Linguine 'Mrs Ribeye'

Moderation moderation moderation.

I don't know why, but for many years I had an obsession with cooking everything either very very slowly - stews/sauces; or very very quickly - fish, roast chicken/beef/lamb. I somehow thought that all behaviour had to be polarised or it was considered dull.

This attitude towards extreme behaviour carried on into my life as a DJ (my mixing was of the 'slap it in and out' school), my social life ('live hard, work hard, party hard'), my professional life ('I haven't become a millionaire today? Boring') and my relationships ('You don't like my taste in music? Get out!').

However, as the years advanced, the yearning to become moderate has taken any of my hyperbolic emotions away from me. I now enjoy partying 'most of the night long'. I am happy in my work - whatever my financial status. My DJ'ing is smoother to listen to (and, er,  better), and my cooking is simpler, with more emphasis on  treating each recipe with individual care rather than trying to impose my blanket techniques on all my dishes. Oh and I have now learnt to bicker. I used to be fiery but as I have now hit my forties I find it far more agreeable to resolve conflicts with whinges and whines, rather than full scale war. There are less casualties.

Today's dish is a great example of how far I've come as a cook. I used to take two hours to slow cook the hell out of the ingredients to make a spaghetti sauce, until I realised that slow cooking leaves flavours dead and dull. So now, I take minutes to prepare my sauce and the results are superb. Fresh, vibrant tomatoe-y goodness, topped with a whole cubed mozzarella and enough freshly picked basil leaves to make them more of a central feature than a herby afterthought. Mrs Ribeye absolutely adores this dish and so I have named it after her.

This dish is simple, cheap and delicious. This is not, however, the reason I named it after my wife. Cost-wise, you're only looking at £2 per serving.

A quick note on the ingredients:

1. Use a LOT of garlic - this sauce is a celebration of the mighty bulb (but remember to remove the central bitter stem from each individual clove before chopping).

2. Use tinned WHOLE plum tomatoes, and then break them up later once the sauce has nearly finished cooking - the ready chopped ones emit their seeds into the sauce too early, creating bitterness.

3. Use a LOT of olive oil - the dish won't be greasy, I promise.

4. DON'T stir the mozzarella into the sauce - it's nice to have the slowly softening creamy chunks against the richness of the sauce.

5. Use LOTS of fresh basil - think of it as a salad garnish rather than a herb.

6. Use LINGUINE if you can, not spaghetti - it's somehow meatier and holds the sauce better.

Serves 2

INGREDIENTS:

3 cloves of garlic
3-4 tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil
1 x 400g tin of whole Italian tomatoes in their own juice
1 teaspoon of dried oregano, plus extra for dusting
Pinches of salt and pepper
Cooked linguine (250g uncooked weight), to serve
2 balls of mozzarella cheese, cubed
Large handful of fresh basil leaves, for sprinkling

In a pan on high heat, add the garlic and oil and gently fry until it has the merest tinge of golden colour. Add the tomatoes, oregano, seasoning and about a quarter of the tomato tin filled up with water, and cook rapidly until the sauce is thick and unctuous (20 minutes approx). Add the linguine to the sauce (not the other way around) and mix to coat thoroughly. Transfer to serving dishes and top with the mozzarella cubes and basil leaves. Lightly dust the dish with the extra oregano. Serve immediately

Individual Peach and Caramel Pavlovas

Dinner at our friends Ophelia and Kumar was a blast last night.

Mrs Ribeye mentioned that she had read in the newspaper earlier in the day that 'Fifty Shades of Grey', the mummy-porn novel by British author E.L. James, was the first book to outsell Harry Potter. 'Why?' asked Kumar absolutely ingenuously, 'Does it have goblins in it?'

Brilliant.

Kumar actually cooked for us for the first time ever, and he made us a traditional Pakistani spicy beef stew called Nihari. I have asked him for the recipe so that I can recreate it at home. It was incredible - once he emails me the recipe, I'll post my version on Potless.

After last night's dinner, with the inevitable five million drinks to accompany it, Mrs Ribeye and I had a restorative day in bed today with the Sunday Times, 'Come Dine With Me' on More 4, and some comfort food. After eating some chicken soup, I asked the wife what she fancied for dessert. 'Pavlova, please' was the reply.

I find this answer both ridiculous and utterly adorable. Firstly, how am I supposed to rustle up something that complicated in a few minutes? Secondly, it is adorable that my missus, without any hint of irony, expected me to deliver it without any hesitation. I love her for that.

