, when Owen took his first bite, he stopped talking for the first time in what seems like days. My ears rang with delicious silence. Ahhh...