So beloved of the French are garden snails that they make special little ceramic dishes with indentations to warm and serve them in.
In Paris, when you go to buy fresh snails, the attendants all wear lab coats, and they’ve fed the crustaceans white bread for a few days, so their shit doesn’t look like, well, shit.
At Café Loup, a long-running bistro in Greenwich Village, each snail is cooked in butter and garlic, and topped with a light, creamy béchamel. And there’s no better version in town.
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