Question: What the hell is Quenelle?

Answer: I have no clue. 

It's the local specialty and I have eaten it, and I'm still not 100% sure what it is. If you see it on the menu it is described as a 'dumpling' made with some kind of meat and served with some kind of sauce. The most common version is pike with Nantua or crayfish sauce, but there are many different kinds.  I believe the options are endless but they aren't like any kind of 'dumpling' I've ever seen or eaten.  

For our first time we went to the Cafe du Soleil, considered to be the best in town. Will opted for their scallop version and I went for the chicken with shallots. They arrived in the kind of single serving dish you'd get lasagna in, except half again as large. In the center is a large beautiful mass of flaky pastry surrounded by creamy gravy. We were lucky that we had overheard someone say soufflé so we were somewhat prepared, because although it looks a lot like a chicken pot pie, there are no chunks of meat, vegetables, there is no crunch of crust, or really anything, to chew. It is all butter, cream, eggs and pastry and I guess(?) pureed meat, served with a side of white rice.  I know I may not be painting these the best light but they really are delicious and I can see why they're on every menu.

There are lots of things on menus that are pretty different from home. I know what you're thinking--'Duh, Libby! Of course it's different!' I'm glad it's different, that was really part of the point of this whole trip, but food can be tricky to navigate sometimes. I can generally figure out most things but it's kind of like a sushi menu, if there's no description and you've never had it before, you don't really know what you're going to get. Tablier de Sapeur for instance, another Lyonnais specialty. Literal translation is 'sappers apron,' but on a menu it means breaded tripe cut in a triangle. Cervelle de canut? Brains of silk workers. Menu translation means cottage cheese with herbs. Andouille? I know that one. It's a delicious spicy sausage used in cajun/creole cuisine. Wrong and I made this particular mistake. It's actually tripe sausage. It's not bad, but when you're expecting one thing and end up with something really different, it can be less than pleasant.

One of our favorite Lyonnais specialties is their praline. It's shockingly pink, very sugary and baked into all kinds of treats. Praline tarts are on nearly every dessert menu, but you can also find praline brioche, praline cookies, praline covered almonds and our favorite which is layers of flakey pastry dough layered with praline and powdered sugar. Amazing!! We have a favorite boulangerie that we get this particular treat from, but every window is filled with the bright pink goodies and many of the stands at the morning market as well.

Praline goodness!

The morning market is also a favorite. It's on the riverbank every day until 1pm and stretches for about 2 blocks on a regular day, on the weekend it can reach for 4+. It is packed with vendors selling meat, flowers, fruits, veggies, fresh pasta, fish, bread, cheese, prepared foods--you name it. If you find one you like, you back to them again and again or you just look for the stand with the longest line. That usually means they have the best stuff or they take the time to make sure you get just what you want. There are grocery stores here where you can get everything you need in one stop, but it's so much more fun to go to the market and getting everything separately. Plus, it's almost always cheaper. I bought 5 large red bell peppers the other day and it cost me 2 bucks. Can't do that at the local store (or farmer's market) in Winchester! A few other things you don't see? Chickens with their heads still on, whole skinned rabbits, or little containers with sheep's brains.

You also never really see anyone wearing rubber gloves. Up until this trip I've been kind of a fanatic about cleanliness, especially in regards to meat and dairy products. I'm the kind of person who looks at the sell by, best by and use by dates and follows them (even though I know they're kind of bogus). Here the rules and regulations we've become so accustomed to as Americans feel too prohibitive and somewhat ridiculous.  The other day, I watched the butcher handle the chicken I'd ordered bare-handed. He also handled the money I gave him and the change I was given without so much as a rinse and I didn't even flinch. The guy at the (fantastic) empanada stand tears open the baggie of chile sauce with his teeth. In the states, they'd be shut down, fined or both. Here it's just they way it works and you don't think about it too much. 

