As I said, we were starving, but we also knew that we were going to Paris, where we would end up eating a lot of something somewhere wonderful, so we all vowed to be judicious with our lunch orders. The menu consisted of mostly dishes from the area and was primarily more meat and game than fish based. There were, of course, eggs mayonnaise, mache salad as a starter, and entrées like onglet, omelettte aux herbes, or tripes à la mode de Caen. Perusing the menu, I noticed that a specialty of the house was andouillette. I thought it looked interesting and asked Meryl if she had ever eaten it. She said she hadn’t but since we both expressed a penchant for andouille sausages we figured this must be a diminutive version of them given that the name ended in “ette.” When the charming owner and waitress returned we ordered our starters （and more wine, as it had obviously evaporated in the afternoon heat）， and inquired about the andouillette. They explained that it was a sausage, to which we said of course we knew as much （being careful not to make too much a show of our worldliness）， and that it was particular to Normandy. Wanting to demonstrate that the “ugly American” is an endangered species, all of us, with the exception of Jenn, ordered the andouillette with definitive gusto accompanied by a kind of “Bring it on!” sweeping gesture of the arm.
Our host noted our order and gracefully made his exit. A moment later the waitress arrived with our wine. Corks popping, we chatted about the experience of the festival and how lucky we had been to have a private tour of the D-Day memorial site, or at least follow Meryl’s private tour. Our starters arrived, over which we yummed and ahhhed, while we ordered more wine because… well, there was none left in the bottles because I guess we drank it. We ate heartily as the waitress topped us up, and before we knew it we had finished our first course.
After a few minutes’ rest our entrées arrived. Jenn’s bright green salad was placed before her, but laid before the rest of us was a plate upon which sat something that I can only say bore a staggering resemblance to a horse cock. I watched Meryl’s face drop slightly and from her mouth come a small, “Oh.” She then smiled politely and glanced at me, searching for an answer to a question yet unformed, but seeing that I was staring at the contents of my plate with slack-jawed confusion, she turned back to the waitress.
MERYL: Is this the… um…？
WAITRESS: Oui, madame, the andouillette.
MERYL: Oh, good. I wasn’t… I thought… um… Merci.
WAITRESS: Merci beaucoup, madame.
Placing the remaining plates of this Norman specialty in front of Dana and Chris’s empty chair （he had gone to make a phone call）， the waitress departed with a cheery, “Bon appétit!”
There was a moment of silence. Not for the fallen on the beaches we had just visited but for fear of what was before us. We exchanged concerned looks. I spoke first.
ME: Huh. This is not what I…
MERYL: No… Not at all.
Dana stared at his while stubbing out a cigarette.
DANA: It’s supposed to be good. That’s what they said. Right?
ME: Yeah, but… I thought it would be…
DANA: What?
ME: Well, smaller. You know, “ette.” Andouillette. Small.
MERYL: Yes, me too. I mean this is…
ME: Well, it looks like a fucking horse cock.
MERYL: Yes, it certainly does.
A beat of silence.
MERYL: Oh well.
She cut off a small piece and placed it in her mouth. She chewed gingerly. Her face showed a lifetime of human emotion in a split second. She swallowed. She brought her napkin to her lips. She spoke very quietly.
MERYL: Well… it does have a bit of the barnyard about it.
I placed a tidbit into my mouth and before it had passed my second taste bud I was spewing it out onto my plate and trying not to projectile-vomit the accumulation of two gluttonous days all over my colleagues. I grabbed my wine, swilled it, stuffed half a baguette into my mouth, and chased it down with more wine. To my right, I could see that Dana had tucked into the thing wholeheartedly and seemed to be doing fine until he was halfway through his second forkful, when he suddenly looked at me, his eyes wide with terror. Grabbing his napkin, he ejected the remnants into it and said something like, “EErgaarhhuergh! Christ!”
At this moment Chris Messina returned to the table and eyed his awaiting entrée. As he took his seat all three of us shouted:
ALL THREE: Don’t touch that!
CHRIS: Why? Is it—
ALL THREE: Just don’t. Don’t.
The waitress came by and asked if everything was all right and we assured her that it was. I even went so far as to praise the dish but noticed a slight smirk on her lips as she departed. Moments later the owner returned and looked at us bemusedly.