Thursday, March 10, 2011
just like an intestine peeking out of a split cow. Maybe not just like that, but did you figure out where they got the name? That's right, 'Abats' is French for 'guts'. You might have guessed this from 'abattoir', or slaughterhouse in English.
The startup conversation with the waiter was fun - his opening patter was that they were out of the meat and fish, so I could choose from chicken or quiche for lunch. Ho hum. Or, he allowed quietly, they could rustle up some of their special pate...
I squealed with delight when I saw this. And made small grunting noises from time to time as I tucked in. My neighbors, quiche eaters all, looked sideways at me.
"How's the taste?" he asked, possibly worried about the gaminess of it all. "Ohhh, good, especially that strong lamb sausage." He beamed and walked off.
I had to shake hands with the chef. He just gets random meats in and preserves them, no particular plan. And he claimed that all the dried stuff is stored on site...but then sheepishly admitted he's got some extra fridges at home. He's a good man. And that's good meat.
Gotta go back at night. Not so excited about the pork heart, but eating this stuff again is a must.