Too Much Cheese in Le Petit Village

I'm sure the title of my post probably has you all like, W HA T?! C'est ne pas possible! There is never ever too much cheese in Le Petit Village, especially for those of you who know that here, sometimes we get crazy with it and do things like a Raclette and a Fondue all in one sitting. Because yeah, we're that crazy.

O V E R C H E E S E D.

Allow me to explain: My darling Aussie blogging buddy, B, of Is There Such a Thing as Too Much Cheese, came to Le Petit Village for the weekend. Oh, and she brought her husband, M, with her (so as not to be confused with my friend, M, La Croupier, we will be referring to B's Husband, as Aussie M, and also, please do not confuse B with Honey Bee, Honey Jr's elusive brother. Although I doubt you will since I rarely post about him - although he is set to make an appearance this weekend for The Husband's birthday party. So B is Aussie B. Sorted).

D I G R E S S I O N.

So Aussie B came to Le Petit Village and brought Aussie M with her so The Husband would have a playmate (Honey Jr was in Barcelona for the weekend leaving behind one lonely husband, and a very depressed Fifty).
We talked, we drank some wine, we talked, we ate, we talked, we walked around, we talked, we picked some cherries, we talked, and yeah, we drank some more wine. It was brilliant.
................................................................................................................

This is the BBQ lunch which we had to move inside because it rained buckets and then a thick cloud same and sat on top of Le Petit Village. It was basically Nazi Ghost Zombie weather, so all the better that we stayed indoors.

And this is the heart and kidney that Brother-in-Law brought to the BBQ. 

G R O S S.

For the record, I would have preferred flowers. Or a nice bottle of wine. 

(Fifty got half of the heart. I've never seen him work so hard at chewing something before). 

Making an educated guess that Le Petit Bar would be closed that evening, we drove to a nearby village and it's new wine and tapas bar. That's right, a wine and tapas bar has opened only a village away. It's a, down the mountain, topsy, turvy kind of away, but I don't care, this place is like gold dust. It reminds me of my old Dublin hangout La Cave. The Husband is of course regretting his decision to bring us there because guess where I'm going to want to go every weekend.

{It's mine. All mine.}

We shut the place down.

After a late start Sunday morning (re: we shut the place down), we toured Le Petit Village before heading to another super duper tiny village (If Le Petit Village is 'petit', this place is 'trop petit'). For some reason, The Husband wanted to show us the spot where some monk threw himself off a cliff hundreds of years ago (I really don't understand either).
It's called, Saut du Moine, literally Jump Monk.

There's The Husband pointing to where he thinks the monk would have fallen.

W E I R D O.  

And this is the spot where the monk was supposed to have thrown himself off the cliff (personally I would have attempted to stop the monk instead of merely making a note of where he was jumping from, but that's just me). 

After walking along the edge of Saut du Moine, we stopped at the the trop petit bar. This place was tiny. But surprise, surprise, it was open, and had plenty of Rosé. 

 Trop Petit Bar : 1

Le Petit  Bar: 0

bisou

P.S. You can read Aussie B's take on the weekend here. 

And you should, it's really good.