How to eat dinner in France
Having visited Mont St Michel on the Friday we attempted to get back to the hotel. This involved sitting in the queue on the causeway as everyone else desperately tried to not get drowned too. By the time we actually made it onto the mainland, high tide had "been and went". We spent a timed 27 minutes to go about 3km - 2 minutes doing the last 1km.
When we finally made it to the hotel1 my mate in the top-down MGF behind had had enough, his clutch foot still trembling and his wife nicely cooked, announced rather firmly "I think we'll eat in the Hotel tonight."
The €23 menu looked rather good, my French was good enough to understand everything on it apart from one of the starters "Araignée Mayonaise". My electronic translator came up with "spider". "Shit, the French'll eat anything" I thought. We called over the waitress.
"Err, bon soir, ce qui ne signifie araignée?"
"Eet means speeder"
"What as in" and I made a hand-crawly gesture on the table.
"Oui"
(fuck!)
"...mais sous la mer"
We ordered spider crab for starters.
What we didn't expect was a whole spider crab each to turn up complete with legs and claws. The waitress also deposited a complete set of instruments from the Spanish Inquisition2.
"Any idea how to use these?", I asked.
"Don't care", said Mr PoorlyClutchFoot and he duly waded in with gay abandon.
It was at this point I realised that the whole restaurant was looking at us with that knowing smile only the French can do. I broke off one of the legs and promptly flicked small pieces of crab across the table3. My friend, who had had more success with that, was busily engaged in using the nutcrackers to get into a claw. "Gad, these are tough" he exclaimed and with a deft twist of his hand promptly shot the appendage onto the table opposite. He never flinched - "Go and get that will you, you can speak French, can you apologise?".
"Bonsoir, err, Les Fou Anglais?"
"Oui."
1Arcantis Le Beauvoir, it's got a fantastic restaurant. We're not invited back.
2"No one expects the...", oh, shut up.
3And in my friend's wife's hair too, it transpired.
When we finally made it to the hotel1 my mate in the top-down MGF behind had had enough, his clutch foot still trembling and his wife nicely cooked, announced rather firmly "I think we'll eat in the Hotel tonight."
The €23 menu looked rather good, my French was good enough to understand everything on it apart from one of the starters "Araignée Mayonaise". My electronic translator came up with "spider". "Shit, the French'll eat anything" I thought. We called over the waitress.
"Err, bon soir, ce qui ne signifie araignée?"
"Eet means speeder"
"What as in" and I made a hand-crawly gesture on the table.
"Oui"
(fuck!)
"...mais sous la mer"
We ordered spider crab for starters.
What we didn't expect was a whole spider crab each to turn up complete with legs and claws. The waitress also deposited a complete set of instruments from the Spanish Inquisition2.
"Any idea how to use these?", I asked.
"Don't care", said Mr PoorlyClutchFoot and he duly waded in with gay abandon.
It was at this point I realised that the whole restaurant was looking at us with that knowing smile only the French can do. I broke off one of the legs and promptly flicked small pieces of crab across the table3. My friend, who had had more success with that, was busily engaged in using the nutcrackers to get into a claw. "Gad, these are tough" he exclaimed and with a deft twist of his hand promptly shot the appendage onto the table opposite. He never flinched - "Go and get that will you, you can speak French, can you apologise?".
"Bonsoir, err, Les Fou Anglais?"
"Oui."
1Arcantis Le Beauvoir, it's got a fantastic restaurant. We're not invited back.
2"No one expects the...", oh, shut up.
3And in my friend's wife's hair too, it transpired.
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