Post by 2nd Lt. John P. McCreary on Nov 21, 2010 1:48:31 GMT
August 2nd, 1938
Paris, France
Le Blanc est Monte
5: 30 PM
The busy café was boisterous and noisy, and filled with Parisians. The four American tourists would normally stick out, but no one seemed to notice them as they sat down at an open table. “You just had to pick here, Jack!” George yelled over the loud music as he sat down.
John shook his head at his older brother, pointing to his ear. “I can’t hear you!” he yelled back, picking up the menu folded on the table. His father had recommended the café, as it was a place that he’d visited with his fellow dough boys over twenty years ago on his leave in Paris. Serious persuasion, hard work, his father’s wealth, and sheer luck had brought the eighteen-year-old here. Ever since he could remember, he dreamed of touring Europe and here he was–Paris. He’d gotten quite a lecture from his father before he was able to get on the boat, however. His old man hadn’t let him forget that he had to fight his way here, and the only reason why he got to see this city was because he was in uniform. He also had told him to make the most of his time in the city, and not to do anything foolish, like get drunk and then go to a dance club. He wondered vaguely if this was from personal experience, but he kept his suspicions to himself.
Both he and George were allowed to take one friend, John had taken his best friend since childhood–Frank–and George had dragged along James Forrester, the linebacker for their high school team. All of them had graduated by now, and were spending their last month of freedom in Paris. John was headed off to the West Point Military Academy, and Frank was enrolling at New York University. George and Forrester were on break until the next semester of classes at the university began.
“Aww, dammit this thing’s in French.” Frank complained.
“What did you expect it to be in, Portugese?” John asked with a laugh. He’d been appointed as the group’s ‘translator.’ All of them had taken French classes at some point in life, but he was the most proficient at the language. Naturally, he had no problem reading the menu.
“Har har har. Listen, you’d better tell me what this says–and no funny business–I ain’t eating snails again.” Frank snapped.
John smirked and nodded. “Don’t worry, Frank. Just the look on your face after you tried that stuff is enough to last quite a lifetime.” He then made a comically disgusted face, and all except Frank laughed.
“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, professor. We’ll see whose the most amused when I pick myself up a nice French chick. No woman can resist my obvious charms.”
John rolled his eyes and withdrew from his gray suit jacket a small book. He’d bought it just yesterday, in a small bookstore. The volume was Les Miserables, a book that he’d read many times before, but never in French. It’d be a challenge most certainly, but the young man enjoyed challenges almost as much as he enjoyed sports. Like many men his age, he lived for the American pastime–baseball–as well as football. But unlike his friends, he considered himself an amateur scholar. He read whatever he could get his hands on, be it a novel or even a textbook. He also delighted in writing stories and journal entries, though up until now he considered his life less than exciting. Now he could actually claim to have visited the places he boasted of someday exploring–the Louvre, Notre Dame, the Champs-Élysées–
“Bonjour, messieurs. Puis-je prendre vos ordres?”
He reluctantly tore his eyes away from the book and faced the waiter. He couldn’t say he’d really been reading the novel, he was too busy daydreaming about the city. His friends looked at him expectantly. He shrugged. “He just wants to know our orders. What do you guys want?” After they had told him, he cleared his throat and replied, “Bonjour. Nous prendrons chacun un café avec le sucre. L'idiot dans bleu voudrait la soupe d'huître et son ami dans vert voudrait le poulet de Rosemary. Cet imbécile veut le poulet de Rosemary et je voudrais essayer la bisque de homard.”
As the young waiter wrote all this down, he struggled to keep a straight face as John blatantly insulted his companions. “Très bon, monsieur. Vos ordres seront prêts bientôt. En attendant puis-je vous intéresser à quelques hors-d'oeuvres?”
“Appetizers, he wants to know if we’d like appetizers.” John translated for his friends.
“Oh, oh. What does this say again?” George questioned, scratching his head.
Rolling his eyes once more, he took the menu from his older brother. Though he’d looked up to him all his life and continued to do so, the man’s French was atrocious. He proceeded to explain to him what certain parts of the menu said, and after about five minutes or so, they’d made their decision.
This guy has amazing patience.. he thought as he studied the waiter again. He looked a bit amused by the tourists’ antics, but his demeanor was still friendly. John gave him an apologetic look and answered, “Oui, nous prendrons le porc pâté.”
“Choix excellent. Je le sortirai tout de suite.”
“Merci beaucoup.” John nodded at the waiter as he hurried off to the kitchen. Sighing to himself, he lifted the book and resumed reading as his friends initiated a particularly dull conversation about ‘French dames.’ Yeah, good luck. You can’t even speak the language, he thought to himself with a slight grin as he was once again drawn into the world of Jean Valjean.
Translations
“Bonjour, messieurs. Puis-je prendre vos ordres?”–Hello, sirs. May I take your orders?
“Bonjour. Nous prendrons chacun un café avec le sucre. L'idiot dans bleu voudrait la soupe d'huître et son ami dans vert voudrait le poulet de Rosemary. Cet imbécile veut le poulet de Rosemary et je voudrais essayer la bisque de homard.”–Hello. We'll each take one coffee with sugar. The idiot in blue would like the oyster soup, and his friend in green would like the rosemary chicken. This blockhead wants the rosemary chicken, and I'd like to try the lobster bisque.
“Très bon, monsieur. Vos ordres seront prêts bientôt. En attendant puis-je vous intéresser à quelques hors-d'oeuvres?”–Very good, sir. Your orders will be ready soon. In the meantime can I interest you in some appetizers?
“Oui, nous prendrons le porc pâté.”–Yes, we’ll take the pork pâté.
