OPINION/MICHAEL PARSONS:'WHO'S TAKING the horse to France?" we used to ask in the Kerrygolden days of our innocence. These days, we're going there to eat the poor brute.
This summer, more than a few Irish tourists will tuck into cuts of horsemeat (a staple of Gallic cuisine) and enjoy steak de cheval, or, for those with true verve, a tartare version which consists of the raw meat minced and dressed with a raw egg. For which you need a stomach of Le Creuset cast-iron strength and a very bon appétit indeed.
Horsemeat has not yet appeared on menus in Ireland but other unmentionables - such as snails and frogs' legs (rendered more palatable when described as escargots or cuisses de grenouille) - do occasionally surface. This is simple and hearty fare. In France. But when exported, French cuisine acquires overtones of snobbery.
When President Sarkozy dined with Queen Elizabeth at Windsor Castle last March he would have felt quite at home. The feast featured Filet de Barbue Béatrice, Noisettes d'Agneau Brehan and Savarin à la Rhubarbe washed down by Chassagne-Montrachet (blanc), Château Margaux (rouge) and Krug champagne.
The menu was entirely in French, not just in honour of the distinguished guest, but because that's the protocol for all Her Majesty's state banquets and considered to be comme il faut by the aristocracy in Britain. Which is all fine and dandy. But why on earth is every second eating house between Bloody Foreland and Mizen Head so eager to follow suit?
Dining à la Carte or even table d'hôte has become a linguistic minefield. The posher joints sprinkle French throughout menus the way Micheál Ó Muircheartaigh peppers match commentaries with the cúpla focal. In such establishments, émulsion is not found on the walls, jus has replaced gravy and terms such as assiette (plate) and tiède (warm) are used with po-faced gravitas to impress the gullible and justify prix that are anything
but fixe.
Amuses-bouche ( literally "amusements for the mouth") have become exceedingly popular. Intended to stimulate the appetite, the pre-dinner nibbles are served at the most expensive restaurants.
A random selection includes these tongue-twisters: "breadcrumbed confit of chicken with prunes", "shredded mackerel and herb quenelle"; and, "velouté of savoy cabbage with coconut milk". And even in Superquinn a bakery sign advertises "Authentic French Country Pain". Quite. But since when did the French word for bread become so widely understood in this State? And who hasn't wilted when a snooty waiter explains a dish with an air of such withering hauteur you momentarily regret having dropped French for the Leaving Certificate? But then if you've got the élan to order tronçonette de homard you really shouldn't be intimidated by Pierre. After all, he's really called Piotr and hails
from Gdansk not Grenoble.
Imagine the reaction of a group of French diners sauntering into a little bistro in Paris or a brasserie in Toulouse and being handed a menu offering these délices: - "Beer-battered cod with mushy peas and chips"; or "a 16oz T-Bone with fried onion rings, crinkly fat-cut chips and fresh 'veg' of the day"; or "All-Day Breakfast with 2 rashers, 2 sausages, black & white pudding, grilled tomato, mushrooms, beans, toast and a pot of tea"?
"Sacre bleu!" You can bet your bottom dollar there'd be consternation all round - not to
mention a good deal of broken glass and smashed furniture. The French do tend to react rather violently to life's little disappointments. Yet increasingly diners in this country are
confronted with menu items which can trouble even polyglot sophisticates.
It's not just French words that are spicing up menus. In a Co Carlow pub recently an item on the lunch specials read: "Fried Polenta". What on earth was one to make of this apart from the obvious: giving thanks that the item was not described as "pan-fried"? But does anyone (Tom Doorley aside) know what it is? And what is "a panini" (sic)? Or "dolcelatte"? Or "bruschetta"? In fairness to gastronomic luvvies, it is true that at some point the use of a word reaches critical mass and is no longer considered pretentious. No one would now reasonably expect a cafe menu to print an explanation of croissant,
"a crescent-shaped bread-roll made with a large quantity of butter and having a flaky consistency", now would they?
So why can't restaurant menus call a spade, a spade or, as the French put it, "appeler un chat, un chat". Anyone for bacon and cabbage in its own jus?