Bloody Good Chap goes to France: If sex was a sandwich

It was time to leave Nantes, so stopping off at a bakery on the way to the station, I grabbed a baguette filled with saucisson and cornichon and a black coffee to stiffen my resolve. Although the night before had not been too heavy, I had enjoyed a few nicely chilled beers and a couple of glasses of eau de vie in the buzzing city centre at the popular Circle Rouge. Being a solo traveller I had attracted a bit of attention with my trusty book in hand, ‘Ad Men and Bad Men’ and of course played the role of affable tourist answering a stream of questions on my English credentials. 

Arriving at the station I had a little time to kill, so I opted for the first of many customary train beers. As the rather sub-par Kronenbourg original (non of this 1664 rubbish) slipped down, I kept hearing the the opening bars of Shanice’s 1991 chart topper ‘Smile’ to a point where it became quite irritating. Of course it wasn’t the R ‘n’ B classic but a weird jingle for the constant stream of announcements from the team at SNCF. It was a sound that was going to characterise the trip as I experienced the French railway system. 

The lush countryside of the Loire Valley unfolded before me as we wended our way to Angers and I munched away on that delicious sandwich, full of cold butter, cured meat and piquant pickle. Before I knew it, the ancient city of Angers revealed itself and it was time to enjoy the second destination on the trip.

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Any fans of medieval history will be familiar with Angers, the seat of the legendary Geoffrey of Anjou and a wealthy dukedom. It houses a number of treasures, including a set of UNESCO tapestries of the Apocalypse and a great collection in their museum of fine arts. Furthermore, the city is beautifully preserved full of fine architecture so there is plenty to see and do. Unfortunately, it was a Sunday so the town was somewhat sleepy, but that didn’t stand in my way too much.

I dumped my bags at the ever reliable Ibis Hotel, a French institution and hit the town, but not before I had a discouraging exchange with the hotel’s concierge, who told me that the only place to eat in the whole place was the rather uninspiring hotel restaurant. I’m sure the food would not have been that bad, but I was not hear to dine in the bar at a chain hotel. I knew I could do a bit better, even when taking pot luck. 

It was time to explore the town, take in the cathedral and, have a glass or two of the local tipple, Rose d’Anjou. A strange wine, this beverage is not that popular in the UK and is a little bit rough and ready, however, it goes down quite agreeably on a piping hot day when chilled, especially with a bowl of finely sliced saucisson in a well-appointed square in the shadow of an ancient tower. 

An hour in the Fine Arts Museum was rewarding, especially for the small but impressive room of 16th and 17th Century Flemish old master paintings and some sombre but beautifully crafted 12th and 13th Century iconography. It was well worth the 6€ ticket and I recommend popping in if you find yourself in Angers.

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I become a habitual snacker when I go on holiday, making the most of the change in cuisine and, pottering around the quiet Sunday afternoon streets, I found the most amazing of fast food emporiums: The rotisserie. It was an emporium of meaty wonder and a rare place of activity as the sultry sun beat down. 

I entered and the enticing smell and site of chickens ‘turning and turning in a widening gyre’ or rather spits greeted me. But that was not all, there were trays of Rillons (confit pork belly), sausages, Morteau, roasted lamb, bowls of sauteed potatoes, pots of homemade mayonnaise, chopped hard boiled eggs... 

This was real fast food! Rather than the disgusting array of draft soft drinks, there were half bottle of wine and plastic glasses, cans of beer or freshly squeezed juice. We desperately need this in London for the masses. I went for a Rillons sandwich with a can of lager, it was unctuous and delicious, sticky, slightly gelatinous, slightly greasy, utterly deliciously. If sex was a sandwich, this would be it! 

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Dinner soon came around and despite the Rillons sandwich, a little aperitif of Rose de Anjou and a bowl of olives whetted my appetite for a simple plate in an equally simple restaurant. Yes Basserie de Gare (opposite the station as you might guess) was basic, but not unpleasant. It was a fine evening so I took a table outside. Scanning the menu and looking at the rather pedestrian offering I saw something that had long been on my bucket list of things to try, Andouilette. 

For American readers this is not to be confused with the Cajun Andouille which is a spicy pork sausage, this one is actually made of pigs intestines rolled into a cylinder and bound in more intestines. It has quite a high, offaly smell and an acquired, chewy texture. It’s not for the faint-hearted and is certainly an alien taste to the Anglo-American palate. I ordered with some trepidation, and the waiter was rather surprised, ‘really?’ he said. This made me more determined, ‘of course!’ I replied, ‘d’accord’ returned, he went away shaking his head, probably thinking I was made. I ordered a glass of Sancerre (another Loire Valley wine) and awaited my fate...

I must say the dish that arrived did look very inviting, a rustic white sausage with appealing grill marks, a pile of fries and some simply dressed lettuce arrived. I tucked in, and I must say that I don’t know why I was so apprehensive. Tasting the andouilette dispelled any negative illusions that had been communicated to me by others who had tried this delicacy. Yes there was a slight barnyard-y element to this, as one would expect of anything associated with the digestive tract, but it was not unpleasant. I love chewy, gelatinous textures and I consumed my meal with gusto, almost as soon as it had arrived, it was gone! 

I did not go for a pudding, I didn’t need it, instead I went back into town for a digestif, in particular a glass of Cointreau, another local tipple (it’s produced on the outskirts of Angers). Luckily, bars are open on Sunday evenings and so I was not disappointed. It was a great way to round off the day, accompanied by a half-pint or three of beer. Another perfect ending to another delightful day...

Coming up: I head to Tours to discover why it’s one of France’s most famous destinations for charcuterie. 

Fine French Flair!

