There is a restaurant I like in the city that serves mediterannean food and the best Moroccan mint tea. Above the door to this restaurant is a stained glass window that reads Le Billet Doux, though that is not its name. I like the way the words roll around in my mouth like a kibbeh. Le billet doux, le billet doux. Cold cucumber soup and karni.
It means love letter, and for years now I have been meaning to incorporate the phrase into my life somehow, but it's like a joke that I always forget to tell. Love letter. I am the worst joke teller ever, giggling before I get to the punch line, apologizing for captivity.
(At the bottom of the menu at this restaurant are the words Anoush ella! I find that I cannot forget these words smushed as they are next to the list of desserts. Rosewater infused pudding with pistachios. Like a song whose lyrics suffer the fate of an ear worm. Anoush ella! I think it must be said with an exclamation point, Armenian for may it be sweet.)
Dates and nuts rolled in phyllo, served warm.
Happy Friday (may it be).
xo,
S
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5 comments:
At least you get to the punchline, giggling or not. I can't tell a joke to save my life (okay, maybe a knock-knock joke) and always forget the punchline.
And it's always fun working French phrases into everyday conversation - or not. In fact, just answer random questions that way. "That's $12.50 please." "Le billet doux!"
I love both words. especially love letter!
let me just say that it's been a long time comin for me to finally get over here and check you out. i know you visited one of my designtard posts and for that i am grateful. i think you are fucking awesome. your writing is stupid.
...everything you say (on here, and undoubtedly in real life too) to your family (and to us) is le billet doux. :)
i LOVE that pic of her!
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