“Choix excellent. Je le sortirai tout de suite.”–Excellent choice. I'll bring that out right away.
Paris, France
Le Blanc est Monte
5: 30 PM
The busy café was boisterous and noisy, and filled with Parisians. The four American tourists would normally stick out, but no one seemed to notice them as they sat down at an open table. “You just had to pick here, Jack!” George yelled over the loud music as he sat down.
John shook his head at his older brother, pointing to his ear. “I can’t hear you!” he yelled back, picking up the menu folded on the table. His father had recommended the café, as it was a place that he’d visited with his fellow dough boys over twenty years ago on his leave in Paris. Serious persuasion, hard work, his father’s wealth, and sheer luck had brought the eighteen-year-old here. Ever since he could remember, he dreamed of touring Europe and here he was–Paris. He’d gotten quite a lecture from his father before he was able to get on the boat, however. His old man hadn’t let him forget that he had to fight his way here, and the only reason why he got to see this city was because he was in uniform. He also had told him to make the most of his time in the city, and not to do anything foolish, like get drunk and then go to a dance club. He wondered vaguely if this was from personal experience, but he kept his suspicions to himself.
Both he and George were allowed to take one friend, John had taken his best friend since childhood–Frank–and George had dragged along James Forrester, the linebacker for their high school team. All of them had graduated by now, and were spending their last month of freedom in Paris. John was headed off to the West Point Military Academy, and Frank was enrolling at New York University. George and Forrester were on break until the next semester of classes at the university began.
“Aww, dammit this thing’s in French.” Frank complained.
“What did you expect it to be in, Portugese?” John asked with a laugh. He’d been appointed as the group’s ‘translator.’ All of them had taken French classes at some point in life, but he was the most proficient at the language. Naturally, he had no problem reading the menu.
“Har har har. Listen, you’d better tell me what this says–and no funny business–I ain’t eating snails again.” Frank snapped.
John smirked and nodded. “Don’t worry, Frank. Just the look on your face after you tried that stuff is enough to last quite a lifetime.” He then made a comically disgusted face, and all except Frank laughed.
“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, professor. We’ll see whose the most amused when I pick myself up a nice French chick. No woman can resist my obvious charms.”
John rolled his eyes and withdrew from his gray suit jacket a small book. He’d bought it just yesterday, in a small bookstore. The volume was Les Miserables, a book that he’d read many times before, but never in French. It’d be a challenge most certainly, but the young man enjoyed challenges almost as much as he enjoyed sports. Like many men his age, he lived for the American pastime–baseball–as well as football. But unlike his friends, he considered himself an amateur scholar. He read whatever he could get his hands on, be it a novel or even a textbook. He also delighted in writing stories and journal entries, though up until now he considered his life less than exciting. Now he could actually claim to have visited the places he boasted of someday exploring–the Louvre, Notre Dame, the Champs-Élysées–
“Bonjour, messieurs. Puis-je prendre vos ordres?”
He reluctantly tore his eyes away from the book and faced the waiter. He couldn’t say he’d really been reading the novel, he was too busy daydreaming about the city. His friends looked at him expectantly. He shrugged. “He just wants to know our orders. What do you guys want?” After they had told him, he cleared his throat and replied, “Bonjour. Nous prendrons chacun un café avec le sucre. L'idiot dans bleu voudrait la soupe d'huître et son ami dans vert voudrait le poulet de Rosemary. Cet imbécile veut le poulet de Rosemary et je voudrais essayer la bisque de homard.”
As the young waiter wrote all this down, he struggled to keep a straight face as John blatantly insulted his companions. “Très bon, monsieur. Vos ordres seront prêts bientôt. En attendant puis-je vous intéresser à quelques hors-d'oeuvres?”
“Appetizers, he wants to know if we’d like appetizers.” John translated for his friends.
“Oh, oh. What does this say again?” George questioned, scratching his head.
Rolling his eyes once more, he took the menu from his older brother. Though he’d looked up to him all his life and continued to do so, the man’s French was atrocious. He proceeded to explain to him what certain parts of the menu said, and after about five minutes or so, they’d made their decision.
This guy has amazing patience.. he thought as he studied the waiter again. He looked a bit amused by the tourists’ antics, but his demeanor was still friendly. John gave him an apologetic look and answered, “Oui, nous prendrons le porc pâté.”
“Choix excellent. Je le sortirai tout de suite.”
“Merci beaucoup.” John nodded at the waiter as he hurried off to the kitchen. Sighing to himself, he lifted the book and resumed reading as his friends initiated a particularly dull conversation about ‘French dames.’ Yeah, good luck. You can’t even speak the language, he thought to himself with a slight grin as he was once again drawn into the world of Jean Valjean.
Translations
“Bonjour, messieurs. Puis-je prendre vos ordres?”–Hello, sirs. May I take your orders?
“Bonjour. Nous prendrons chacun un café avec le sucre. L'idiot dans bleu voudrait la soupe d'huître et son ami dans vert voudrait le poulet de Rosemary. Cet imbécile veut le poulet de Rosemary et je voudrais essayer la bisque de homard.”–Hello. We'll each take one coffee with sugar. The idiot in blue would like the oyster soup, and his friend in green would like the rosemary chicken. This blockhead wants the rosemary chicken, and I'd like to try the lobster bisque.
“Très bon, monsieur. Vos ordres seront prêts bientôt. En attendant puis-je vous intéresser à quelques hors-d'oeuvres?”–Very good, sir. Your orders will be ready soon. In the meantime can I interest you in some appetizers?
“Oui, nous prendrons le porc pâté.”–Yes, we’ll take the pork pâté.
“Choix excellent. Je le sortirai tout de suite.”–Excellent choice. I'll bring that out right away.
