It was the Epiphany yesterday. Well not really of course, as the Epiphany is supposed to be on 6th January - the twelve days of Christmas and all that. As I have remarked previously our local cathedral, which is coincidentally called Epiphany Cathedral, should be able to work that one out if anyone can. But no, Americans have been deemed too lazy to go to church on a weekday, so they've bumped the feast to the Sunday. To be fair, they do this sort of thing in Britain too.
After the Mass, everyone shoots off to the French bakery, where there is some unseemly jostling - queues tend to be long and since the advent of the French bakery, no one in this bit of Florida bothers to make their own pudding or pastries any more. The goods on offer grow ever more delectable, though the delightful owners know their clientele and offer some things, such as alligator-shaped bread, which you probably wouldn't find in most parts of France. Sunday saw the customary display of French Epiphany tarts, the Galettes des Rois.
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