Yesterday, in my household, was the last day of a six-day gall bladder cleanse, in which I did not participate.  There had been a litre of apple juice drunk everyday culminating in this last day of fasting punctuated by shots of jus de pamplemousse, olive oil, and eau d’epsom salt.

Which seemed then like a good opportunity to take myself out for steak frites, a rare indulgence when living among pesce-tarians.

It also seemed appropriate on this day of patrimony, when historic buildings throughout Europe that are not normally open to the public are open, to express my Midwestern roots.

Earlier in the day, we had visited for the journee de patrimoine the Chateau de Brochon, where a couple of my housemates had gone to high school.  We also met a grandfather and walked to school through the vineyards in his backyard – once a daily ritual.

This of course is not my patrimony, even if we think about it generationally, but it’s interesting to observe  and start to understand how the story fits together.  I wonder what a trip to my high school would reveal about my patrimony?

My steak frites was satisfying.  On the terrace in the Place d’Emile Zola.  It was not a Kansas City strip. The addition of l’epoisses – a soft pungent Burgundian cheese – was nice.

When I returned to the Dijoloc I found otherwise three healthy Frenchmen shivering under blankets complaining of strange movements in their bowels, the result of a willful decision to disrupt their bodies’ regular chemistry in an effort to rid it of toxins.

I’d like to think my reinterpretation – disruption – of the steak and potatoes tradition did something similar.  I’m pretty sure I slept better too.

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