*WARNING - gruesome photo alert*
I've been chuckling looking back at the photos I (or my OH) have taken over the last few years as absolutely everything contains something that I find particularly revolting! Obviously when I'm served a plate of something I like, I scoff it only to think afterwards that maybe I should have taken a photo - or was it just that it didn't stand out in its ickiness or gruesomeness to instantly merit reaching for the camera?!
Now this one you might think 'what's wrong with it?'. I admit, it does sum up Breton food found all around the coast very well. I adore moules frites, but oysters? Bleugh. Luckily they have been eaten in this photo which was taken at Jospinet on the north coast during a lunch out with friends. But I don't do live food or slimey food.
Then there's this very artfully presented dessert which my OH ordered. You can see I'm interested as it's my arm that's trying to nick the crunchy brown things in the glass. But the ick factor for me is that bowl of cream with the physalis on top. I love cream; single, double, whipped, clotted, sour or even creme fraiche. But I don't do cream with added sugar or vanilla. And I really don't do cream that comes out of a squirty aerosol can, which unfortunately abounds in France, and is very popular.
My OH, on the other hand, loves the stuff and is always ordering revolting ice cream sundae concoctions which are liberally covered in this stuff. Gross.
|Two? What a piggy!|
He knows it makes me barf so I think he does it on purpose, just to wind me up.
Then there's our summer hamlet get togethers. One year we had Tete de Veau. That's calf's head. I had the honour of watching the ladies boil their brains out (literally) in their arriere-cuisine, to end up with this .....
All the meat was picked off until this was left. I am glad to see at least one person found it necessary to wear marigolds!
And the brains? Why, here's a nice bowl of them if you still have any appetite left. No, I won't subject you to a large photo of them as I won't be able to eat my own lunch. Barf!
It was interesting to note that all children and practically everyone under 50 (and all 4 of us English) ate chicken, which was the alternative.
The year before at our 'do', we had this:
Which could have been nice, had it not been pink all the way through and served with innard stuffing. Half cooked trotters anyone? Needless to say I filled up on starters and pud!
French cuisine doesn't do it for me in the same way as Spanish. Now this I'd happily nip back to San Sebastian for (plus a bit of warmth and sunshine!).
|Calamari and not hot fried chillies|
Bon appetit! :-)))))