Slow food

THE French like to think they know their way around a kitchen. "We have ze best chefs in ze world!" they boast, laughing at us rosbifs and our Kraft Dairylea triangles.

But how does their food worship, their insistence on the finest ingredients, their haugh-hee-haugh, flash-fried superiority square with gastronomic lust for a garden pest?

Monday is National Escargot Day. It is supposedly the day when France champions its bond with the snail. I don't know what form this celebration takes; perhaps they all dress up like Brian from The Magic Roundabout and sing the Marsnaillaise.

Certainly, many tons of gastropods will be topped, tailed and dropped down Gaulish gullets.

Now it was my turn.

Admittedly, this diner's diet is founded principally on those two English staples, the sausage and the pie. But I have been known to wander into exotic culinary territory, tasting squid and seaweed when the occasion demanded it.

But snails are somehow worse. Much more adventurous palates than mine blanched at the thought of eating a slimy shell-dweller. The noise made when I told anyone I was off to eat a plateful of snails was along these lines: "Eeuuyuchh!"

Happily, my ordeal was made easier by the setting. Caf Rouge on Low Petergate has a delightful courtyard, overlooked by York Minster. Beyond a high wall echoed the raucous playground screams of Minster School pupils. They were loud enough, I noted with relief, to drown out any involuntary noises from me.

To mark National Escargot Day, Caf Rouge has introduced a new starter: gratin d'escargots l'ail (£3.95). This was what I was here to sample. By the time of my visit, only one other diner had summoned the courage to try the snails. His verdict was less than ecstatic: "they're different".

Caf Rouge manager Fehim Kaya is not expecting his new dish to be an overnight sensation. "It will be a massive surprise to our clients," he said.

"But people want to try different things now. Ten years ago, people wouldn't try mussels."

Snails have an image problem, he admitted. "When you see snails, they aren't attractive."

Yet the French love them; might we, given the chance?

To prepare for my quest, I had read up on snail cuisine. There are no fewer than 116 varieties of edible snail, of which the handpicked Helix Pomatia or "Trs Gros" is proclaimed to be the best. This beast, nicknamed the land lobster, would be served to me accompanied by ham and mushrooms.

The modern Brit might reject this particular form of slow food, but his ancient counterpart tucked in: shells have been found in British excavation sites from the pre-Roman times.

Snails are also good for you. Low in fat and high in protein, they are an "Atkins-friendly" treat.

Enough stalling. The dish had arrived, presented with toasted slices of French baton. The blackish-grey snail meat, devoid of shellsuit, feelers and tail, was covered in a bright green livery of parsley and garlic sauce.

The fork went in easily. A quick cooling blow - they are cooked at high temperatures - a deep breath, and... into the mouth.

First impression: phew, I'm not going to be sick. After that, blimey, these little beggars are chewy. A diet of snails and you'll soon have a Schwarzenegger jaw.

As for the taste: where is it? Garlic, yes, parsley, yes, but very little that was singularly snail. Not as revolting as an 18th century French peasant, say, but then not as memorable as a 21st century French kiss.

"I am not a massive fan of snails," confessed Fehim. "I wouldn't go out and ask for them."

Having tried them, neither would I. Unless they ever make a snail pie.

Gratin d'escargots l'ail is available for a limited time at Caf Rouge, 52 Low Petergate, York; telephone 01904 673293

Updated: 08:28 Saturday, May 22, 2004