Lost in the Charente

Have been lost in the Charente, getting down with quality ‘in-law‘ time.

Will report back soon.

Hallelujah. A train station in France that offers an alternative to all those lumping stairs
Hallelujah. A train station in France that offers an alternative to all those lumping stairs
a quick ‘clope’ (fag)

gare de Saintes

2CV charente


angeac sign

lunch at my in-laws’

mmmn, lunch

Mmn, ca vous donne envie?

This is the un-cooked version.  I just couldn’t resist.  It’s a dish called ‘Andouillette‘.

I’ve got to say that this is one of the only dishes I can’t get myself to enjoy.  Don’t get me wrong, I have been raised well and have of course done the right thing and tried it.  I have tried it many times in fact – each time trying to savour the flavour as much as those around me (not much pressure here – it’s a Frenchie family favourite).  But I’m sorry, everytime I do, I get a certain ‘je ne sais quoi’ flavour.  Actually no, I’m lying.  I know what I taste – and it’s a taste I wouldn’t normally associate with fine cuisine.   Getting me?  Sorry, but it does.  You should smell the fumes when these babies are smoking in the pan.  I thought tripe in Mum and Dad’s pressure cooker was bad.

The first time I ate Andouillette the je-ne-sais-quoi flavour lingered in my mouth well into the following morning (I had brushed my teeth three times).  I was horrified and complained to Benji about the disturbingly bad taste.  “Well, it is half made of shit,” was his answer.

Am I making your mouth water by now?  Look it up and see what’s in it.  It’s a delicacy that, in it’s ‘purest’ (and by this I mean ‘smellier’ version) form, you don’t find often, if ever, outside of France.   Strange.

As I don’t tend to serve this at home, my mother-in-law likes to get some in preparation for her boy’s arrival.  They all laugh at me as they’re tucking into it with dollops of mustard, wondering how on earth I can’t adore this dish.  I can only sit there and make cheap comments on the dish’s obvious aesthetic merits and delightfully heady aromas.  “My poor son!” my mother-in-law consoles… “At least here at your mother’s you can enjoy Andouillette!”

mmmn, andouillette
mmmn, Andouillette