The escargot caper

We have this one little stone dish on the terrace.  I suggested Rick find some coloured rocks. He hasn't, not because he didn't want to, but he was legitimately tied up with other things.

At the marché yesterday I saw a bag of snail shells. I know the French often keep the shells and buy a can of snails and then stuff them in the shell. I once loved them with garlic and oil, but they must have the same chemicals as clams and oysters and they don't like me.

Wonderful, I thought, I said looking at the bag. They will look great in the dish. From the photo you may think I was right.

We had extra so I spread under the rosebush outside the snore room/office. We need stones on the dirt to keep the neighbourhood cats from thinking that this is an attractive toilet.

Rick called to me on his way to the grocery.


A snail was making his or her way up the window far quicker than the phrase snail's pace would have one believe.

Then we realised. 

The snail wasn't alone.

Those empty shells weren't empty. We have snails all over the place.

"What did you do?" he asked with emphasis on you and do.

I did apologize. It was a good idea gone bad.  

We did ask our landlady if she wanted them to serve to her guests. She didn't. After lunch we'll take them down to the river.

I suppose they are lucky. Had someone else bought them, they would be an appetizer for Sunday lunch.

Now they had another chance at life.

As for poor Rick, he's still shaking his head.

As I write this blog, Rick is writing his. Check it out http://lovinglifeineurope.blogspot.fr/