The other day I was sitting at my desk, working, when I heard a muffled shout. Our courtyard, to which my back was facing, is often filled with the sounds of children playing, people parking their bikes, of the general comings-and-goings of the families around us, so I didn't pay much attention at first.
As I continued to work, the shouting grew louder. It almost sounded like someone heavily-accented saying...my name! Still not convinced, and not wanting to rush to the window like a loser and be confronted by the blank stare of someone shouting out their window to someone else, I carried on with my work.
There it was again. This time, it was a veritable bellow. The windows nearly rattled! It was my name!
I swiveled in my chair and saw, directly across the courtyard (despite being five stories up) our neighbour Bernard, hanging out of the window and waving frantically at me. Then his wife popped up under his armpit. "Allo!", they shouted, almost in unison, "are you coming to dinner wiss us siss Sursday?".
Of course we were!
So, since I don't drink wine (because it tastes like dusty piss-vinegar, not some religious or moral reason), I thought I would bring along a sweet pud. What better summery treat than a white chocolate raspberry cheesecake? A l'anglaise, of course. This thing is thick- melted white choklit mixed with thick mascarpone and cream cheese (full fat, ain't nobody got time fo' fat free around here) served on a base of (what else) smashed digestives mixed with melted butter...then the tartness of the syrupy raspberries on top? I had an intense moment before we left in which I seriously considered feigning illness in order to stay home and scoop the damn thing from it's dish with my bare hands.
I persevered however, and we spent a fruitful (ha, get it? because the fruit? on the top? of the...cheese...cake?) evening with our new neighbours, laughing and chatting and massacre-ing the French language. Well, that was mostly me. In between massacre-ing that muhfuggin cheesecake. KNAW MEAN? If you were sitting here chatting to me I would elbow you in the side at this point, repeatedly. No, I don't have any friends. Why?
If you'd like the recipe, do tell me in the comments and I'll shove it down there. Yum!
ALSO. I just looked at the last photo above. Why am I reminded of Goatse? Fuhhhh. (Also if you do not know what Goatse is, then bygod, never, ever, EVER, Google it. Ever.)