She was absolutely correct, of course - I had a sumptuous pavlova on a plate ready for her to eat within four minutes. There was no way that I could have eaten one myself, so the challenge had the added dimension of me having to create this complex dish for one person. And not only did I manage it, but Mrs Ribeye told me that: 'This is the best thing I have ever put in my mouth'. I'm not sure whether to laugh or cry.

Of course, there is a knack to being able to deliver this miracle: Prepared store cupboard ingredients. I had a tin of condensed milk caramel in the larder, alongside a carton of meringue nests. The remnants of a tub of double cream happened to be in the fridge from a dinner we had had with our friend Natalia mid-week, and the peaches were in the fruit bowl. If I had had berries or pineapple or cherries instead, then the recipe would have a different name - but in this instance the peaches were an inspired lucky non-choice. Mrs Ribeye loved how their subtle sharpness cut the richness of the dessert, saving the dish from becoming too sickly-sweet. I would definitely make this dish again for a dinner party next time, but I would actually make the meringues from scratch instead. But for a night-in emergency pudding, this is very hard to beat.

This recipe has the added bonus of being very cheap to make. £1.50 per very generous serving.

Serves 1

INGREDIENTS:

2 meringue nests (home-made, if you can be bothered)
4 tablespoons of double cream, plus a little extra for garnish
2 tablespoons of tinned condensed milk caramel
1 peach, stoned and finely chopped

Spoon two tablespoons of cream onto each meringue and add one tablespoon of caramel to one. Place half of the peach bits onto each meringue and place the non-caramel meringue on top of the other one to create two layers. Dot the remaining tablespoon of caramel all over the pavlova and pour a little extra cream on and around, as a garnish, to bring everything together. Serve immediately.

Lyonnaise Pizza

This recipe has got to be the ultimate comfort food.


Mrs Ribeye and I were on our way home from our summer holiday in Nice on the French Cote d'Azur and we decided to stop off in Reims for lunch before making our way towards the north coast, and the ferry home.

We had eaten the most repulsive lunch in Lyon a day or two earlier and were just starting to get over the 'tripe incident' when a lunch item on the menu in a beautiful pavement cafe caught my eye: Lyonnaise pizza. Could that mean cows entrails on bread? Is it a calzone filled with bull's testicles?

I dared not ask the waiter, but I was intrigued, so I ordered it without asking for any of the grizzly details (masochist? Moi?). Mrs Ribeye had played it safe by ordering spaghetti bolognese (wimp) but I had to be the big boy, didn't I.

Mrs Ribeye was presented with a steaming bowl of delicious pasta, and I was presented with this - an innocuous looking salami and cheese pizza. Or so I thought...

One slice into the pie was all it took to realise that you can't judge a pizza by its cover. The salami and cheese topping hid a bed of Lyonnaise potatoes over a pizza base. No tomato sauce. No herbs. No olive oil.

So, the Lyonnaise pizza is this: A thin stone-baked pizza base, covered in a layer of creamy garlicky potatoes, covered in cheddar (NOT mozzarella) cheese, covered in thick salami. What an invention. And... I LOVED IT!!!

This is an absolute abomination of a pizza and should not even be called a pizza - it is was it is : A hangover cure. Can you imagine how many calories are in this thing? Anyway, PLEASE make it. Just don't eat it for lunch.

This dish comes in just on budget at £5 for a large pizza, which is enough for two - meaning that you are under your Potless budget at £2.50 per serving. Bon appetit. Pass the Alka Seltzer.

Serves 2

INGREDIENTS:

1 large potato, peeled and cut into 5mm thick slices
100ml double cream
Half an onion, finely chopped
1 clove of garlic, finely chopped
Pinches of salt and pepper
Third of my bread dough recipe
Large handful of grated cheddar cheese
10 thick cut slices of salami

In a small pan, simmer the potatoes, onion and garlic in the double cream until cooked (20 minutes approx) and the sauce has thickened, then allow cool to room temperature. Preheat your oven to 220c. In the meantime, on an oiled baking tray, stretch the dough until it is of an even 1cm thickness. Spread the cooled potatoes over the base and top with the cheese. Arrange slices of salami over the top and bake in the oven for 20 minutes. Allow to cool for a minute or two before serving.

Sesame-Roasted Salmon with Stir-Fried Vegetable Noodles

Only a few days in, and I'm TOTALLY over the London effing Olympics.

