Steel Balls Under a Desert Sun

I like to play pétanque. Most of the time it's for fun, but on occasion I compete. This past Sunday I competed in the Palm Desert Open pétanque tournament (a stone's throw from the fabled Palm Springs).

My two French teammates and I all wore the jersey from "La Boule Tropezienne" -- the Saint Tropez pétanque club. I first received my jersey unexpectedly. I had beaten my cousin Didou in a friendly, if a bit serious game of pétanque while visiting family in St Tropez. That night at dinner, the extended family gathered round the table, Didou presented his personal club shirt to me with great ceremony. To say I was honored is an understatement. I honestly don't think I've ever had a polo shirt I cherish more. To be able to wear it as my team shirt in this tournament in the desert was a thrill on its own.

We played for almost 8 hours strait under the hot desert sun. Though at times we struggled against the fierce competition, we won every game we played. That is until in the early evening, playing in the final with all the other teams and spectators watching, we just couldn't quite muster what it took to beat the champions.

Exhausted, dusty, with aching feet, we were still quite pleased with our second place finish and the intense competition and fellowship we experienced.

And of course, there's no question that we we're the best dressed team on the courts.

A la prochaine,
Le Capitaine 

When it comes to wines...

I believe one should always have a chilled bottle of rosé on hand, because it's an essential paring to any sunny day.

One should also always have a serviceable bottle of chilled French white wine in the ice box, just to be ready for those moments when a white wine is called for, either by the food or the company.

And one should never be without a chilled bottle of champagne or an exceptional crémant, because you never know when good news will hit at which point you'll need to celebrate. 

Of course, no house should be without, at a minimum, a small selection of delectable French reds, as an absence of them is for all intents culturally criminal in many circles.

Snobbish? 

Maybe. 

Can I offer you a glass? 

Always.