Couldn't Stomach It
Holidaying in France when I was a young'un we went into a lovely restaurant and tried to decipher the menu with my mother's very basic French. Everything kinda sounded a bit disgusting, especially to us chicken nugget favouring kids. Our last hope resided with the one thing on the menu my mother couldn't translate. She called over the waitress and in the universal language of mime (pointing to the item on the menu and going 'huh?') she enquired as to what it was. The waitress tried unsuccessfully to think of the english word and then, with a shrug, rubbed her stomach and went 'Mmmmmmmm!'. That was good enough for us, we'll have four of those please.

So they arrive a few minutes later and bugger me if they aren't lovely looking sausages! I'm just about to tuck in when my mother tells us to wait and takes a big bite of hers. She chews inquisitively for a moment and then turns a lovely shade of green before wretching the offending mouthful into her hanky. When she recovers she wraps all the sausages from our plates in napkins and hides them in her handbag and instructs us to just eat the salad.

Yes, when the waitress rubbed her stomach she wasn't trying to tell us they were tasty, she was trying to tell us they were made from offal. Yummy! What eight year old can get enough tripe? We quickly finished the salads and legged it to the nearest McDonald's where my mum had four coffees to take the taste from her mouth.
( Gleeballs is mostly made out of chocolate and hate., Thu 17 May 2007, 11:30, Reply)