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| The Log War | (a true story from December 24, 2014) | My wife and I had planned to invite some friends for the traditional December 25th lunch. It happens that in Pertuis, where we live, there is one of the best pastry shops in the region, located at the top of the Cours de la République, on the right. It's a tiny shop, almost a small stall, with a display window that is barely a meter wide. But the pastries found there are absolutely exquisite and much cheaper than those found in the city's most famous pastry shop, Aix-en-Provence, whose name I will not mention. | In Pertuis, a true artist, a true master of the craft, whose face I have never seen, has been creating the most varied and subtle pastries for decades, in an unknown backroom, sweet without being too sweet, combining flavor with aesthetics. | On December 24th, a real crowd gathers to pick up logs, which must be ordered in advance. | But times are changing. Nowhere can one find the rolled cakes of my childhood, filled with simple custard cream, flavored with kirsch. | The logs as I loved them | The Pertuis master of tarts, the doctor in small cakes, the expert in maraschino soufflés has had to follow public tastes. Today, but I am only giving my personal opinion, the modern Christmas logs are no longer massive cylinders, barely stuffed with some biscuits, violently colored, aggressively scented. | Thus, since an misplaced modernity has invaded the world of Christmas logs, my wife and I, for the traditional lunch the next day, exclude this choice to end the meal. | Before I went to the city, my wife warned me: | - I recommend you not to linger. On the morning of December 24th, there are quickly many people. Last year, I had to wait for three quarters of an hour for a simple purchase. It was only when I reached the counter that the shopkeeper, the master's wife, told me that there were, in principle, two queues. The left one was composed of those who came to pick up their custom order, and the right one of those who came to buy a regular cake, among those displayed in the window. | I arrived on December 24th at 9:30. In front of the pastry shop, a queue of twenty-five people, mostly women. There was no second queue. I went ahead to question the employees, but was attacked by cries: | - In the queue, like everyone else! | - But, it seems there are two parallel queues, one for those who come to pick up their log order and the other for those who come to buy another type of cake, displayed (there were three left, modest, I took two). | - It doesn't matter, all these people are in the same queue! In the queue! In the queue! | - Excuse me, I will still go in, to find out. | The women grumbled, tried to block me, their hands clenched on their umbrellas, their canes. | I managed to question one of the three employees, who told me: | - Yes, people who buy cakes and who do not come to pick up a log they have ordered do not need to join this queue. | So I proceeded into the tiny shop, pursued by insults, the protests of ladies who claimed to be bumped into. | Suddenly two women left the queue and said to me: | - You too, you are not coming to pick up a log? | - No, I am anti-log. In the queue, there are pro-logs. | - We are also anti-logs. But where is the queue for people who do not come to pick up a log they have ordered? | - The queue is me. | - Then we will stand behind you. | And immediately, the three of us formed the anti-log queue. | A split therefore occurs in the pastry shop, between the pro-logs and the anti-logs. A single man is a provocateur. Three people: it's a second queue. Insults fly. | - In the queue! In the queue! | - No, you are in the pro-log queue. We are against Christmas logs. We prefer normal cakes. | A man insists: | - You will be lynched if you continue! | The shop owner suppresses a laugh at this ridiculous conflict. But thanks to my insistence, we were served in a few minutes. | The pro-logs are lined up tightly in front of the cash register, blocking the way. | - There are always people who want to go before others! | - No, madam. You are a pro-log. I am anti-log, by conviction. I would like to pay. May I approach the counter? | I had great difficulty approaching the tiny counter, which is to scale with the shop. I paid, took delivery of my toopeziain cake, in its cardboard box, and passed, under the angry, almost hateful looks, I should say, of the pro-logs. But I held my ground against this mob. I asserted my rights as an anti-log. | When one is sure of one's rights, one should not be intimidated by threats, no matter where they come from. |
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