Near to Nyons was a wonderful restaurant which had a full wall of awards outside the door and came highly recommended for a meal. It was in the village of Vinsobres, built on a hill and has a delightful Priory as its focal point.
The restuarant.....
We entered the restaurant to be greeted warmly and invited to have a drink while we perused the menu. The detail of the starter's is a little hazy except that I had l'escargot beautifully marinated in a garlic mixture. The fun was to come when we ordered the main course.
Ger had spaghetti carbonara and the girls had another variation of pasta, I ordered the fillet steak and requested that it be cooked rare ("Bleu") as that is my preference. It was not, however Gabrielle's.
"Madame?" inquired the waiter pen poised
"Fillet Steak, well done " says she
"Pardon madam ?" says he gob open wide as a barn door
"Steak, very well done" says she
He shrugged his shoulders and looked at me. I shrugged my own shoulders and whispered.
"tres bien cuit monsieur" says I looking embarrassed
"Non, Monsieur Non" he said looking extremely afraid as he glanced at the kitchen.
"Oui" says I
He sighed and walked towards the kitchen. Gabrielle looked at me.
"What was that about" says she
"I think you might find out shortly that you have offended the chef" says I
"How?" says she
"By asking for a well done steak, you know they don't burn their food" says I
"I'm paying, I want it well done" says she.
Apart from the mute point that I was paying anyway, I stayed quiet. That was more than could be said for the kitchen. Two voices were heard in heated argument in such rapid French that I could only make out a few words. Amongst the words were references to our heritage and parentage that would, in normal circumstances, necessitate a rolling up of sleeves and invitation to the car park.
The waiter came out smiled a forced smile and departed for the front bar, where he promptly filled a glass with brandy saluted me and drank it in one. The noise continued in the kitchen and then the door burst open and out came the chef, looking splendid in his high hat and apron. He strode purposely towards our table shouting unintelligibly at the top of his voice.
He stopped and stared at Gabrielle and stopped shouting.
"You want your meat like table" he said rapping his knuckles on the table
"Ok you have meat like table" and he departed into the kitchen reverting back to screaming obscenities in French.
God help me but I descended into fits of laughter trying unsuccessfully to stifle them. Gabrielle gave me daggers across the table. The meal (ours anyway) when it arrived was beautiful (I did check for razor blades in the veg) and Gabrielle ate hers in silence apart from saying it was OK. I went to pay for the bill and noticed that Gabrielle's steak was not on it. I pointed this out and was told politely that Gabrielle's steak never existed and he would be obliged if it stayed that way.
Never ask a French Chef for a well done steak. Ever --- priceless
