Taste: My Life through Food(43)
That area of the Gallic coast is of course known for its seafood as well as its more rustic country fare. The buffet lunch poolside at the Hotel Le Royal is in itself a typical Norman treat. Platters of fruits de mer on beds of ice, crisp green salads with a classic shallot dressing, fresh baguettes, and bottles of rosé or Sancerre are on offer and quickly snapped up by all the guests. There are also many wonderful restaurants in the surrounding area if one is interested in venturing out of the Barrière bubble.
I have been to the festival often over the years, staying for varying lengths of time, but on this trip I was there only a couple of days, as we were scheduled to attend a premiere for the film and a press junket in Paris. The morning of our departure saw us in a parade of cars heading northward to our destination with a small detour to the hallowed beaches of D-Day. As a World War II buff, I was beyond excited to visit this place I had read so much about. Needless to say it turned out to be more fascinating and moving than I ever could have imagined, and years later I am still overwhelmed by the experience.
After our tour (well, actually Meryl got the tour; our designated guide, who was I think the head of the whole site, was clearly smitten and hastily whisked her away while the rest of us tried to keep up as best we could, straining to overhear a fact or two that he imparted breathily into my costar’s ear), we returned to our convoy and headed for lunch at a little country bistro that one of the drivers was familiar with.
We arrived at a charming eatery off a side road famished and thirsty for the grape as usual. The cast of characters at the table was composed of M. Streep; my publicist Jenn; Chris Messina; Meryl’s brother Dana, an avid eater to say the least; and myself. The owner, who was no doubt as excited to meet Meryl as our D-Day beach tour guide, at least had the decency to acknowledge the presence of her dining companions, and swiftly brought us bread, water, the menu, and thankfully, wine.
As I said, we were starving, but we also knew that we were going to Paris, where we would end up eating a lot of something somewhere wonderful, so we all vowed to be judicious with our lunch orders. The menu consisted of mostly dishes from the area and was primarily more meat and game than fish based. There were, of course, eggs mayonnaise, mache salad as a starter, and entrées like onglet, omelettte aux herbes, or tripes à la mode de Caen. Perusing the menu, I noticed that a specialty of the house was andouillette. I thought it looked interesting and asked Meryl if she had ever eaten it. She said she hadn’t but since we both expressed a penchant for andouille sausages we figured this must be a diminutive version of them given that the name ended in “ette.” When the charming owner and waitress returned we ordered our starters (and more wine, as it had obviously evaporated in the afternoon heat), and inquired about the andouillette. They explained that it was a sausage, to which we said of course we knew as much (being careful not to make too much a show of our worldliness), and that it was particular to Normandy. Wanting to demonstrate that the “ugly American” is an endangered species, all of us, with the exception of Jenn, ordered the andouillette with definitive gusto accompanied by a kind of “Bring it on!” sweeping gesture of the arm.
Our host noted our order and gracefully made his exit. A moment later the waitress arrived with our wine. Corks popping, we chatted about the experience of the festival and how lucky we had been to have a private tour of the D-Day memorial site, or at least follow Meryl’s private tour. Our starters arrived, over which we yummed and ahhhed, while we ordered more wine because… well, there was none left in the bottles because I guess we drank it. We ate heartily as the waitress topped us up, and before we knew it we had finished our first course.
After a few minutes’ rest our entrées arrived. Jenn’s bright green salad was placed before her, but laid before the rest of us was a plate upon which sat something that I can only say bore a staggering resemblance to a horse cock. I watched Meryl’s face drop slightly and from her mouth come a small, “Oh.” She then smiled politely and glanced at me, searching for an answer to a question yet unformed, but seeing that I was staring at the contents of my plate with slack-jawed confusion, she turned back to the waitress.
MERYL: Is this the… um…?
WAITRESS: Oui, madame, the andouillette.
MERYL: Oh, good. I wasn’t… I thought… um… Merci.
WAITRESS: Merci beaucoup, madame.
Placing the remaining plates of this Norman specialty in front of Dana and Chris’s empty chair (he had gone to make a phone call), the waitress departed with a cheery, “Bon appétit!”
There was a moment of silence. Not for the fallen on the beaches we had just visited but for fear of what was before us. We exchanged concerned looks. I spoke first.
ME: Huh. This is not what I…
MERYL: No… Not at all.
Dana stared at his while stubbing out a cigarette.
DANA: It’s supposed to be good. That’s what they said. Right?
ME: Yeah, but… I thought it would be…
DANA: What?
ME: Well, smaller. You know, “ette.” Andouillette. Small.
MERYL: Yes, me too. I mean this is…
ME: Well, it looks like a fucking horse cock.
MERYL: Yes, it certainly does.
A beat of silence.
MERYL: Oh well.
She cut off a small piece and placed it in her mouth. She chewed gingerly. Her face showed a lifetime of human emotion in a split second. She swallowed. She brought her napkin to her lips. She spoke very quietly.