Mâchon: The French breakfast you don't know 2023

While France is renowned for its pains au chocolat and croissants, Lyon has a long-standing tradition of tucking into wine and offal at breakfast.

Among the high-rise apartment blocks of Vaise, one of Lyon's newer quartiers (districts), I stepped into a little restaurant where time seemed to have stood still for 100 years. From the outside, Les 4G, a Lyonnais bouchon (traditional restaurant), looked much like the nondescript cafe-cum-tobacco shops that can be found in most small French towns, but inside the decor was as warm and inviting as a country pub. The red gingham tablecloths matched the chequered napkins, which were neatly stored in shelving units along the wall with brass plaques indicating each owner's name – regular clientele who had their own napkin stored for them.

As I sat down, sandwiched between jolly retirees Pierre-Loïc Delfante and Jean Paul Pillon, I realised that I was the youngest in the group by more than 30 years. The cheese delivery had just arrived, and the chef was unpacking brown paper bags containing soft balls of cervelle de canut, an unappetising name that translates as "silk workers' brain" but looks like cottage cheese. Delfante filled my glass with a crisp white wine from Beaujolais. It was 9:00 in the morning.

I've always found French petit déjeuner (breakfast) insubstantial, but that wasn't the first thing that came to mind as I scanned the menu on the blackboard. Gone were the tartines and croissants, replaced instead by a list that read like a biology textbook: rognons de veau (calf's kidney), tablier de sapeur (fried, breaded tripe), tête de veau (calf's head). This was mâchon, a long-standing Lyonnais breakfast tradition where no part of the animal goes to waste.

As dish after dish arrived, I tried to convince myself that the fried tripe slices could be mushrooms, but the boiled calf's head encased in grey gelatine didn't resemble anything I'd eaten before. Oddly, the calf's head tasted pretty good, a little like warm, soft pork scratchings, though I struggled to look at it.

"Pig is a vegetable which goes with everything!" said Pillon, his eyes twinkling as he offered me a slice of pâté en croûte.

We moved onto a red wine from Beaujolais, and, after a couple of sips, my glass was promptly topped up again. It was like an antiquated version of a prosecco-and-avocado toast millennial bottomless brunch.

Lyon's curious tradition of tucking into wine and offal at breakfast started several centuries ago.

Between the mid-16th and 19th Centuries, the city's silk industry was among the most important in Europe. The canuts (silk workers) would often work for up to 12 hours a day to meet demand as silks became increasingly popular with French nobility. Traboules, covered passageways that labyrinth across Lyon and characterise the city's architecture, were used for transporting the precious material between buildings. Although the oldest of Lyon's 400-odd traboules are thought to date from as early as the 4th Century CE, many were built in Croix-Rousse (the city's silk weaving quartier) during the silk industry boom. And with canuts often starting work in the small hours of the morning, by 09:00 they needed more sustenance than a pain au chocolat or croissant.