I HOPE that was kidney....

I don’t speak French. I took Spanish for four-plus years. (Notice I said, “took” and not “speak”.) But, I didn't take nor do I speak French.

However, I’ve always been proud of my ability to speak “Menu French.” I thank my parents for an early education in learning the ins and outs of a French menu.

I failed my test last night. As, I should point out, did Stephanie.

After a leisurely walk down the rainy streets of le Marais last night, we popped in to Le Coude Fou, a charming bistro. The menu was true country French cooking. Our appetizers were a goat cheese, about the size of my fist that seemed to have been broiled in cream and butter. Hmmm. Hmmm. Stephanie had a wonderful salad with bacon and shaved foie gras. Her main course, a seared tartar of duck. Mine: Well, we’re actually not quite sure, but do know that it was veal.

I’m not one for “organ meat.” So, when the rognon de veau was placed in front of me it took me by surprise. (I was expecting a medallion or cutlet.)

Checking the English-French dictionary we’re hoping that the rognon was actually kidney. Alternate translations raise the possibility that the organ on my plate was something entirely different and only found on the male of the species.

Thankfully, dinner was followed by a stroll over to the Ile Saint-Louis for "the best ice cream in Paris" at Berthillon Glacier. It was a wonderful way to end the night, sitting in the shadow of Notre Dame.
Update: They weren't kidneys. We stopped by the market and saw the difference.