Oh, French life is very glamourous. Wandering through the streets of Paris in the early hours, admiring the curved street lights. Admiring one’s own striped Breton jumper. Having caramel macarons for breakfast, and foie gras burgers for supper.
What? You would think the French would turn up their pointy little nnoses at foie gras on an American burger. Sacre bleu! Sacrilege.
But … it was pretty good, especially at the end of a loooong day’s work.
Full disclosure: I do own a blue stripy jumper. But I don’t go out late any more, I go to work when the drunken revellers sing their way home. The macarons are dented, otherwise thrown away by my very elegant patisserie. And the foie gras burger…was from Quick. A chain like Mcdonald’s. A limited Christmas edition and a thank-you from our boss for staying late.
Mine lasted about 30 seconds, eaten still in my apron and chef trousers. I can only imagine how good it would be made fresh at home: a seedy bun, a juicy burger, a real slab of foie gras and a dash of orange chutney. A little rocket for peppery greenery.
Ahh ze romance of France, its deliciously unethical eating habits.
Consume only with beret and considerable pretension!