C'est too much, is what it is. C'est TOO MUCH.
After yet another dinner party chez Squash thrown by one of her roommates, I have now learned that Parisians put their piece of baguette at a 45 degree angle to the left-hand side of the bread plate, straight onto the friggin table cloth, completely ignoring the perfectly lovely bread plate sitting right in front of them that is apparently only supposed to host after-dinner cheese.
I mean, wtf.
How does that even make sense? It's DIFFICULT to clean off a tablecloth. At least if you put crumbs on a bread plate you can wipe them off pretty easily into the sink or trash or whatever. Have you ever tried wiping off bread crumbs from a cloth on the table? Yeah, they jump all over the place and don't like gathering into a nice little pile, and you end up having to scrape them with a special scraper or pick them up one by one with your fingers, or laboriously take off the table cloth and shake it out, which means you then have to sweep up the fallen crumbs from the floor. Or I guess you could just leave them on the table cloth and hope someone else cleans them up. Like a housecleaner, or maybe some visiting pigeons.
OK, so maybe it's not all French people, but wowsers, the ones who gathered around the table Thursday night were the stuffiest, pompous-iest peeps I have ever met. Squash and I decided not to try too hard to converse with them, so we sat next to each other and LAUGHED OUT LOUD at our own franglais-ed jokes and the shitty attitude of one of the pregnant dinner guest who was very obviously pissed that we were having so much fun while she had to sit there being pregnant and serious and French. humph.
But the food was great, as always (Carole is a friggin MASTER of the kitchen!) and it's always fun to have an opportunity to practice having real conversations in French, even if it's a conversation with people who just pointedly stared and whispered at your American savagery as you ate your bread off a bread plate.