I now leave my eggs on the counter, and in fact avoided buying refrigerated eggs at a store because I assumed it meant they weren't any good.  We bought sausages the other day and they too have remained on the counter until we start slicing them. For the most part we use our senses to determine freshness.  Though I have to admit, that senses fail me when it comes to the cheeses. To me, it's almost all stinky. I'm working on it, but am coming to the conclusion that I might just be a hard cheese kind of girl.

A few pictures from the market. Not surprising the fruit and veggie vendors are ok with you taking photos, the cheese and meat folks are less willing, so I don't have nearly as many pictures as I'd like!

Last night was one of 'those' nights.

Disco Ball above Fourvière.

You know the kind I'm talking about. It holds so much promise and then things go downhill and you're pretty sure the whole night is a waste.

On Monday, when the girls' asked what was for dinner, Will and I joked that we were abandoning them and going out for dinner on our own. To our amazement they were completely OK with that idea.  I should mention here that Will and I haven't been out on our own, just the two of us, since before we left Virginia--unless you count running to pick up groceries or other mundane errands. In London the girls weren't quite comfortable being left alone for an evening and I didn't really think we'd get to that point in Lyon either, but we did. Hallelujah! So it was decided that we'd go out, sans children, on Tuesday. Yay!

We went through our day as usual. There was 'school,' the daily run down to the laundromat to dry some laundry and another jaunt off to the market to pick up some random item--jam or milk or toilet paper. In the afternoon, I ran off for a haircut, another first since leaving VA, and much needed. The hairdresser spoke little English and my French is pretty bad, but we made it through. This could have been a disaster, but it worked out wonderfully and I walked home feeling pretty damn happy,  a little bit like I belong here in Lyon, and excited for night out.

I should have known better because that's when things started to falter.  The girls started to bicker. Will had some projects that he needed to work on and Julia started to not feel well. None of this was boding well. The little things started to add up. The question was asked 'are you still going out tonight?' The answer was 'I don't know.' Moods started to darken.  If the girls couldn't along while we were home, how could we expect them to not burn the house down if we went out?

At 7pm, the girls are fighting, Will's working, I'm trying to decide if I'm going to force the issue of going out. At 7:30 Will is still working and the girls are hungry and anxious to make the Kraft Mac and Cheese microwave cup things that we happened to find at a little shop the day before (along with Hot Tamales  and Swiss Miss--don't judge, sometimes you just need American junk food).  I told them to go ahead. Five minutes later, our flat is filled with smoke and the smell of very burnt pasta. Turns out someone forgot to add the water and we're throwing open windows, turning on fans and trying not to choke. At this point I am sure that I will be eating scrambled eggs for dinner and turning in early. But kids can surprise you and they start urging us to head out.

At 8:10 we walked out the door. At 8:30 we found a restaurant and were probably seated around 9. We ended up having a lovely dinner (there is a whole post about food in the works, btw), followed by a lovely dessert. Julia had asked us not to be gone more than 3 hours, a not unreasonable request for a 10 year old, living in a city where she knows no one so at 11pm Will and I headed across the bridge towards home. I looked up. 'Magnifque!!!' I squeaked (according to Will anyway). He  looked at me like I was crazy and then looked up--is that...? Could that be? What the….?

Yes. That really is a big-ass disco ball held aloft by a crane. And that big-ass disco ball is right above the Basilique Notre Dame de Fourvière--the beautiful church on the hill above our neighborhood and one of the most famous Lyonnais landmarks. Right there, shining bright and spinning--a disco ball ready for the Festival of Lights that is happening this weekend.  We started chatting and became a little giddy thinking about the weekend ahead of us. 

We walked in the door and told the girls about the disco ball. Of course they wanted to go see. Who wouldn't--and really? Why not?  Sure it's 11pm, it's technically a school night, they're in their pj's and supposed to be in bed. And it's friggin' cold outside! So of course we went. The girls ran out on the bridge and danced around watching the lights shining on that giant disco ball and in those 10 minutes it became one of those moments that made any of the homesickness, worries and stress of this adventure, so totally worth it. It became one of 'those' nights.

As they say here in Lyon, Bon Soirée! (Have a good evening!)

A little less light,  but a little more in focus.