Le Grand Monarque - Best Western, Chartres

Accustomed as I am to jet-setting and generally hob-nobbing among the rich, famous and celebrity class, I recently travelled into the heart of the continental bag of pick-and-mix that is France. I knew my trip would start well when I passed White Dee in Charles de Gaulle airport, oh yeah - 'cos that's the way I roll.

After that grade-A start, a while later I pulled into the lovely town of Chatres and impressed upon my travelling companion the very urgent need for dinner. Unfortunately, the classically French menu was accompanied with a classically French form of customer service with a waitress who, despite sporting a badge which proclaimed she could speak English, spoke entirely in French. Now, please don't get me wrong at this point. I've got no problem in fumbling m way through a foreign menu, after all, trying new things is one of my favourite pastimes. However, things go a lot smoother if they come with a smile.

I started with the pate, but I was not expecting the goliath portion of pork pie that came instead. The smooth pate in the centre was creamy and clearly well made but it was the jelly that really got my attention:

Dark and full of peppery porky flavour, this immense slice of pie was studded with fat and course ground meat. The pastry was short and crumbly but coming back to that jelly, it really was a thing of beauty.

As you all know, I don't usually order steak outside of France. And therefore, when I France I should be obliged to order it whenever appropriate.

Ordering a rare steak is difficult when your accent is as English as mine. Waiting staff simply don't believe you and try to give you medium instead. If you press the point, as I enviably tend to do, and see the example of a French 'rare' you'll understand our national reticence.

      
However, I for one refuse to be beaten by such things. Wipe it's bum, show it the grill then stick it on my plate and I'm a happy man. My usual problem with chips reared up again though - these were well fried, well seasoned and thin but did nothing to break up the heavy protein of the steak. The same charge can be levied against the hollandaise, a beautiful example of why French cuisine is the cause of more heart attacks than any other (this is perhaps not an absolutely true statement).

I was relieved then when I had the opportunity to cleanse with a good sorbet.

This one was lemon and contained preserved lemon rind which added some delicious texture as well as a good dose of bitterness to the sweet and ice.

The final verdict on Le Grand Monarque? Well, as I might be going back at some point in the future, I'll reserve final judgement but in general it was... very French.

Le Grand Monarque

Working Lunch - M&S

I was recently involved in a car journey with a colleague during which I purchased the following from a motorway service station:

Just to be clear, this post is not about the so-so quality of the sushi, with their generic taste and unfortunate chewy texture. Nor is about the inexplicably soggy pork rolls, with their watery taste, dripping wet contents and an icy temperature that put my fillings on DEFCON two for the following hour. 

No, this post is all about the purple, innocent seeming bottle that sat alongside several others on the shelf. As we all know I do like to try new things and I'd never heard of Acai berries before so decided to give it a go. I cracked the top and took a gulp. Mmm, it seemed very pleasant. I wouldn't go so far as to say it was going to be a favourite but it certainly didn't give me any hint of the perils to come.

I showed my colleague the bottle with some interest and she recognised it immediately for she knew of the Acai's secret power and the story she proceeded to tell, filled me with dread. She explained that several months before her marriage last year she decided to supplement her diet with Acai as she understood it could help with losing weight. And in fact it did indeed aid in allowing her to enjoy that special day with confidence and a svelte figure.

But.

As she came to the end of her story, she seemed to remember something else. Something darker. She started to mumble as I drained the bottle and remarked with characteristic understatement that it 'wasn't too bad'. I thought I heard something but surely I must have been mistaken. Clearly I had misheard because this unremarkable bottle could not have the impact that was being described to me. The Acai berry it seems, does many wonderful things to your metabolic rate but it also generates whizzy pop pops of biblical proportions.

So, the story finishes and I mentally recap. I was stuck in a 2 foot by 4 foot metal box for the next 3 hours with a work colleague having just drunk a fart potion. Uh oh. I decided that attack was the best form of defence and floored it. By the time we got home, my pelvic floor was being tested to the absolute limit of its sealing ability and the roundabouts of Milton Keynes were not helping. By this time, my colleague had her own bladder related issues which only increased the severity of the situation and as I screamed round the corner and parked up, we were out of the car and into the safety of (respective) toilets faster than a... well, lets just say we were fast.

So, would I recommend the Acai berry? That very much depends on three things; first, do you like the taste? Second, do you want to lose weight? Third, do you fart in public? If you answer yes to all those questions then go ahead and fill your boots, but I'll just have an orange juice if you don't mind.