Low-Hanging Saucisson

I read somewhere that you should have a provocative title to your blog post so that people read on.

And then, by the time they realise that the post is about something entirely different, something mundane and boring like a day off work, it’s too late because they’re invested. And that, boys and girls, is how Buzzfeed was created.

Mondays are our days off. We’re halfway up a mountain working a season in a ski resort, with 6 days work followed by one glorious day off. (Sometimes the day off becomes an ‘oh we’re really busy, do you mind coming in to work’ sort of day, but that’s the hazards of the bar trade.) So we set off in search of our very own smoked sausage.

It wasn’t a hard decision. Saucisson (French sausage; think a tiny shrivelledy-penis version of salami) is pretty much the best thing to come out of France since Gustav Eiffel looked at Paris and thought ‘what this place needs is a giant pylon’.

We sell it in work. Well; I say we sell it in work. What I mean is that the bar staff and one of the regulars usually buys one every evening and we share it between us. And the undisputed opinion amongst us all is that ‘Saucisson Aux Cepes’ or ‘with mushroom’ is the best of all the flavours. And therefore is always the first to go and is sorely missed when we have none left.

And so, this Monday, we decided to go down the mountain to the nearest valley town, called Bourg St Maurice, and track down some more of that delicious Saucisson Aux Cepes to bring back with us.

The journey down isn’t as simple as gravity might suggest it is. There’s a shuttle bus to the next resort, followed by the funicular down. The funicular is sort of like what would happen if an elevator fell onto a slope and still worked. It takes you down the mountain, appropriately slanted so you don’t fall over – until you reach the flat bit at the bottom and suddenly you’re off balance.

Looks like a train, but open the doors and BAM!

You know what I was saying about the catchy title pulling you in? If I was Buzzfeed, or Dorkly, or Mashable or any of these awful sites, this is where I’d start a list called “14 Things You Wouldn’t Believe About Mountains – Number 12 Will Make Your Nose Explode!” or maybe “I Was So Astonished When I Heard This Fact About Funiculars That I Accidentally Pushed An Old Lady Into Oncoming Traffic” or something like that.

But this isn’t Buzzfeed, so all you’re getting is the witty title and a slow-burner of a story about my day off. Full disclosure; we don’t even find the Saucisson. There. I’ve even ruined the punchline for you. You can stop reading if you want.

We got down to Bourg (thanks for sticking around) and headed to the large supermarket down there. Armed with a super-long trolley and a child-like glee (we tried to find a glee-like child but it’s France; nobody here is happy) we started our search.

See the ‘Merci’ sign? The Saucisson section was right there! RIGHT THERE!

At first, it looked like we’d be successful! The Saucisson section was right next to the entrance; clearly an important enough cultural entity to warrant the place usually reserved for sandwiches and magazines about cars. We headed there to grab a few Saucisson Aux Cepes before we looked round the rest of the supermarket.

We found Saucisson, alright. So many types of Saucisson. There was Saucisson Aux Noix, Saucisson Pur Porc, Saucisson Aux Myrtilles, Saucisson Fume, Saucisson Aux Beaufort, Saucisson Noisettes, Saucisson Naturel, and some I couldn’t pronounce.

What there most definitely wasn’t, was Saucisson Aux Cepes.

We searched the rest of the shop. There were three more Saucisson-centric sections. And in not one of them did the Saucisson Aux Cepes make an appearance.

In the end, begrudgingly, we picked up a few other flavours we thought we might like and, armed with the rest of our shopping (including a bottle of good rum; maybe after a few glasses of that I won’t mind about the lack of mushroom-flavoured sausage) we headed back up the mountain, saddened by France as a whole.

And there you have it. An entire blog post about the failure to find a sausage. Aren’t you glad you stuck it out?

But it’s okay in the end because then we had cocktails and got very very drunk.

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