I've been stuck in traffic for hours to make a simple journey, all because someone from China wants to beat someone from Australia in a running race in my home town. Whoop-de-do.

Haven't these people got anything better to do with their lives than be good at table tennis/archery/judo/diving? I like diving as much as the next guy, but I don't expect people to gather at the pool in my summer holiday hotel and see whether I can hold my arms in the air really parallel while I try not to make a splash. GO HOME!

Anyway, just a fortnight to go and our London mayor Boris Johnson can begin the process of taking down all the posters, scrubbing out the new cycle race lanes and putting the Olympic stadium to good long term use. Then, our chancellor, George Osborne, can figure out how we are going to repay all our spent Olympic money. Good luck to 'em.

As for me? I just go to work as usual, come home (a bit late, thanks to the traffic -grrr) and cook my adorable wife, Mrs Ribeye, today's delicious dish - sesame-roasted salmon with a Chinese stir fry. The thing about stir-fries, is that you want to keep the flavours as clean and simple as possible. AVOID those disgusting brown-paint sauces you always see next to the packs of vegetables in the chiller counter. They're not remotely authentic, or even delicious - you may as well coat your stir fry in HP sauce or Marmite.

Having spent a lovely night recently at my Chinese friend Ying's house, where a sumptuous Chinese feast was laid on for me, I can tell you that there was not a creosote-coloured stir fry sauce to be found on any menu item at all. Instead, all of the bright colourful dishes were briefly introduced to maybe some soy, sesame oil or Shaoxing rice wine, before being quickly roasted, poached or fried in spring onion, garlic, ginger, chilli and/or Szechuan peppercorns. Incredible. I can't wait to be invited back.

The other thing about stir-fried vegetables, is that I have always been told to fry them over a searingly hot heat, for a very short time, to keep them fresh and vibrant. I can see the logic in it, but I don't agree. If you do that, then the minute you take away the heat the vegetables become soggy, as their moisture has not been allowed to fully evaporate away. I prefer to stir fry my vegetables over a lowish heat and make sure they are fully-cooked to intensify their flavours. If you then want to add just a little of the almost raw vegetables before serving, to give some vibrancy, then feel free.

I like salmon steak with my stir fry, with a little sesame oil and soy marinade - but you could give the same treatment to pork fillet, chicken breast or prawns. All are delish.

Morrison's Supermarket on the A1 near Elstree in north London are selling salmon, on offer, at a fantastic £6.49 per kilo (which they do about once a week/fortnight), which means that I can cook this dish with salmon and still come in at under my Potless budget - £2.75 per serving. Otherwise, I'd probably use their always reasonably-priced pork fillet instead, whether it's on offer or not.

Serves 2

INGREDIENTS:

2 salmon steaks
1 tablespoon of dark sesame oil
1 tablespoon of dark soy sauce
1 tablespoon of olive oil
1 x 600g pack of stir-fry vegetables
2 tablespoons of sunflower or vegetable oil
1 thumb of ginger, grated
2 cloves of garlic, finely chopped
1 x 400g pack of cooked egg noodles
2 tablespoons of light soy sauce
Sesame seeds, for sprinkling

Marinate the salmon steaks in the sesame oil, dark soy and olive oil for an hour and then sear them in a blisteringly hot ridged grill pan on one side. Turn down the pan to moderate and turn the steaks to cook them until done (10 minutes approx). In the meantime, stir fry the vegetables in a wok on a moderate heat in the sunflower oil with the ginger and garlic (15 minutes approx). Add the noodles and the light soy sauce and heat them through. Transfer the stir fry to serving bowls and top with the salmon steaks. Sprinkle with sesame seeds and serve immediately.

Italian Mixed Salad

What a lovely weekend Mrs Ribeye and I just had.

We had plans to go to a big party at our friends in Brixton on Saturday night, and then skipped it to spend a much-needed afternoon at home with just our thoughts - and a big bag of peanut M&M's while watching DVD's, followed by an evening of Fish and Chips from the Seashell in Lisson Grove and more DVD's.

The next morning - Sunday - we took a slow walk through the rose gardens in beautiful Regent's Park, on our way from our home in Marylebone to Camden Town. After a massive fry-up at the Goodfare Cafe on Parkway, we got the papers and spent the afternoon lazing around at home. Heaven. Slight problem: Too many calories and not enough exercise.

