Yes, mes choux, I promise you: everybody really was kung fu fighting. And it really was more than just a little bit frightening, let me tell you.
Paris, 1991, darlings, and Kentucky Fried Chicken was about to launch in France. Yours truly was still learning how not to ruin scallops in LaFontaine’s celebrated underground Rive Gauche restaurant. And that’s where I got to know him: Vincent de Moutarde.
During the day he might have looked like, and in fact have been, a humble restaurant plongeur but by night he was the saboteur’s saboteur. Schooled in the barricades of ’68, Vincent taught me everything I know about dirty tricks – and that’s a lot.
Like many right-thinking Frenchmen and women of the time, Vincent had taken exception to Colonel Sanders marching his malbouffe into the land of Descartes, Napoleon and the fragrant Vanessa Paradis. And so, while scrubbing LaFontaine’s dirty pots and pans, Vincent plotted KFC’s destruction.
The long and short of it, darlings, is that his plan was ultimately foiled, but not without considerable drama.
As we (me, Vincent and Eric*) crept through the fast food restaurant the night before the Grand Opening, ready to unload les ordures de tout Paris all over the place, who should we come face to face with but the Colonel himself.
His hideous white suit silhouetted by the moon, the Colonel was surreptitiously stuffing himself with cheap chicken and had clearly been caught in the act. Spotting our little troupe of saboteurs, he roared with rage before lashing out in an attempt to strike us. But Vincent was fast, and launched into a display of kung fu the like of which I’d not seen before.
Not to be outdone, the Colonel heaved his huge southern frame into position and reciprocated with kung fu moves which, in all fairness, were incredibly impressive for a man of his excessive corpulence. So much so, darlings, that I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Ah ain’t havin’ no goddarn dawg laff at me, nawt with ma special blind of ‘erbs and spices. Ahm the king of chicken!”, he bellowed at me in his strong drawl.
To this, darlings, I took considerable exception. I am not a ‘dawg’, or even a dog. I am a fox. I said as much to the Colonel, told him that he should never have let a fox into his henhouse and then executed a kung fu kick on him which immediately floored him. I noticed that young Eric was nodding and taking notes. As the Colonel fell to the ground, I’m sorry to say that he visibly - and audibly - soiled his hitherto white suit.
And that’s when the gendarmes arrived, darlings. The game was up and the three of us slunk away into the Paris night. But we took a lot of pleasure in watching the coverage the next day, especially as the Colonel shuffled around in a very obvious and deliberate effort to hide the seat of his trousers from the assembled members of the Parisian press.
But perhaps the most interesting thing about Vincent de Moutarde, darlings, wasn’t his kung fu fighting but rather his raging Anglophilia. Unusual in a Frenchman, I think you’ll agree. He and Eric were always badgering me to make them ‘le crapaud dans le trou’, I think partly because that was the effect we’d collectively had on the Colonel….
But Vincent’s favourite English dish by far was ‘le pea and mint soup’, the recipe for which I’ve set out below.
I do hope you have good weekends darlings,
R.
x
PS - if you’re wondering who I am, there’s a little introduction here.
*Cantona, another young pal of de Moutarde.
A VERY ENGLISH PEA AND MINT SOUP
Serves 4
Ingredients
25g butter
2 small onions, finely chopped
750g peas
750ml chicken stock
Large handful of fresh mint
Salt and white pepper
Instructions
Sauté:
In a large saucepan, melt the butter and gently cook the onion, with a pinch of salt. Stir occasionally until soft but not coloured.
Add:
Introduce the peas and the stock, and bring to the boil before simmering for 10 minutes or so darlings.
Blend:
Take the pan off the heat, and add the mint. Blitz it with a stick blender to a consistency you’re happy with.
Season and serve:
Add your white pepper and salt, and then ladle into a bowl. Serve with Amber and Chris’ white wine. And a jolly good story about how you humiliated one of the biggest names – and bodies – in fast food.