Pastis and Paranoia

Long before I had met the Parisian boyfriend, I read all of Peter Mayle's books, a British expat in Provence. My mother and I started with "A Year in Provence," his first book. It remains my favorite, which may be  due to his hilarious accounts of drinking pastis with his fellow provencal townsfolk. I have never seen pastis in the U.S., and have always wanted to try it. At the house warming party I attended the other night, I convinced the BF to have a glass, so that I could take a sip. Upon tasting it, I promptly relieved him of his drink, which he didn't mind at all. While he drank a Heineken, I luxuriated in liquid black licorice. I know many people don't like black licorice, but I love it. Furthermore, Pernod ( a famous pastis brand) had no bite, so suffice to say that I have found my new favorite alcoholic beverage. Which definitely took the edge off, after I managed to lock myself in the hosts' "les toilettes," and couldn't get out. Three minutes of panicked lock jiggling in a very small room, that contains nothing but a toilet, is very stressful. Do note, that after I finally exited, I saw other people go in and out, seemingly with no difficulties. I really don't know. The perils of being an American in Paris are everywhere (the locks are different), and it has been producing a fair amount of paranoia on my part...