Taking one for the blog: Tete a veau

There aren't many options for dinner in Issoudun, France. There's a Chinese restaurant, a pizza place, a few up-scale joints with linen tablecloths and crystal water glasses. And there's Cafe Paix (Cafe Peace) -- the only joint in town that's open six nights a week (not Sundays) and serves food continuously from 11a to 10p (most places don't open for dinner until 7pm).

The staff at Cafe Paix are great. All three of them. I eat there about every other night -- they greet me when I come in, we shake hands, I sit at my usual table, the waitress hands me a menu and then giggles as I order in French. Generally, I have an omelet or croque madame (a toasted ham and cheese sandwich with a sunny-side-up egg on top). I don't really need to look at the menu, but she hands it to me anyway, so I page through it. All three pages.

It's the menu's middle page, though, that always catches my eye. Menu Terroir it says -- menu of the local soil. There are three courses: tete a veau, porc au lentils vert, et cafe gourmand. So let's see, starting at the bottom: cafe gourmand -- coffee for the guy who likes to eat a lot -- usually its a cup of coffee and a selection of three or four small desserts; porc au lentils vert -- pork with green lentils -- I like pork, I like lentils; but then comes tete a veau -- head of a calf. Hmmm...

Finally, after three weeks of flipping past menu terroir I surprised the waitress (and myself) and ordered it. How bad, I figured, could tete a veau be? It's probably a stew made from the meaty bits around the head. My grandma Minnie probably ate tete a veau back on the farm. Who am I to get all prissy? Bring it on.

Ok. Bad idea. If Grandma Minnie ate tete a veau, then she was a better man than I am.

The waitress brought the plate out with an odd expression on her face: a bit of "yech, I can't believe I have to carry a plateful of this stuff", a hint of "I wouldn't want to eat this", and a healthy amount of "damn, why didn't I bring my video camera to work today -- I'm going to want a tape of this guys face when I set this down..."

She set it down. On the plate was a small pile... no, a large pile, of chunks... chunks of... hmmm... what is that? I found a couple of "meat-looking" pieces and ate those. Not bad. Except for the skin on one side. Kind of chewy. I poked around with my fork -- no more meat-looking bits; the rest looked to be pure fat. I tried a bit. Nope -- too chewy to be fat. Hmm... what is this stuff?

Curious, I began to spread the bits out, trying to associate each chunk with the head of a calf. I can't be certain, but I believe I found: upper lip, edge of nostril and tip of the chin. And a bowl of vinegrette.

I pushed the bits back into a pile, and called it quits, proud that I had at least eaten a few bites.

The owner came over to clear the plate (was the waitress behind the bar laughing? Gagging?). He made big show, grinning broadly and asking in French, it wasn't prepared well? You want me to tell the guy to make it over again?

No, no, I laughed -- the problem is with me... the head of the veal is excellent, I'm sure.

You don't like French food?, he asked. No, I replied, it's great.

Escargot?, he said. Love 'em, I answered.

Andouillette? Big fan, I lied.

Fois gras? I've got some in my pocket right now.

But not tete a veau? I have my frontiers, I said (and I don't know how to say "limits" in French).

So, now this is our schtick . I arrive at the restaurant, and he calls to the kitchen, "Ready with the tete a veau!" Or sometimes he'll call out, "Monseuir, we're fresh out of tete a veau, can I bring you the head of something else?" Occasionally, I beat him to the punch,, asking, "How's the tete a veau tonight?" He replies, "We still have some left from the last time you ate it."

And indeed, it was the last time I'll eat tete a veau.

Do not click on this... this is gross!

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