Monday, April 7, 2008

In France, No One Can Hear You Scream

Yep, dining in France is a no-brainer. Isn’t it? Restaurant. You go. It’s French. End of story, right?

Last night I went to a local place which will always remain local. Madame pegged us immediately as “les autres” and placed us quaintly at easily the worst table in the house; kitty-corner to the entrance to the kitchen, where I could watch grizzled François smoke, cook, smoke, cook. Thank the gods my S.O. did not have to gaze on that loveliness while she put fork to mouth.

The first happiness was when I asked for something—I forget what—and the answer from the matronly owner was “We don’t have that.” But the kicker was when I asked for something else and she said “We don’t have that either.” Off the menu, is it, love? Wot, the reglars din’t quite fancy it? Well, I don’t know the equivalent in French, but transport yourself to a Western country in the vicinity and you’ll get with my drift.

Meanwhile, some young couple drifted in and got the cozy corner table seemingly with no effort whatsoever.

I had made some kind of joke about steak being “sanglante”, meaning of course “saignante” but with the only steak that remained on the menu (remember what was unavailable?) it appeared that the owner and the cook decided to play a little joke on the foreigner and make it truly “sanglante” and thus it arrived: seared for thirty seconds on both sides. How they must have cackled in the kitchen!

I was cursing my mistake in not having ordered the volaille aux champignons, but realising that the cook probably would have put a hefty spitball in that as well, I’m thinking I was lucky to get out of there alive. I sent back my steak to kind of get it cooked a little, but it came back equally inedible; simply just bad meat.

“Excuse me, but where would the bathroom be?” I asked at one point. “Well, there’s always the sidewalk,” was my charming answer.

I can’t believe I put my credit card down and paid 50 euros for this lovely meal, toute authentique and no doubt the finest money can buy here.

What a crock of shit.

3 comments:

  1. Wow, that sounds utterly terrible.

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  2. Was your payment of €50 with the tip or without?

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  3. Um, I didn't know whether or not to leave a tip or if it was, so to speak, merely the value-added tax being included. Must confess to not understanding the protocol here.

    But if I had had to leave a tip, it would have been "Madame, I wish to linger just a few moments more and gaze with undying love upon your terroir, but better to leave you with the thought that perhaps you need a new butcher."

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