| The Undramatic Life And The Sausage Experience |
| Written by Brendon Green |
| Thursday, 29 October 2009 07:31 |
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So how about that, time? Sure does go by huh. I feel like I need a montage to show the passing of this last week or so. It shouldn’t really be a fast-paced one with an indie-rock dance floor filler as soundtrack, because not a whole lot has happened. This isn’t an action movie by any stretch. Although I did almost get hit by a car (I swear there is no official road code here, it’s like a mall car park at Christmas time, but filled with blind learner drivers.). And I don’t really justify an overly dramatic slow motion montage filled with dissolves between poignant moments with a soulful piano ballad backed with a rising string section either. The most dramatic thing to happen this week was when my friend and I bought some bread for dinner and the guy serving us gave us two extra bits of bread for FREE! Again I’m pretty sure it’s because I smiled at him, so from thereafter the bread was referred to as our Free Gay Bread. And it was delicious. Actually there’s a point to hit on, the food here is incredible, and I do particularly love the bread. I can’t recommend enough the joy of walking down the street to pick up a freshly baked baguette at 7PM to take home and eat with dinner. Now I am not the best cook in the world (that’s Nigella Lawson, obviously), but whenever I go out to a restaurant or even take away falafel place, the food is superb. Well, except for this one time… I had a friend from NZ visit for a couple of days and we went out to eat a few times. For dinner one night we decided to do what all good friends do and order a different main course each and then share them (or go ‘halfsies’ as I like to call it). I got a hamburger (boring) and he got the strangely named sausage (it was a word that looked similar to ‘intestine’). When they arrived it turned out that the word may well have been French for intestine. The sausage was big, but worryingly the skin was see through. It looked like chunky cat food covered in glad wrap. Then we cut into it. Holy Crap The Smell. The cat food analogy holds, except only if the main ingredient in the cat food was Arse (sorry to be crass, but that is the most accurate description available). The chunks of meat were mostly unidentifiable and no two were the same. We think maybe we saw some uncooked bacon bits, but we may have been being overly optimistic. To cut a long story short, we hid the sausage at the bottom of the bread basket on our table to get away from looking at it. We couldn’t get away from the smell though, so fairly soon after we asked for the bill and left. The story has a happy ending however, because we had banana and nutella crepes for dessert, and I rate them highly, up with the finest things Paris has to offer. So except for the sausage experience, I have nothing but good things to say about the food in Paris. And I will try to step up the drama and action of my everyday life, so I don’t have to settle for a montage of me sitting around my apartment set to a mid-tempo 'Feelers song that didn’t even make the Best Of CD. |
