Delightful Dijon

Thanks to Rita and Slim and Father Shugrue at Saint Francis de Sales High School back in Toledo, I had the great fortune to spend my junior year in France. My life changed forever.

Rich Nachazel, my colleague from Toledo, and I never tired of walking the streets of Annecy, our beautiful town in the French Alps. One night, it must have been just before Christmas like it is today, we stopped by one of the many street fairs. I was a vendor selling hot dogs using a dispenser much like the one in the picture. The buns sit on the spikes and stay warm, you see, while the saucissons (which the Italians call "hot dogs") are steaming away in the jar.

So, back in France, back forty years, I forked over my centimes, grabbed my baguette with two hands, and gave it a good old-fashioned Swayne Field Toledo chomp.

The first rescue workers at the scene said the "killing zone" extended in a fan shape for about 10 meters from my face. The deadly spray, a combination of the first two tablespoons of Dijon mustard that I had ever tasted and an mix of bodily fluids, exploded out of both nostrils, both ears, both eyeballs, and mouth.

So, today at the Casnebo neighborhood Christmas fair, I asked the nice fellow if he would mind if I took a picture of the first dispenser I have seen since that day, 40 years ago, in Annecy, France.