So, to avoid the 'Creeping Gut' syndrome, I resolved to make a healthy Sunday night dinner - and this is it. Italian mixed salad. Basically, it's just a whole load of things that you might put on a pizza, but in raw form and without the pizza base, but with lettuce as the base instead. Of course, being English, the bread could not be omitted entirely - slices of olive oil-soaked toast with dried oregano sprinkled on top were the perfect accompaniment. I said 'eat healthily', not become an 'Atkins-obsessed, carb-hating fanatic', did I?

The result was absolutely incredible, and I didn't feel even a tiny bit bad about eating a whole mozzarella cheese. When you eat it raw, it feels healthier. Deluded? Probably.

This week is a big socialising week, with plans for about four nights in a row. No rest for the wicked - unless we cancel, that is.

Cost-wise, this dish comes in at just on your Potless budget. £3 per serving is all.

Serves 2

INGREDIENTS:

1 soft round or frisee lettuce
1 large red pepper, cut into large chunks
2 large tomatoes, cut into large chunks
2 spring onions, finely chopped
2 balls of mozzarella, cut into large chunks
Handful of olives
1 x 75g tin of anchovies in olive oil
Handful of fresh basil
Half a ciabatta loaf, cut into 1cm thick slices
Pinch of dried oregano
Pinches of salt and pepper
Dash of olive oil
Dash of red wine vinegar

Arrange the salad vegetables, with the mozzarella, anchovies, olives and fresh basil on top. In the meantime, toast the bread and sprinkle with some of the reserved olive oil from the anchovies, then sprinkle with the oregano and salt and pepper. Dress the salad with the fresh olive oil and red wine vinegar and serve with the ciabatta slices.

The 2012 London Olympics Special: Traditional Great British Fish and Chips

The 2012 London Olympics are finally under way!

I live right in the heart of central London, so cannot avoid the new temporary traffic restrictions, the threefold increase of tourists, the hugely increased numbers of joggers/cyclists who have become inspired to get off their fat behinds and actually do some sports, the countless bomb threats, and Coke adverts EVERYWHERE.

So, what is the fuss all about? Olympics is really just a school sports day, but on a massive scale, right? Having looked at the list of events, I noticed all of the usual suspects - running/jumping/swimming/gymnastics etc, but there are also plenty of other obscure things to compete in and watch : Trampolining?! Are you kidding me? Water polo? Beach volleyball? Apparently until a few years ago, there was even a tug-of-war!

If this rubbish is being allowed, I'm going to petition the next Olympic committee to add the egg 'n' spoon and the sack race. I think it would be hilarious to watch pairs of our nation's best athletes tie their legs together and enter the three-legged race. Why not?

But for me, the best part of sports day - and the bit I would be most interested in recreating on the modern Olympic stage - would be the parent's race. We could get every single parent of every competitor from every nation to gather at Hyde Park for a 100 metre sprint. It would be fantastic for international relations to get everyone together for a single event, but it would be more hilarious to watch the parents overshadow their offspring's performances with such a display of raw competitiveness and a bit of... cheating.


How much would you love to see Usain Bolt's mum standing next to everyone else's parents, hitching up her skirt and taking off her shoes. There she would be, jostling for position against Roger Federer's mum and Ryan Gigg's dad. The Chinese synchronised swimming team are all there to cheer on their folks, as are the Russian table tennis players and the Saudi badminton squad. Suddenly, the starter pistol fires and they're off - Mrs Bolt gets an early lead, but Mr Giggs seems to be slyly making good ground on the inside. At the tape it's too close to call - Mrs Federer wins by a hair.

In the car on the way home:  'Well done Usain, you made mummy very proud in your little race, but if I see your friend Roger's mum, Mrs Federer, again I'm going to punch her. Bloody cheat'.

What fun! - I'm phoning Seb Coe.

The fabulous thing about the Olympics is the opportunity to show London off to the rest of the world. My home town really is amazing, and I'm very lucky to have been born here, work here and live here. I wouldn't think about living anywhere else (mmm, apart from New York, maybe).

The tourists will love visiting our famous landmarks and museums, walking in our parks and eating our food. And what dish is more patriotic than good old British fish and chips? Just down the road is the fabulous Seashell fish and chip restaurant on Lisson Grove. It's an institution - selling the freshest fish in crispy golden batter, with the crunchiest chips. I always order cod (pictured above), but the haddock and plaice are equally lovely. At home, I cook with plaice, pouting, flounder, river cobbler, or any other white-fleshed fish on special at my local supermarket's fish counter. It's all good.