Gazette Battersea - Chatfield Road, London SW11 3UY, United Kingdom

I have always believed that a hiatus is a useful way to overcome a dose of writers block. Yes dear readers, I know that I have been too long in typing up a latest set of musings with which to whet my audience’s appetite. Of course, I have paid the price my lax behaviour, followers drop off, visits to the site seem to evaporate into thin air and my writings sink down the SEO rankings... such is life and such are the consequences for lack of blog maintenance. 

However, now I have returned from the valleys of the uninspiring to mountain tops bursting with energy, enthusiasm and above all, entertainment and where better to start than with an account of a superb restaurant that I had the pleasure of visiting last Saturday, Gazette.

Located a stones-throw from the River Thames in the modern Battersea Reach complex, Gazette is a fine example of classic French bistro cooking done well. The occasion was my mother’s birthday and the other guest were my aunt and my grandmother so I was ‘outnumbered’ as they say! The birthday girl had somewhat undersold it claiming, a simple cuisine of roast chicken and pommes dauphinoise - how delicious I thought, but I felt that the initial description did not communicate the triumph of the meal I was about to eat. 

Now, to give a bit of context, I love French brasserie cuisine: hearty fish soups, mountains of crevettes (prawns), brochettes of lamb, coq au riesling, omelette au fine herbes, tarte tatine... you get the picture. Give me this any day over meat cooked in a sous vide, sodden with foams, espumas, consomme and concasse (just an irritating term often used to describing peeled and chopped tomatoes on Masterchef)... I know, I know, I am being a tad unfair but rustic French cuisine is one with bags of strong, pleasing flavours using moreish and often highly unhealthy ingredients. 

Back to the restaurant. I arrived early and as is my custom after the little hand passes 12 noon, I requested that the waiter bring me a beer. Cold, crisp and pleasingly non-descript (I have never liked hoppy lager) it slipped down easily as I chewed on green olives and some bread with a little salted butter, a pleasant start to the meal. 

Looking around I took in the decor, the room was light and airy but had a French sensibility about it with polished tables and chairs, robust linen napkins, banquettes along the walls, an oak bar and plenty of brass railing work. All in all the establishment had a nice welcoming feel without being to overwhelming. 

The other guests arrived, drinks were ordered (theirs a Provencal rose) and the menus were presented. My eyes lit up with delight and desire as soon as I scanned my eyes across the menu with its promises of suckling pig, presented four ways, oeufs en cocotte (baked eggs), confit de canard (duck legs braised in duck fat), cassoulet (a hearty bean stew incorporating the aforementioned confit de canard, pork, sausage), boeuf bourgignon, mussels, oysters... oh I could go on! These were rich pickings and no mistake. A wry smile rose from across the table as my dining companions saw the glee with which I devoured the menu with my eyes! I am often quick to decide but here I was in a quandary, there was so much I wanted to eat! 

Soon I alighted on the fresh asparagus with Bayonne ham and frisee (£7.50), I couldn’t resist. White asparagus is a rare treat in the UK, where green is the norm, and that it was pan-fried in butter made it doubly inviting.

It came to me as three fat spears topped with the chopped and cooked ham and a bundle of dress salad. I am ashamed to admit that I was so ravenous that I wolfed the lot down and, had I not been giving the cheese trolley longing looks, could have ordered a second round of it for pudding. The asparagus was delicate and played nicely against the saltiness of the pig and the sharply dress frisee. 

I was feeling rather traditional that day and so I plumped for a Bavette steak (£14) for my main course, a brasserie classic full of flavour and with a chewy texture. I find alluring and others don’t! I requested it blue (frankly steak should not be cooked any other way!) and with a side order of fries and some green salad.

The steak was all that I thought it would be and more, topped with melting shallots it was all that I thought it would be and more. The salad was pleasing because, unlike most green salads you get in restaurants, this one was a simple affair based on soft, round lettuce with a no-frills vinaigrette. The only criticism I had was when it came to the trite. 

I have never been a fan of the double cooking/triple cooking method and, truth be told, really, really like the processed chips you get at most steak restaurants. Maybe it’s something in the way they’re made, much like preferring frozen peas to fresh ones! However, the chips came and they were tasty, but not quite crispy enough for my preference. This is a very, very minor negative, more a matter of taste, and certainly not a game-changer. I accompanied my main course with a strong, but plummy red from Languedoc (£6.50 a glass). 

My dining companions had the 1/2 roast chicken (£11), beautiful cooked and presented with a luscious, silky jus, the dauphinoise potatoes and some fine green beans, where as my grandmother who has a healthy appetite tucked into the very tasty looking suckling pig (£17). All claimed their’s was the best choice! 

Pudding or cheese? Pudding or cheese? PUDDING or CHEEEEESE? Hmmm... what to  choose? I think I have given away my decision already but it was a hard one to make, there were plenty of enticing options but, having looked at the cheeseboard on the way in I was somewhat swayed. 

Choosing to go for the judicious four choices for £4.00 opposed to eight options for £8.00, and I was not disappointed. The waitress took me over to inspect the specimens. I have always been a sucker for cheese from North-East France and so a slice of ripe Mariolles (Picardy), a  slick of very ripe Epoisse (Burgundy), a petite wedge of Camembert with Calvados (Normandy) before dipping to centre for the Auvergnaise Fourme d’Ambert. Served with a few walnuts, a trio of grapes and some crusty bread it was a true symphony of flavours. Each cheese had been kept well and coupled with some of the Languedoc, which I had kept back it was almost other-worldly! 

My dining companions sampled a thin, crisp apple tart with a dollop of homemade vanilla ice cream, a thumbs up confirming that it was a good ‘un. 

Cheese gone, I rounded off the meal with a glass of deliciously cold plum brandy from Alsace-Lorraine and a black coffee. The perfect end to an absolutely fabulous meal!