Snoutie and His Friends

“It wasn’t enough, of course,” thought Snoutie. “I should sample it all again. I wonder if good etiquette says that guests should always leave hungry? I don’t seem to remember anything about that.”

But, since he was a well-mannered Snoutie, he didn’t say any of this out loud.

Finally he decided that he had probably eaten quite enough, and he started swinging his paws under the table and whistling a tune under his breath. It went something like this:

But why, oh why,

I’ll never understand,

However hard I try,

Do all Snouties

So love blancmange,

Blueberry desserts with yogurt…

And creamy meringues.

“Humph! I guess the time right after lunch is not the best time for creative work,” thought Snoutie, not completely satisfied with his song. “Meringue…Blancmange….” These last two words were spoken out loud.

“Oh, Snoutie, your favorite blancmange! How could I have forgotten! And I already have it ready to serve!” said Michelle, who soon returned to the table with the cake.

“Y-e-e-e-s-s-s…blancmange….Ga-ga-ga-gastronomy!” noted Goose, who had clearly just remembered something. “This French dessert has been Snoutie’s favorite treat ever since I told him about it. Ah, France…Paris…Those French geese are something else….”

“Have you been to Paris, Goose?” asked Michelle. “How interesting! Tell us about what life is like there.”

“Yes, yes, I have had the occasion to visit there, and more than once, I might add,” said Goose, waggling his beak importantly. He was entirely satisfied with the attention Michelle was paying to his Goosey Personage, so he started talking about France.

“I must say that our Goosey Family is quite large, and that many of my relatives live there, in France. My cousin Madame Clafoutis ⁽¹⁾ and her husband Monsieur Tarte Tatin ⁽²⁾ have lived for over ten years in a small little house on the outskirts of Paris. They believe that even though the air is not so great there, it is at least cleaner than in Paris. My cousin says that in Paris they immediately lose the desire to live.”

“Clafoutis and Tarte Tatin! Well I never!” giggled Michelle, who knew French very well. “Those are things I know quite well! But I’m sorry, I interrupted you, dear Goose, please tell us more,” she said, continuing to laugh.

“What do they eat for lunch?” asked Snoutie.

“My relatives love to peck at different cheeses with the most unbearably sharp smells! Whenever I sat at their table, I had to hold my beak,” frowned Goose. “And then my cousin Monsieur Profiterole ⁽³⁾ often stops by for lunch…”

When Michelle heard about the cousin named Profiterole, she started laughing so hard that she almost fell off her chair.

“Yes, so,” continued Goose, “my cousin Profiterole, who studied very hard to become a fashionable coiffeur ⁽⁴⁾—that’s a hair stylist, by the way—is quite a strange creature. He always wears the same scarf, which was probably once red. But now it’s impossible to tell what the original color was, and it bears a greater resemblance to a wrinkled rag than to a scarf. He wraps this scarf carelessly around his neck and says that this is all the fashion in Paris. He uses it to wipe his wet beak and clean his dusty feet, and he even sneezes into it! Then he always says something like ‘charmant ⁽⁵⁾’ or ‘magnifique ⁽⁶⁾!’”

Goose became so carried away with his memories about his French relatives that he flew up onto the back of his chair, flapped his wings excitedly, and continued his story from his perch.

“My cousin—and he’s a hair stylist, mind you! – declares that washing feathers does them nothing but harm. He recommends only fluffing. It’s simply terrible!” said Goose, adding his own commentary. “It’s no surprise that they all have fleas. But this doesn’t seem to bother the French geese at all. Every fall in France they hang notices everywhere about the next flea invasion! ⁽⁷⁾”

“Fleas?” asked Snoutie, surprised. “In this day and age?”

Michelle just puffed with indignation.

“It’s absolutely true! It’s like that with everything: instead of washing the floors, which they think will only spoil the parquet, they polish them by putting wool socks on their feet and sliding across the unwashed floor!”

“Dear Goose,” said Michelle, “perhaps over lunch you could tell us about something a little more pleasant?”

“Over lunch…a little more pleasant….” Goose started thinking. “Once I did have a nice lunch with them: I pecked at a beetle crawling over an old chest of drawers. If only you could have heard how they started hissing at me! Apparently what I did was not at all comme il faut ⁽⁸⁾, because for them dusty, old furniture that has been eaten away by beetles is charme ancien ⁽⁹⁾.”

“Goose, weren’t you telling me about a French relative of yours who is coming to visit soon?” asked Snoutie.