British chip shop chips are absolutely unique. For a recipe which is only two ingredients, I would know whether a chip was made in Great Britain or not. You could take our potatoes and oil to the USA, Africa or Spain and I would definitely know that the chips weren't made here. It's what the French called 'terroir', but it's what I call 'the taste of home' - somehow it gets right into the food. Take a look at the picture above - don't the chips look incredible? Of course, I can't recreate the exact taste at home, which is why an occasional trip to the Seashell is such a treat.

You've got to order a 'wally' with your fish and chips as well - a huge dill pickle. They're made with industrial spirit, probably, and not some sort of fancy balsamic vinegar, but they are perfect to cut the oiliness of the rest of the meal, and very authentic to London.

I don't make batter at home - I prefer matzo meal, to give a more breaded and healthier finish. Again, reserving battered fish as a monthly Seashell treat, rather than an artery-clogging regular fixture on my weekly meal rota, keeps my waistline a very respectable 'could do with a trip to the gym', rather than 'morbidly obese ready for death'.

Cost-wise, doing it my way, this dish will come in at £3 per serving. If you take a trip to the Seashell, or the many other top London fish and chip places, the cost can be up to four times that.

My Home-made Fish and Chips:

Serves 2


INGREDIENTS:

2 large white-fleshed fish fillets
2 tablespoons of plain flour, with pinches of salt and pepper
1 beaten egg
100g medium matzo meal, or dried breadcrumbs
3 large floury peeled potatoes, such as King Edward or Maris Piper
Sunflower oil, for frying
Rock salt, for sprinkling
Large pickled gherkin, to serve

Coat the fish in the seasoned flour and dip the fillets in the beaten egg. Finally, cover the fish in matzo meal and set aside to firm-up. In the meantime, heat a large pan full of oil and cut the potatoes into 1cm long batons. Fry in the hot oil until crisp (30 minutes approx) and remove to drain, sprinkling them with the rock salt. In the chip oil, add the fish and fry until golden (5 minutes approx). Remove the fish from the oil and allow to drain. Serve immediately with the chips and the pickle.

The Potless Budget Restaurant Review #8: Chez Mounier, Lyon, France

Being Potless isn't all about cooking at home - it's about having a fabulous value-for-money eating experience, wherever you are.

So, I present to you my series entitled: 'The Potless Budget Restaurant Reviews'!

Having trawled the globe looking for the best of the cheapest eating out establishments, I can now share my findings. 

'Cheap' is, of course, subjective. But what makes a restaurant qualify for this list is a sense of extremely good value. A greasy spoon cafe might be cheap (and delicious too, come to that) but it won't make it onto the list, unless the eating experience it provides is of the very highest quality in proportion to the price it charges.

This is, without a doubt, my favourite review to date.

Mrs Ribeye and I had spent a fabulous week in Nice, sunning ourselves on the French Cote d'Azur, and we were on our slow meander homewards. We decided to stop off at Lyon in order to see whether its grand culinary reputation had any foundation, and sample a meal from one of its famous bouchons.

The word 'bouchon' has a double meaning: It's either a reference to a cork - the counting of which, by the inn's owner, would calculate a patron's bill after a heavy night of wine consumption; or it's from the verb 'bouchonner', meaning to rub-down - as in a place where the tired traveller can eat and drink while his horse is massaged back to sprightliness. Either way, it's the name for traditional inns in the old part of Lyon, which are famous for serving offal.

Eek! Offal! I love trying new things, and I love French food, but I've never eaten the more questionable parts of the butcher's repertoire. I adore liver and kidneys, and I've sampled sweetbreads - but these are really prime cuts compared to our Lyonnaise experience on that warm summer's evening in early July.

So, after booking into our guesthouse, we set-off to find as authentic a bouchon as Lyon had to offer - and the Rue de Marroniers in the heart of the old town it had to be. The cobbled street is heaving with 200 year old inns and taverns, all offering traditional prix fixe delights at very reasonable prices. We settled on Chez Meunier because it was the least showy looking place (no Coke fridges/uniformed waiting staff etc) on the street and had an air of olde worlde charm. The chef (as you can see from the picture: smiling, ruddy-cheeked lady/standing at the door/arms folded/blue apron) spotted us hanging around waiting for a terrace table, and asked us to wait a couple of minutes while another couple paid their bill; and then we sat down in eager anticipation of adding a serious foodie experience notch to our belts.

