Andouillette, Mon Amour

 Yesterday at around noon the douce odour of merde wafted past me as I was bathing Clem.

“Noooooooooo, not andouillettes!!!” I hollered as Franck whistled away in the kitchen.  

But alas, it was an an andouilette that Franck was cooking himself for lunch.  One of the very first things he buys himself every time he arrives in his native land is one of these (according to him) delectable sausages made out of pig intestines.

I have tasted it on a few occasions (and always under severe duress), but as far as I am concerned andouillette tastes just as bad as it smells.  But all of Franck’s family – as well as most of the French people I know – are enamoured with this “delicacy”.

They are all convinced I will eventually change my mind.  I always say, “sorry guys, I will just never be that French.”

One thought on “Andouillette, Mon Amour

  1. Peter

    I’m with you. Andouillette is about the only sausage I can’t bear. Just the smell makes me nauseous.

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