Alright folks, buckle up. Wanted some proper Scottish grub while stuck in France. Figured, how hard could it be? Famous last words.
Paris Disaster
Landed in Paris starving. Asked my French mate Pierre – “Any Scottish spots here?” He just laughs. Decided to hunt myself. Found this place online called “McGregor’s Tavern” near Pigalle. Sounded promising, right?
Turned up. Place smells like cheap beer and regret. Ordered haggis. What came out… oh man. Looked like gray mush and tasted like soggy cardboard. Seriously. Asked the waiter if it was real haggis. He shrugs. “Peut-être.” Right. Paid way too much and bailed. Lesson one: Don’t trust ‘Scottish Taverns’ in tourist traps.
Lyon Luck
Next stop Lyon. Wasn’t holding my breath. Got chatting to a Scottish bloke in a pub near Place Bellecour – real accent and everything! Told me about this tiny bakery run by his aunt, tucked away in Croix Rousse. Had to try.
Found the spot the next morning. Place was tiny. Smelled like heaven though – butter, flour, pure comfort. Auntie Morag nearly took my head off when I walked in. “We’re busy!” Ordered two things:
- Buttery Shortbread: Broke a corner off. Melted on the tongue, sweet but not sickly. Perfect crumble.
- Scotch Pie: Grabbed one still warm. Pastry flaky. Mince inside? Juicy, peppery, exactly like back home. Took six for the road.
Morag softened after I practically inhaled the pie. “Ye know good food, son.” High praise.
Marseille Madness
Figured, port city, maybe decent smoked fish? Found a ‘Scottish-French Fusion’ joint by the docks. Big mistake. Menu had haggis spring rolls and deep-fried Mars bar ice cream. Nah. Didn’t touch it.
Pushed my luck at a fishmonger near Vieux Port. Asked for Arbroath Smokies. The old guy behind the counter just stares blank. “Poisson fumé? Oui… haddock?” Grabbed a whole smoked haddock instead. Not Arbroath, but decent enough. Cooked it up plain with butter back at the Airbnb. Hit the spot, I guess.
Final Thoughts
This whole hunt?
- Give up on fancy “Scottish” restaurants: McGregor’s? Pure comedy.
- Find actual Scots: Lyon saved me cause I met a real one. Auntie Morag is a treasure.
- Don’t be fooled by “fusion”: Marseille? That place should be illegal.
- Smoked fish is… maybe?: If you ain’t choosy, sure.
Main takeaway? Finding Scottish eats in France is digging for gold. Mostly dirt, maybe one nugget. Auntie Morag’s shortbread and pies were the real deal though. Everything else? Meh. Stick to French bread.
