Eating Brains in Lyon
Oh, Lyon. You truly are something special. So rooted in tradition, so confident in yourself, in your role within gastronomy. I've been trying to make sense of the world through food—observing how Europeans eat and what food means to everyone. Trying to figure out what food means to me. Is it just pure enjoyment? Education? Curiosity? Discovery? Is that too much pressure to put on food? Lyon felt like a good place to explore these thoughts. If France is the leader of all things culinary, and Lyon is France’s gastronomy capital, does that mean Lyon is the most important place on Earth to learn about food? Possibly.
Paul Bocuse, the face of Lyon. The late chef was dubbed “the pope of gastronomy” and is the pride and joy of the city.
So I headed to bouchons—Lyon’s traditional restaurants dating back to the 16th century. It’s said that the bouchons gained its name from the word “bousche”, meaning a twisted bundle of straw. Back then, small inns would hang straws from their roofs, signalling to silk workers passing by that hot meals could be found inside. There are about 70 bouchons in the city, but I ended up going to three: Daniel et Denise, a respected chain owned by chef Joseph Viola; Le Musee, the most highly rated bouchon in Lyon with a tight dining room where people sat elbow to elbow; and Le Garett, a well-known institution with red leather sofa seats, wooden interiors and branded tea towels so beautiful that I tried to buy one off the owners.
Le Garett’s tea towel-esque table napkins that I most definitely did not almost steal.
It's easy to say oui to medium-rare steak frites in Parisian bistros. Or to cheese and ham crepes. Or a rich onion soup. Those are the easy ones. In Lyon, the real challengers are organs. Sausages made of tripe stuffed in intestines. Calf brains pan-seared in nutty brown butter. Jellied meats rolled in pastry. Rich butter and cream sauces come in, attempting to tame the wild flavours. Dishes are chewy, fatty, and intensely animalistic. The flavours can be so pungent and demanding that with each bite, you're reminded of where your food came from.
“Do you dare?” the bouchons taunted.
I did dare. I think I liked them. Maybe? Even if I didn’t, I continued to return the following days, hoping that my palate would eventually adjust upon repeated exposure. Being able to stomach (ha) traditional Lyonnaise cuisine feels like an entrance ticket to visit. Enjoying the food feels like gaining permission to stay—and I wanted Lyon’s approval.
She is beauty, she is grace. She is the seared calf brains in beurre noisette at Daniel et Denise.
If we’re being honest here, I don’t know if I like brains.
I could lie to you and say that I really enjoyed the soft nervous tissues of a calf and that the squishy and white worm-like organ is now my favourite protein to eat. You can even pronounce my name with a silent “s” (Dori) since I’ve officially turned French upon the first bite. But I’d be lying to you. The flavour was unfamiliar, and the shapes and textures reminded me of the fish sperm sushi I tried at Sushiro. I felt the muscle squeak against my teeth as if I were biting into a soft polystyrene box. With each bite, I thought about the number of delicate brain cells and connectors to the body I was cutting through with my teeth.
But it was fascinating. The brain was well seasoned, lightly browned and perfectly cooked. The seared sides gave the edges a firmer texture. The brain was so soft and delicate that my butter knife left marks on the creamy white interiors. I’m curious to try more brains—But let’s leave that for another time.
