Anna Mckay shares a recipe perfect for celebrating Chinese New Year
Ding Huang demonstrates the art of paper cutting
A group of York students has won the opportunity to have their very own I-phone application developed after winning The App Challenge final, held at the Ron Cooke Hub on Wednesday, January 18.
Laura Reynolds looks at the habits of exam-weary students
Like most children, I have held a sadistic tendency towards smaller beasts, and found great fun in it. I’m not uninterested in snail sexuality, but I’m not about to admit it! Most worrying, I am an avid snail guzzler!
In France, people often ask me whether Brits have tea and cucumber sandwiches, every day at 5 o’clock. In England, I’ve often been asked if I have croissant every morning and eat snails for lunch. Both being equally idiotic in their stereotypical visions, the safe answer is only when they’re ripe!
Sitting in a "wannabe" elegant restaurant, surrounded by the grumbling stomachs of my family, they all restrained their urge for sustenance incredibly badly. Finally, the starters arrived, and without further ceremony, everyone jumped in. Smoking, the strongly scented aromas of garlic and various herbs rose from the small pool of butter sitting in the no-longer life-filled shell.
Lifting the rounded-pincer like crockery created to that effect, I lifted the first snail and proceeded to extract the reluctant animal with a pointy two-pronged fork. Fuming, it glided from my lips into my mouth. The first effect of the snail is that it lacks taste in itself. The overwhelming aromas of garlic and estragon, increased by the butter’s grease, swamp the tongue.
The snail itself is amusingly chewy, rather like a curled up dark elastic. Despite its unattractive exterior, it is far from an unpleasant experience, and does not present any particular flavour.
For the French, the reasons behind the appeal of snails are its cultural symbol and ritualized way of eating. Snails, just like foie gras, are a starter eaten on special occasions; Christmas, a birthday, a visit to a fancy restaurant… It's ironic that a slowly slimy creepy-crawly marks memories of high spirits and glee! Perhaps the British are right, we Frenchmen are bizarre!
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