Voulez vous pâté avec moi?
There’s nothing like arriving at work on a Monday morning in freezing London rain with no coat (lost), no phone (stolen), 3 hours sleep, a face like the end of the world and clutching two cans of pâté.
Some men buy girls flowers, some write them songs. I meet two Bretons and get given two cans of dubious-looking pâté from Finistère, the allegedly “magical” Hénaff, glory of the Breton culinary lexicon.
My favourite part of the Hénaff website is the phrase “made with a fraction of sodium nitrite to keep its lovely pink color“. Appetising in the extreme! There’s even a fan club, Le Club des Amoureux du Pâté Hénaff. Possibly the coolest member’s club in the universe.
Garçon! Deux petits toasts s'il vous plait!
Mais c’est complètement ignoble le pâté Hénaff!
And don’t get me started on sodium nitrite…
Bref, n’en mangez pas! Do not swallow…
A.
A. speaks out!