I still haven’t quite gotten over dinner in Narbonne. I don’t think I’ll ever fully ‘get over it’ really. Last night at dinner time I emptied the freezer, cooked the lot, set it along the entire kitchen worksurfaces with the entire contents of all the larders and declared the buffet open. I’m scarred by the experience. And I’m not just talking about the stretch marks around my waist.

Today’s pic is one of the meat ‘stations’. Ok, we’ve all seen roast meats before, not so much pressed duck (fucking amaaaazing), but it’s the presentation of the place. At most ‘all you can eats’ I’ve been to, they’re staffed by miserable Lithuanian students or depressed Syrian refugees, wearing jeans, last night’s t-shirt and a grim expression. Whereas at Les Grandes Buffets, they’re in full livery, they are indeed all foreign, but because they’re French.

There is, literally, tons of food in big heated ‘servers’ all over the place, but then there’s loads more which, although unlimited, is cooked individually. Like my tournedos Rossini. There is quite literally a wall of seafood; everything you could imagine, and quite a few more unusual sea creatures that you couldn’t. There were the most amazing pickled whitebait I’ve ever eaten. Probably because I’ve never eaten them before. But I will again.

And there’s cheese. Fuck me, is there cheese. I must confess I’m not the bravest or most adventurous cheese-eater on the planet. Any trace of blue, green, black, grey, purple or pink and I wouldn’t even touch it. But if it’s shades of white-to-beige, I’m in. So I took four extra statins on Thursday night, with my pre-match whisky in the hotel bar. Ok, I didn’t but probably should have, thinking retrospectively at all the cheese I consumed.

The meat was outstanding. I had a ‘stew de boeuf’ which was basically great big steaks casseroled until amazingly soft and wonderful. Then I had a steak anyway. Because I could. I ate it in protest. Just not sure who I was protesting at.

There was some lettuce there, but I didn’t want to be a pig, eating everything, so I passed it by. And tried to moderate my bread intake, because it’s so filling, but alas, equally wonderful. And you can’t really eat foix gras, nor cheese, without du pain. I can’t anyway.

Then there were desserts. Oh. My. God. So many, so wonderful. And a geezer in a bow tie making crepes, and a little ice cream ‘shop’. I sampled (it was the size of a small car) the tarte tatin , because you have to. In France. It was magnificent. So was the ice cream.

Listen, I can’t go banging on about food for the rest of my life, over one little meal. Maybe just a week. Or so. Especially as there’s no proper football going on.

Happy Sunday

A xxxx