So it became a bit of a running joke when I explained to my mates that I was off to deepest, darkest France to pick mushrooms (edible, non halogen, genuine mushrooms before you start judging). People seemed to think it was a long way to go for something which is readily available in most supermarkets in the capital.
 |
| This one could be on the magic side... |
 |
| Old school Renault... Oh and an amazing view! |
Anyway a good friend of mine (French), typically named François who even more typically owns a French brasserie organised the trip along with Claude (also French) and my good chum, Scott (Irish). We arrived in Lyon where our adventure commenced. Being with two Frenchies was a real plus as the French banter didn’t stop from the moment we landed. We hired a car and set off into the beautiful countryside bound for a good friend of François who owns a restaurant in a tiny village called Saint Croix. The restaurant was admirably named La Cuisine de mon père. So simple, yet unbelievably effective. The reception was incredible and the pride of Chef Pierre was undoubtedly clear. He took the time to show us around his huge kitchen, around the whole restaurant and the grounds in which they sat all before l’heure d’aperitif (an agreeable time of day when one tucks into a Pastis or three – The Queen would refer this to ‘Gin ‘O’ Clock’)
In stereo typical fashion Pierre furnished our table with endless frogs legs – no complaints from my end though as they we to die for! I wont go into detail on every specific of the meal as this isn’t a Trip Advisor review however I will say that the hospitality received and the time taken out with friends and family was unforgettable. Why is it that we Brits are constantly in a rush? A 2 hour lunch break in France is considered normal...In London I know people who don’t even leave their desk for a sandwich!
It seems that what would seem like a huge amount of effort for us was so natural and effortless for the French.
 |
| Scott on guitar with handpicked roasted chestnuts on an open fire |
Just a quick note: As I write this, I’m sitting in a great little pub in the Northern Quarter of Manchester eating Bubble & Squeak with poached egg and black pudding – There are still things that us Brits do better!
