New Year is a very special time for Edinburgers; or at least, for tourists pretending to be Edinburgers. Hogmanay usually means paying exorbitant amounts to stand in the freezing cold on our high street, listening to 80′s bands that everyone has forgot exist, whilst drinking flat Irn Bru and vodka from a plastic bottle you’ve brought in with you.
Needless to say, I’ve never bothered with that nonsense. Usually I head to a house party where it’s warm and toasty, I can drink chilled cava, and not have to go outside: until my bloody friends decide it’s time to climb Calton Hill to look at some explosions in the sky. Urgh.
New Year 2010/11, on Calton Hill: The only reason I'm not an icicle is because my blood is 75% alcobooze by this point.
This year, circumstances forced us to something a bit different: we invited a few of our pals out to France. We only had space for four people, so once Sam, Euan, Jack and Shara bagsied them, that was it. Apologies to those of you who had to stay in Edinburgh, where I hear they’ve started charging for the Loony Dook.
What a travesty by the way, if I want to jump into the freezing waters of the Forth on New Year’s morning I shouldn’t have to pay!
The French believe that the more you eat on New Year’s Eve, the more prosperous you will be during the year ahead. I think something got lost in translation there, and the real meaning is “the more fat you will be during the year ahead.” James and I decided to prepare a feast of tapas, as we were still a little burnt out from making Christmas dinner for eight people.
Then James went off somewhere and left me to do everything myself, and so Euan (you might remember his scathing review of Chaophraya and that Indian restaurant in Corstorphine) swiftly took over. I stood in the middle with a glass of fizz and criticised James’s kitchen skills as the busy worker bees got preppin’.
Don’t worry readers; we soon stopped arguing and I chased our guests out of the kitchen once they’d done the majority of the work so that James could swan in at the end and take all the credit, like an American at the end of WWII.
We cooked lots of things: Euan made dauphinoise potatoes, I made a tandoori chicken, there were patatas bravas with the truly awesome Aioli Sud that they sell on the fish counter here, there were wee sausage roll things from Super U’s freezer section, some frog’s legs which were expertly breaded by Shara, plenty of crisps, pate and crackers, kir royales, mini black pudding sausages, atomic buffalo turds with chorizo instead of bacon…. but worst of all, there were escargot.
According to the hotels4u infographic I posted the other day, the French are mad for escargot. The only time I ever saw them in the supermarket was at New Year, but then we are in the South West where people go mad for gizzards instead. Gizzard pizza anyone? No? Tough.
Escargot? Escar "no thank you!" more like
The verdict? Boke. They were like gritty little meaty mushrooms, with not much flavour to distract from the chewy, manky texture. Worst of all, I had to eat three. Despite being an intrepid foodie, even Euan couldn’t stomach the escargots. I can’t stomach seeing good food(!!) go to waste, so I ate the one he’d left.
So if you find yourself in France and you think “mm I think I’ll order the escargot!” don’t bother. Try the frog’s legs instead: sure, they’ve probably been frozen and imported from Indonesia, but they’re less likely to give you the boke.
Hiya, I'm Jemma: an Edinburgh lass currently chomping my way around the South of France. I like cheap eats, diamond in the rough eateries, and trying new things.
I'm munching my way around the Haute-Pyrenees until April, when I'll be heading back to Edinburgh for a week and then onwards to adventures in Ireland, Spain, and Portugal!
I was totally going to try snails when I saw them in a cafe in Vietnam, but they’d run out. So I was let off the hook without having to chicken out – win win!
I always chose cosy house parties over Hogmanay for my Edinburgh New Yearses too, but enjoyed walking home via Princes Street in the early hours of 2010 after the people had gone. With all the debris, searchlights and booming, automated female voices asking me to leave, it was the closest I’ve come to living in a sci-fi nightmare.
Ah now you don’t have to try snails, because I’ve described them to you in perfect detail. Have you tried frog’s legs on your travels? I bloody love frog’s legs. They’re like a daintier version of chicken wings, in the same way as a Topic is a dainty Snickers.
According to Sam the street party is good fun, but I honestly don’t see how standing on Princes Street for hours surrounded by chavs, probably in the rain, could possibly be better than watching the whole thing on BBC Scotland from the comfort of a couch.
I’d say maybe I’m just a grumpy old woman but this is an opinion I’ve always held.
Jemma recently posted..Jemma Eat Escargot
I’m less inclined to try froggies. I remember seeing frozen frogs legs in the Chinese supermarket in Leith Walk and the green hue gave me a vomity feeling at the back of my throat.
Green hue? Really? The ones we bought were kind of pink. Seriously, they’re so good! You should try them, and if you don’t like them then I’ll issue you with a full written apology.
Jemma recently posted..Jemma Eat Escargot
The last photo is so funny. I have tried snails but they were bigger and with a consistency similar to clams. I haven’t tried half of what you guys cooked that day. I guess it will be fun to be invited to one of your dinner parties.
Ruth (Tanama Tales) recently posted..Mercado Juarez’s Dangerous Flavors, Textures and Aromas