Ceci m’a fait sourire

The lovely David from David the Designer who joined us on our Little Break in Brussels recently ran a competition to give one of his lucky readers the chance to win a pair of Eurostar tickets so they could take their own little break.

Mike (Reed Words) who won the competition has kindly shared the details of his Little Break with David and us which as well as enchanting you, might also inspire you to take a Little Break of your own.

Ah, Paris. City of joie de vivre, esprit de corps, and that certain je ne sais quoi. After I won David’s competition, and secured my two free Eurostar tickets, David asked if I’d write a post or two reporting back from my travels. So here I am. If you’re one of those for whom holiday snaps and anecdotes produce instant narcolepsy, it’s probably best you stop here.

Montmartre isn’t far from the Gare du Nord, so we walked it, and arrived among the steep, cobbled avenues and the endless flights of steps feeling happy but hungry. In Montmartre, you can’t throw a pain au chocolat without hitting a charming little bistro, so we went into the first one we stopped outside: Le Progres, it was called.

We squeezed either side of a tiny table just inside the door, and soon enough were presented with two great-looking plates: chicken and chips for Wendy, which of course sounds better as poulet frites, and a huge slice of roast salmon for me.

Alongside this splendid bit of fish were two odd-looking discs that I took for mushrooms. I love my food, and am always keen to try something new, so popped one of these peculiar-looking things into my mouth.

It was not a mushroom.

Whatever it was, it was the most disgusting thing I have ever eaten. It was like chewing on a slice of ripe, aged dog turd. At least, that was the first image that came to mind as my tastebuds howled in protest and searched desperately for the exit.

Eventually I swallowed the damn thing, my vision started to clear, and over Wendy’s shoulder I saw three middle-aged French women convulsed with laughter at my tortured expressions. One was even reduced to holding her napkin over her eyes, to soak up the tears. Every time they started to calm down, one of them would glance over at me, and they’d be in hysterics again.

I have a theory these jolly femmes go regularly to Le Progres, to watch idiot Englishmen like me eat whole slices of what I now know to be Andouille: boiled and roasted tripe sausage.

The English waiter explained what it was, and that ‘it’s not very popular with foreigners.’ Indeed. Still, it was an excuse for another beer to wash it all down. And the rest of the food was fantastic.

It was also nice to reflect that I could honestly claim to have made three local women very happy within less than two hours of arriving.

This is just one of Mike’s wonderful adventures in Paris and you can read the full story from part one here on David’s blog followed by part two here and you can check out more of Mike’s photos on Flickr here.