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Death by soufflé; A Parisian tragedy

Bonjour, it’s me again, still in France, but this time I’m bothering that little suburb called Paris.

Now as most of you will know, being Cornish it doesn’t come naturally to me to feel comfortable being anywhere but down South, but, I shit you not, here I am, having a good time and everything, up here in CENTRAL France.

After receiving some great feedback from two whole people on my last blog post (thanks Mum, thanks Dad) it’s spurred me on and I have been cracking on with the next one, and here she is:

I have met my match in my new boat friend Emma, and I love her for two clear reasons:
The first being she comes from Wensleydale in England which is ‘y’know, where they make that nice cheese’, and the second is because she suggested to me we go to a soufflé restaurant for a three course meal, where you can order nothing but, you guessed it, soufflé.

We got high and hungry on strong French coffee, changed into our most stretchiest skirts and trotted through town to ‘Le Soufflé’.
The outside is small yet immaculate – painted in mint green, standing out like a fancy, shiny, cute wrapped chocolate.
The interiors were classic Parisienne; smart, white tablecloths, OTT mirrors, extravagant floor length curtains, fancy wallpaper and waiters dressed in B&W..

We were off to a good start with course one; a pear and stilton soufflé, light, fluffy and easy cheesy. ‘A doddle, how novel!’ we thought, chuckling to ourselves. Down it went.
Next up was ‘main course soufflé’ of boeuf bourguignon, beef soufflé? hmmm now this was getting a little odd. It was as big as my head. The charming French waiter sashayed over and fingered a little hole in my soufflé (ooh la la) and poured in some juicy beef gravy. I have to be honest, I was starting to feel queasy. There was something about the beefy soufflé and its meaty, fluffy texture and scent that was reminding me of the gourmet cat food I used to feed my dear little cat. It was a bit much. I shed a soufflé shaped tear.

Fast forward to soufflé number three, I opted for pear and chocolate which was delicious, and my dining companions went for straight-up chocolate, and Grand Marnier – YES friends – a Grand Marnier soufflé. A WHOLE bottle was left on our table and drop after drop of the sweet nectar was provoked to trickle into said soufflé. I must say at this stage that each and every soufflé we encountered on this long, relentless evening was cooked to absolute perfection. Tricky to get right, and having to be delivered in a matter of seconds from oven to table like a piece of hot coal, this was precision French cooking at its best.

By the end of the night, soufflé was leaking out of every orafice.

It’s safe to say I won’t ever be eating a soufflé ever again, and I still feel sick thinking about it to be honest, but thanks anyway Le soufflé!

***To make this blog post more enjoyable, I recommend you buy your own bottle of Grand Marnier, and take a shot every time you read the word SOUFFLÉ above, I said it a lot for this eventual purpose. I would say whilst also enjoying a homemade soufflé of your own, but let’s be honest, you’re a shit cook and making soufflé is fucking impossible!

Enjoy! Bisous!

Exit through the gift shop

Exit through the gift shop

Notre-Dame

Notre-Dame

Scaffolding

Scaffolding

DEATH by soufflé

DEATH by soufflé

le Souffle Paris champs elysee

one.more.mouthful

one.more.mouthful

le souffle restaurant paris

Grand Marnier takes on soufflé.. loses.

Grand Marnier takes on soufflé… loses

Soufflé face

Soufflé face

Looks all sweet and innocent.. don't be fooled

Looks all sweet and innocent.. don’t be fooled

 

 

 

 

 

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