bleudauvergne

Who have you tapped to embarass themselves after this effort? Aren't there rules for this sport? I bet there's one about disclosing the identity of the next victim. IAC, I can't imagine whoever it is being grateful for all these prognostications of doom. As if the task weren't tough enough already! Tsk, tsk. Hey, if Lucy'd been pre-heckled like this last week, she might have refused the blog altogether, and then where would we all be, hmmmmm? I'm not telling.

I am going to bed now, I have one more day tomorrow.

That is a real Bouchon Lyonnais.

There's so much to say about this place.

Kir maison (he gave me this for free) Gratin de coquillages safrané à l’étuvé de poireau Pièce de bœuf au sabayon de poivre mignonnette (the sauce was divine) 1/4 Pot de Cotes du Rhone Chèvre frais au marc de bourgogne (macerated in marc - I order it every time) Poires aux vin (he says this macerated 48 hours and will give the recipe) Coffee 23 Euros tip and tax included

Thank you for the compliment. I shall proceed with dinner.

I did not walk to the tourist section of town for this meal. I took the bus across town. Chez Pierre is located in the 3rd Arrondissment, near the prefecture of the Rhone, not far from the quai. There is no foot traffic there. It's 1/2 mile from the nearest public transportation stop. In fact no restaurants on the same block. But for some reason, Chez Pierre always has most of his tables occupied. Why?

People associate Bouchons with offal. But that's really not the concept behind the Bouchon. A Bouchon is exactly what we would define in our culture as a diner, but the French manifestation of such a concept. Unfortunately, in this day and age, more caricatures exist than not. It’s a sad truth. People judge a bouchon on the size of their dish and the fat content. This is not reality in the true tradition of Lyon.

This amazing week is not over, although I did not cook at home tonight. I enjoyed an evening of being served by my dear Mr. Pierre, who cherishes my husband and I. He is the proprietor of one of the last living Bouchons of Lyon.

Ive decided to go to a Lyonnais Bouchon this evening.

Nah, it was only a half (very cool presentation, wish I had a picture), but it was a bunch of lapin for one guy, even me. Those peas were delicious with the spinach mixed in. I will have to give that a try. They sauced it with a rabbit reduction of rabbit stock and red wine. Quite tasty. Half a rabbit's at least as big as half a chicken. That's for sure.

Installing the chains now...

Brooks! They gave you a whole rabbit? That's - sickening! Addit: Or were you talking about last night's beast at my house?

I have a dollhouse. So if you could make me a set of 1/12th scale miniature chefs knives I would be so happy. Lets PM about what this is going to cost me. Edited to say I just love that you are a metalsmith.

The question is do they make a cheesecake crust?

LUNCH THURSDAY: Lunch was had with people who asked me to join them. We all got our golden tickets and descended to the cafeteria. Crudites (bettrave et carotte) Tendron de veau / demi-glace Celeri branche braisee Fromage blanc / creme Pain Eau Cafe Discussion at the table: Linguistic and cultural subtleties in a multinational environment.

It would be like a dream come true to become a food stylist. However in France I think you have to have chosen that profession at the age of 7, rigorously prepared for the national examination for 12 years, and then achieved one of the top three scores on the examination for that year. Therefore with my diplomas not specifically in photography and eclectic background, my CV is instantly eliminated by the clerk who works for the secretary of the assistant of the adjoint of the director of the Conseil d'Administration of the French Food Stylist Council. But seriously though. Do you know of any openings?

Breakfast was, as usual, a piece of fruit, a sweet nectarine. This morning, I did all of the things Loic does. I unloaded the dishwasher, cleaned the cook top with the special paste, dealt with the things that were to be hand washed, and wiped down the counters. I fed the cat (canard), took out the trash, and made the coffee. I did not sweep the floor. Talk about appreciation for your spouse. Loic is going to get a big thank you when he gets home. Due to these activites, I was slightly late getting out the door and I missed bus I normally take, and another one was just speeding off as I rounded the corner. I did not attempt to flag him down. Here in Lyon, the bus drivers are either exceptionally nice, or exceptionally mean. I gave the driver of my particular route a box of home made Christmas cookies this year, with a note about how I appreciate what he does. Since that time he has always stopped and picked me up along the road wherever I happened to be on the way to the bus stop, much to the chagrin of the passengers on the bus who ran to get to the stop. The miracles that can be accomplished with food. This morning, however, my bus was already long gone. The one I was on, which incedentally was full of people coughing, got caught behind a garbage truck. This lasted nearly 40 minutes. You’d think they would drive around the block every 15 minutes or so to let traffic circulate. But no. By that time, the traffic had become entangled enough to prohibit a smooth passage through the next town. I arrived to work 40 minutes late, and I am normally 15 minutes early. No worries. The amazing thing about this country is that people do not expect miracles, and they do not unreasonably expect perfection. Being on time is fine, (except when you are going to someone’s house for dinner but that's another story), but being late is perfectly fine too. Being late did not prevent me from stopping to look at something. Is this edible?

I have seven minutes to be out the door - THANK YOU ever so much to everyone who is offering me space. I got a message from Owen this morning and they are working on it. I still have a few photos left, and I am going to continue to use the space I've got because I now have the hang of how to quickly post a photo and still get things done I need to get done at the office.

Good morning. The last posts do seem rather odd. Especially with that downright scary picture leading down to the cave and Carolyn's old witch books, and the slaughter of the wabbit and everything. Don't worry! It just looks a bit strange but really we are good people! It's daylight again! Pan, thank you for trying for the recipe from your mother. A note to certain physicist in Copenhagen - no eGullet and I did not raid the cave last night, and all of the wine is in it's place. The wine is my husbands job. I realized when I got down there that he knows much much more about wine than I do, I don't know what is where, and he knows where the flashlight is. So I will ask him about that when he gets home. I do have amazing stories about rattling around the Bordeaux with our friends Frankie and Alain in the back seat, and ringing doorbells of Chateaux, me pretending to be a big hot shot and they are my bodyguards and translators. They are really good actors. It was a RIOT I am telling you. I also took photo portraits of all of the vinyard dogs. OK I can also say what vinyards we've been to and what we chose at the wine fair, too. I could not tell you when would be the best time to drink these particular wines would be, etc. So there will be more about the cave but at a later time. Coffee tastes yucky, btw.

It really depends on what Carolyn will be producing. It's up to her, really. If she wants to rest in the cave, we could set her up a place. But my instinct tells me she needs exposure to sunlight. I will not interfere with her ambitions. I have eaten my small share of the rabbit, put the rest with the mushrooms into cool storage, stained yet another one of my skirts with a drop of fat, and now I must go to bed. You know when you are integrated in eGullet when your mouse is greasy and your camera has rabbit blood smeared on it.

The rabbit is in the frigo waiting to be put to good use. Goodnight - it's been a pleasure dining with you. A demain!

The stairs down to our cave. Most apartment dating before the 20th century have, in the deed, a wine cave attached to the property of their home. It is part of our property. In this cave, which has a dirt floor way down below the bowels of the city, and a vaulted stone ceiling, one should be capable of preserving the best of wines. We are just beginning. We go every year, to the foire des vignerons independants, and stock up on a dozen or two bottles to save.