L'Huitriere

So I accidentally went to yet another Michenlin star restaurant. Accidentally.

Planning for my weekend trip to Lille, some friends who had been before suggested I check out this restaurant called L’Huitriere, which is French for The Oyster. They said this so casually that they could’ve been telling me to go grab a croissant there, you know like just pop in, and grab a croissant for the road. No one, not once, mentioned it had a Michelin star and might set me back the cost of oh, my week’s rent.  I’m not cranky about it, it’s just, isn’t that something you’d mention? So anyway, I booked the dinner, and this is how I inadvertently ended up fine dining last Saturday night.

I told you it was an accident.

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medeum kimchi (kimchi assortment); yook hwei (seasoned raw beef with sliced pears)

I spent the last two days frolicking in Lille and seriously upping my body fat content on buttery croissants and sucre crepes, arriving back to L-town just tonight, so I’ve had zilch time to blawg all weekend. The withdrawal symptoms were not nearly as awful as I expected, there were some involuntary tourette style twitches involved, but nothing that couldn’t be satiated by yet another macaroon. Anyways, it’s not like I have nothing to talk blog about (as if I could ever run out of chatter). In the tradition of other crazy-obsessive bloggers before me, here’s one I prepared earlier.

Hit me with a baby back kalbi (galbee, whatever), baby.

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individual choc mint cheesecake

It’s officially been three full weeks since the passing of arguably the greatest legend of our time. Michael Jackson bid this earth adieu to continue his jammin’ existence with The Hound Dawg, The Princess, and his thugz Tupac and Biggie… and now that all his songs have been blasted in every permutation possible in the realm of MTV and mathematics, I’ve finally found some peace away from the crotch grabbing and moon walking to sort through my thoughts on the matter.  

(Oh and don’t worry, this post is about cheesecake)

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maple & walnut muffins fail

Y’all remember in Charlie’s Angels? When Lucy Liu baked those little muffins and Drew Barrymore hurled it at the door and it was so rock hard it left a dent gaping hole? Well. After my second foray into baking last week, I can safely announce to the whole wide world that yes, my muffins are just like Lucy Liu’s.

Truth be told, I would rather have a toosh like Cameron Diaz (how does that girl shake it baby shake it like that?) but I’m about one fifth her height so I’ll quit while I’m ahead. Lucy Liu’s muffins it is. Let’s continue.

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venison scotch eggs

My girlfriends and I get together for our regular date night once in however-often-we-feel-is-necessary. Away from our taller, hairier and decidedly less intelligent masculine counterparts, we are free to wile away the hours discussing make up, travel, careers, weddings, designer bags, child birth, bling, shoes, eye creams, hair styles,  fashion, and where, on our infinitely long list of places to eat, we should go for our next date night.

This weekend, we bent the rules ever so slightly and at the recommendation of a number of other foodies, we adjourned instead for a date day, at The Harwood Arms in Fulham.

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chicken curry puffs; wasabi king prawns

There is something to be said about returning to a restaurant after repeatedly bad service. Not bad like ick, but bad like they-once-basically-accused-me-of-lying kind of bad.  And I don’t know, maybe this is a question about my pride, my self worth, my self love, but do you think that despite public humiliation, returning to the same restaurant time and time again just because they serve good great food is a little  lame? Or maybe it just means (in case you hadn’t realised it by now) that I really, really love my food.

Apparently more than I love myself.

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