French and I have a tortured relationship. I like the food, and the tablecloths and the attitude and all, but I fear the language. For a pronunciation challenged person like me, the myriad French words in the theater and food worlds are a perpetual minefield. I usually bull my way through by saying them slightly snidely, as if I were mispronouncing them on purpose to show those cheese-eating surrender monkeys. I mean, in the end, you still get cup custard. But I will cop to the fact that my aunt had to teach me how to say Pots de Creme quite recently, and I still feel a little dopey saying it.