Chez Mounier
3 Rue des Marroniers
69002
Lyon 
France

Tel: 04 78 37 79 26

Restaurant:

Filled with locals inside and out, it was obvious that this place had a great reputation. We took our seats at a table on the front terrace and were presented with a menu and a basket of bread. A quick trip to the restrooms allowed me a glimpse of the inner spaces of the bouchon. Tobacco-stained walls were covered in mirrored adverts for pastis, and other French liqueurs, together with a few paintings of Lyonnaise street scenes and surrounding countryside. The furniture was the standard bistro-looking small wooden tables and chairs, with a bar running down the long side of the space. Everything looked unpretentious and not at all 'put-on'. Fab.

Menu:

As you may know, I'm not a fan of the standard four-course French set meal. They are normally a bit heavy and bland, with a big emphasis on meat and dairy. Instead, I normally adopt my patented '3-2-1' ordering method (3 entrees, shared between 2, served all at 1 time). However, to fully inveigle ourselves in some traditional authentic bouchon culture, we ordered the menu du chef and awaited our fate.

First up: salade de chevre chaude and a plate of crudites. No problem. No offal. I love goats cheese salad and make it regularly at home. Both plates were polished-off with a bottle of the delicious house rose. C'mon! Let's go!

Oh dear. a few minutes after our plates were cleared, I could sense that the next course was on its way. Sense it? Of course I could - my nose was sensing it, as was the nose of Mrs Ribeye and the noses of probably half of Lyon. We were presented with a plate of tripe in a tomato sauce with mashed potato, and a huge andouillette sausage in a mustardy glaze with some boiled potatoes.

Andouillette sausage is a bunch of small intestines, encased in a large intestine. The tripe is also part of the digestive system, in that it is the stomach lining of a cow - cooked until it is a gelatinous bunch of scraps. The problem for me with both of these dishes, however, was not the texture, or even the taste - but the smell. The andouillette and the tripe stunk of... arse.

The sausage was a little bit better than the tripe, in that there were some spices added to the recipe to counteract the smell of crap, but the tomato sauce that the tripe came in did nothing to disguise any of it. It was as if we had been presented with two plates of shit.

To avoid accusations of being English (or in my wife's case, Russian) scaredy cats, I ate the lot. Mrs Ribeye tried a small piece of tripe and a forkful of sausage, but mainly ate potatoes. I scoffed both of the stinking dishes in double-quick time so that I could attempt to bypass my olfactory senses and consign the repulsive stuff to my inner recesses. The plan sort of worked (helped along with a second basket of bread), until I realised that my nose has a memory, and that although the food had been eaten, my nose wasn't going to let me forget it as quickly as I would have liked. There's nothing for it - I'm going to have to order the next course to blot out this one.

We were presented with the smelliest cheese I have ever eaten. The waiter called it fromage sec, and it really was as dry as the name suggests. A lump of athlete's foot. Disgusting. I normally love smelly cheese, like Munster or Chaumes - but after eating tripe? No thanks.

Next up was a huge portion of creme caramel. It was basically a sweet creamy omelette. After everything else that I had already eaten? Double disgusting.

So, let's analyse this meal: 

1. Salad with cheese
2. Cow guts
3. Stinky cheese
4. Omelette

After all of this offal and dairy, I was ready to chuck-up the entire meal all over the terrace. Thankfully I didn't, and Mrs Ribeye and I paid our bill with a grimace-y smile and hobbled back to our hotel.

Bill:

Does it matter? If I had paid 1 Euro each, it would have been too expensive. For the sake of completeness, however, I will inform you that the bill came to a very reasonable(!) 17 Euros per head, for four courses including wine - about £12-13 each.

Experience:

Here's the thing: After I got over the shock of eating such extreme dishes, I started getting a few weird feelings. First of all, my memory banks started telling me that the experience was not too bad. Then I started to think that maybe I had been too harsh in my assessment of the experience. Then, I started CRAVING some more of this food.

What the hell is going on? Am I a secret masochist? Did the chef put psychotropic drugs in my food? Or, much more dreadfully, am I starting to acquire a taste for this repugnant fare? God, I hope not. But the fact remains: I certainly am looking forward to going back to Lyon and sampling some more of their weird grub. My andouillette and tripe days are not over, by a long way.

I'm not eating that effing cheese again, though. Or will I.....?