The Overnoy Fete

I don't care if the only reason Pierre Overnoy threw me a party because out of friendship for Jean Paul Rocher, my publisher. In fact, I'd rather that was the case. I'm not a Leo, I'm a Cancer, and this kind of center of attention thing raises mixed feelings, but, I am not stupid enough not to have been thrilled. ++ foto par Philippe Gasnier Our little entourage drove or waked up to Pierre's families farmhouse just up the road. There were chickens, dogs and a garden waiting to give potatoes and tomatoes. I had no idea there was a pot luck dinner involved. There were radishes and butter and Pierre's bread. There were lentils and fabulous Comte. There was no one there at first, and then Olif from the blog de, showed up. So did an enologue from the area who swore by enzymes and told me that I did to. Why I asked. "Coche Dury!" He said, positive that I liked those wines. "But," I answered, "I am not of the faithful." Ah well, he didn't like me too much. There were about 40 people. I signed books. People in France buy books. People in Spain buy...