Poor Man's Food Review

I had the best dinner of my entire life last night... and I have no idea in the world what I ate.

As I mentioned yesterday, mom and I had to eat at the VERY expensive two Michelin star French restaurant, Poids Public, in St-Felix-Lauragais last night, as every other place in town stocking some form of edible sustenance was closed on Monday.

Now, I am not a foodie. Sure, I love food. Adore it. Would marry it in a civil ceremony if it was legal. But part of being a foodie is also loving to cook (which, as my lonely stove would attest, I do not) and knowing the foodie lingo - the spices, the ingredients, the styles of cooking, what's in season, even the history of a particular dish. These details are not my forte. Thankfully, I have people in my life who are genuine foodies and allow me to sit at their dinner table from time to time with a fork and knife.

I only bring this up because in wanting to tell you about the best meal I've ever eaten in my life, I find myself woefully unequipped. The descriptions were on the menu, of course, but in our inadequate French, we knew only about 1/5th of their meaning. That, coupled with my inept foodiedom, makes it terribly hard to deliver a satisfactory food review. So rather than pretend to be something I am not by overcompensating with pretension, I offer you a food review Blackheart style - i.e. blissfully and unapologetically ignorant but well meaning.

Let's begin. For aperitifs, mom and I toasted the extravagant night (of which, as pilgrims, we couldn't help but feel ashamed) with two glasses of Kir Royal and soon were brought an amuse-bouche that I think was whipped pumpkin but could have been any other squash in the world or maybe even not squash at all. But it was good. Lip smacking good. And orange. More bite-sized apps followed, including some pesto pastry and a spinach roll thingy on a stick, which mom thought was merely decoration until I shockingly ate it and discarded the stick.

I had ordered the prefix Legume (veggie) menu, so my first dish was essentially whipped peas on a Parmesan croquette with whole Lima beans and peas on top. A 'tower o' peas' for want of a better phrase. This is when my mouth began to realize something extraordinary was happening. Something that would change the course of my gastronomical life. At several points I actually closed my eyes. Creepy right? But I couldn't help myself. I needed to be alone with my peas.

The second dish was giant artichoke hearts and lima beans cooked in some special French style, floating in a broth that could make a grown man weep. I sopped up every last bit with bread and then stared in disheartened disbelief when the lake of broth was dried up. The waiter selected a white wine for my last dish, which I can't for the life of me recall since at this point I was in a complete culinary trance. Nothing else mattered. He could have brought me a glass of 1997 Dom. Romane Conti, and I probably would have remarked, "Mmm, good grape juice."

The last dish was eggs mollet and asparagus in a cream sauce that I spooned up like soup. I have not a clue what the mollet style of cooking egg involves. All I know is that yumminess was aplenty, and I have found new respect for the egg as a meal centerpiece. More creepy eye-closing ensued.

For dessert, a crispy fruit tart and a tray of complimentary petit fours, which included what I can best describe as mango marshmallows, candied ginger bites and a macaroon so delectable I am thinking of naming my future child after it. "Macaroon, get in this house and make momma an oeuf cuit mollet! Now!" Then a decadently dark decaf espresso followed, and I was in a food comma from which I've yet to recover.

In summation, I can honestly say that this meal - this true gourmet French meal - of which I have no idea of what the majority of it was, has changed my life. It has made me want to cook. It has made me want to learn French. It has made me want to be a real, genuine foodie.

All of that, or simply, to marry a French chef.

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Pics from the 'walk of misery' from St-Felix-Lauragais to Avignonet-Lauragais. 17 miles of rain, mud, bright green worms parachuting onto us from the trees, mounds of wet horse poop (what I call 'hiking landmines'), soaking hiking socks (my toes look like albino prunes) and aching backs. The camera stayed dry inside mom's pack most of the day, but I took advantage of pockets of dry weather to capture the beauty that contrasted with our discomfort.


We continue along the Canal du Rigole.





Pigeon United Nations.








Plantation trees helped block out some of the rain. Some...


The Canal du Midi in which we found a giant rodent (mom swears it was a rat, but this thing was as big as a beaver) face down drowned and floating on the surface with its little arms and legs spread wide. Normally I would be disgusted. But today, on the 'walk of misery', I understood fully his pain.

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Location:Avignonet-Lauragais, France