Små grodorna är lustiga att äta

My journey into the French culinary tradition continued today with a lunch of cuisses de grenouille, better known as frogs' legs (cuisse being French for thigh). Mr Champeyrol invited us down for lunch and we were served a plateful each. I can report that the "they taste like chicken" line is true, with a hint of pork crackling as well. They're served in pairs, with each leg still attached to its mate by a particularly appealing little piece of spine. Yum.

The taste is undeniably good, but the dish itself seems terribly impractical. Each leg offers only a tiny morsel of meat, and the flavour alone does not justify the extensive licking and gnawing required to get just one good mouthful. Still, the eating was good, and - typically for Mr Champeyrol - we were served a great deal of red wine and eau de vie with our grenouilles - so much so that I am completely drunk at 3pm. Vive la France!

The post-lunch conversation turned to war and politics, and Champey - like every French person I have spoken to on the subject - declared that the British are reasonable, justice-loving people who selflessly fought fascism, only to turn their backs on Europe and become petulant hermits in later years. That the British - defenders of continental liberty and democracy - should reject the EU genuinely shocks people here, and I worry about the legacy the frothy-mouthed eurosceptics are building for our country. Still, for now at least, I'm being paid to get tipsy and talk politics with French paysans, so it's not all bad. Vive l'Europe!