Today I was invited to Veroniques’ house for lunch. In this part of Brittany this rare. To be invited to someones’ house for lunch on a week day, however informal is almost unheard of.
Joe is eating lunch at a friends’ house, Iona is at college, Mark is taking sandwiches today, so I accept.
‘I will cook you something very French.’ Veronique promises.
“Lovely.’
I arrive and a distinct smell greats me from the kitchen. It isn’t a horrible smell. More distinctive. I haven’t smelt it before.
We go into the kitchen. Veronique busies herself with frying pans and motions for me to sit down.
Veronique then divided the contents of the frying pan onto two plates. The smell is now incredibly strong, a strong meaty smell.
‘Mange.’ she orders.
‘What is it?. I ask as I gingerly take a bite.
‘I’ll tell you when you have finished.’ Veronique replies mysteriously.
The texture is OK, but the taste … no. I don’t like it. It is like NOTHING I have tasted before.
What do I do?, eat it really fast whilst it is hot, leave some or politely plod through the lot?
Eventually I managed, somehow, to finish.
‘That was andouillette.’ Veronique very proudly announces.
For ten years I have managed to avoid tasting this very French delicacy of intestine… and I was right to avoid it !!..
Wikipedia states… ‘true andouillette are rarely seen outside France. All have a strong, distinctive odor related to their intestinal origins and components. Although sometimes repellant to the uninitiated, this aspect of andouillette is prized by its devotees…’
I would say this is very very true.
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