There is a hair in my pasta.” I said this calmly， with as much dignity as I could muster. Across the table from me， Karen paused in mid-chew and put down her knife and fork. Her eyes quickly scanned the surrounding diners for any 1)undue attention. We were in 2)Grenoble， and people understood English very well. She carefully moved the silver pot of flowering lavender out of the way， leaned over the white-3)draped table and inspected the black， curly hair， sitting on a freshly made goat cheese and 4)spinach 5)ravioli like an innocent bit of extra 6)garnish.
Karen is English and will suffer almost any humiliation quietly rather than 7)make a fuss. Raising a hand to get the waiter’s attention， I said， “I’m not going to eat it.”
“You could just put it to one side，” Karen suggested. The fingers of her right hand smoothed her napkin， and 8)ironed it against the table. “I mean， what are you hoping to achieve？” English or not， in this instance she wasn’t merely adhering to a genetic and cultural 9)disposition for confrontation avoidance. Having lived in Grenoble for years， she had reason to question what greater good complaining would serve. In England or the United States， apologies would have been forthcoming， as would a fresh portion or a different dish at no charge. But this was France and we both knew better.
Only three days earlier， on a cobblestone square in Aix-en-Provence， I had been served a salad with 10)Lollo Rosso lettuce， 11)artichoke hearts， pine nuts， and dirt. Not a modest little dusting of dirt， crunching between my teeth， revealing a somewhat superficial 12)rinsing， but a 13)hearty clump of good， French soil. I could have grown 14)cress in it. I showed the waitress， a 15)wiry， 16)thirtyish woman， expecting a 17)modicum of 18)remorse and a new salad. Instead I got an 19)overbearing smile and “C’est un peu de terre...” It’s a bit of dirt. What’s all the 20)commotion about？ I insisted that the dirt should not be in my salad， so， with a look suggesting that to her I was the human equivalent of a 21)Chihuahua having a 22)yapping 23)fit， she tore off the 24)ruffled lettuce leaf where the clump resided and threw it on the ground in front of my sandaled feet. “25)Voila！” Then she walked off to serve less demanding customers.