Ma Folie Française (My French Folly) by Marisa Raoul

ice, which we placed on Jean ’s forehead. He was perspiring profusely and his complexion was insipid green. The Medicin local arrived promptly, though on viewing Jean , seemed to slow his pace. His now, nonchalant disposition was driving me to desperation. It was as though he had already made his diagnosis before he even uttered a word. He bent over Jean , holding his wrist for a pulse.
    â€˜What have you eaten today, Monsieur ?’ Jean failed to reply, fighting to catch his breath.
    â€˜He had quite a large meal … foie gras , salmon and caviar, cheese, and dessert,’ I replied on Jean ’s behalf.
    â€˜Wine?’
    â€˜Yes, several glasses. But he’s not drunk,’ I replied sternly.
    â€˜No…he’s not,’ he grinned. ‘Don’t worry Madame , your husband will be just fine. He is suffering from a Crise de foie carrabinée. ’
    The gathering of spectators from the bar chuckled at the doctor’s diagnosis.
    â€˜What’s that?’ I asked annoyed ‘Are you sure he’s okay? He looks terrible to me.’
    â€˜He needs to rest here for a while and drink some water. He won’t have such a good appetite for a few days but he’ll be just fine. He is having a “Liver attack”,’ he smiled. ‘It’s quite common really … especially amongst tourists’
    â€˜We’re not tourists … we live here.’
    â€˜Well … congratulations,’ he grinned, ‘but you’re obviously not yet adjusted to our local cuisine.’
    â€˜I’m not, but Jean is French … he’s never been sick before.’
    â€˜Well. He’s apparently out of practise, my dear Madame .’
    Jean , though still unwell, was visibly relaxed having heard the prognosis.
    â€˜I’ve never heard of such a thing. I don’t think the equivalent exists in the English language.’
    â€˜Perhaps because they have no need for such a term. I’ve never heard of the English eating foie gras by the kilo on a hot summer’s day. You know the heat has a lot to do with it,’ he replied. ‘Look, there’s not much more I can do to help, so I’ll be off. Stay here in the shade until it passes.’
    â€˜Yes of course Doctor. We’re so sorry for any inconvenience … especially on a Sunday.’
    â€˜At your service Madame , Monsieur ,’ he smiled warmly, as he collected his medical satchel and strolled to his vehicle. It didn’t occur to me until later, that he never asked for a single Franc in payment for his attendance.
    As Jean regained a state of normality his demeanour changed and his complexion returned to a more pleasing hue.
    â€˜I was so worried about you darling. You really scared me,’ I said, kissing his cheek.
    â€˜I really scared myself. I can’t believe I had a crise de foie .’ The French are always going on about their livers and gall bladders. I thought it was a big joke. I suppose the Doctor was right … it’s obviously a French condition. It could only happen in a country where the general population is so obsessed with food and wine.’
    â€˜So much for Ginette and her “cream will make it lighter theory”,’ I laughed.
    â€˜I honestly don’t know how she does it. Did you see how she buttered her bread with a centimetre of farm butter before adding a slice of cheese?’
    â€˜I know. Her cholesterol count must be through the roof.’
    â€˜She probably doesn’t have cholesterol … that’s the whole point. Her body is naturally immune.’
    â€˜Lucky her. So my darling … I suppose you won’t need any dinner tonight?’ I chuckled.
    â€˜Oh … you never know,’ he grinned, ‘maybe just something light … some Camembert and bread … a glass of Côte du Rhône …’
    â€˜You French … you’re bloody unfathomable’

    LES TOURTOUS
    Buckwheat