Posted: September 7th, 2007 | Filed under: Travel | Tags: cheese, dawn, dinner time, french bread, holidays, little bit, lunch, Travel, tuesday afternoon, yoghurt | No Comments »
It struck me just now that I am more active during my holidays than I am at home. I’ve been back since Tuesday afternoon and have done sweet f.a. since. Hanging out online all day, twittering, editing a few pictures, chatting to a friend, eating and going to bed very, very late.
In France I woke up early most mornings, sometimes before dawn. I’d break fast soberly with some french bread and a few bites of Comte cheese, or a little bit of yoghurt. By noon, I would have been out walking and taking pictures for four hours or more. After lunch, I would pick another part of town to explore. I’d walk around till dinner time, feed myself, chill out a bit and be in bed before 10pm.
I do everything arseways.
Posted: July 24th, 2005 | Filed under: Food | Tags: andouille, baguette, black pudding, chip butty, french bread, hot dog, hot plate, little pigs, ludicrous idea, merguez, moroccan, offal, palate, pale grey, relish, sausages, shell food, stade de france, Travel, tripe, unsuspecting tourist | Comments Off
Hungry before going into the Stade de France in Paris, I stopped at one
of the many, many food stands outside the stadium. They all looked the
same and served the same food, none of it very healthy: French bread
with assorted sausages and chips.
You couldn’t just get a bag of chips, it only came as extra with the
sausage. I marvelled at the ludicrous idea of having french bread with
chips (‘le chip butty’) and tried to decide what sausage I wanted.
The merguez (moroccan, spicy) looked great, but I wanted something
bigger so I pointed at the large ones on the hot plate. Looking at the
menu, I guessed they were ‘andouilettes’. That rang a bell. When the
woman scooped one disintegrated sausage into a baguette for me, I
remembered. Andouille… Tripe. Chitterlings. Offal.
I smiled, having made the age old unsuspecting-tourist-in-france
mistake. But I pride myself on a strong stomach and palate. I’m not
squeamish about food (as long as it’s not insects) gladly slip live
shell food down my throat and wax poetically about black pudding. A
little pigs’ offal wasn’t going to put me off.
I tucked into my baguette with great relish. Texturally, it was fine.
That thick white rubbery bit must have been a vein or stomach lining.
The pale grey brownish filling was like minced meat. It was the smell
of it that did me in. It was minging, sickly and sweet, much or exactly
like the food I used to cook for my pet.
Half of my baguette andouillette ended up in a bin. A bottle of Evian
took care of the taste and smell. Once inside the stadium, I stilled my
hunger with a plain old hot dog.
