Goodness! My tagines got me into an altercation with the man who thinks he's the village squire and doesn't like" non Christian" foreigners living in a big detached house.
He complained my tagines were turning the village into "little India" (he'd convinced himself I'm Indian for whatever reason, probably because on Shabbat evening I wear a kaftan, which I'm guessing he confused with a sari).
It was the summer so I'd opened the kitchen windows and he didn't like the aromas.
He was embarrassed though, because I answered the phone and it was my father in law, so automatically said "bonjour".
"Even worse he muttered under his breath, "We've got bloody Indian- French in the village!".
Won him round eventually though (:
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