Offaly Good!

After an enthusiastic start on my Deli-cat-essen, I appear to have dwindled so in an attempt to stay loyal to any faithful readers out there (snigger). Here’s a wee update.

I have received two visits from lovely people in the last month or so starting with the arrival of ‘the rents’ for a little weekend. After the gorging ourselves on market food and croissants session (that I plan to make a standard practice for visitors to our flat!) we trundled all over the city. I say trundled and it makes it sound like they were in electric scooters, just to clarify they’re not that old yet!

In a brave attempt to highlight the weird culinary wonders of Lyonnais cuisine, I took them to “Le Garet” a well respected and very traditional “Bouchon Lyonais” - a restaurant, usually quite small and crammed often serving tripe and brains. It sounds like an unpleasant experience but actually they’re lovely places (generally) boasting loads of character, friendly staff and (mostly) consistently good food. As a shadow of horror crossed my parents faces, as one look at the menu confirmed their fears, almost everything involved head, or brain, or stomach. I can’t blame them for opting for the safe bavette de boeuf. It took quite a lot of courage on my behalf to order sheeps head sausage from the menu. (in an attempt to move closer to my goal of eating head cheese… Shudder) 

Everything came out looking delish, Adrien’s andouillette (a sausage made from stomach) looked like an alien growth but that’s normal, and of course being French he yummed it up no problem. My sausage was good, the sauce contained a whole bunch of grapes and it smelled deliciously winey. The only thing that got me was the occasional grisly lump, you couldn’t help but ask yourself- which bit of lamby’s head did this hard bit come from???

Any hangs ups us English philistines have about the food, we could not complain about the décor which I can only describe as Rugby-Erotica, or Rugrotica perhaps. The walls of the restaurant were adorned with Rugby paraphernalia and pictures of both tit and arse. But the toilet was where the real treat lay in store. The ladies gave the impression of a whores boudoir. Old fashioned knickers and Bra’s were slung willy nilly all over the place and old fashioned dirty sketches adorned the walls along with an old fashioned menu for a brothel (which told us it was a supplementary  50 centimes if the whore warmed her hands before getting down to business). And so  Le Garet was certainly an experience. Lets just hope it hasn’t put the rents off Lyonnaise food forever!