Monday, February 14, 2011
Non, non, et non!
At least, not La Mom’s first St. Valentin in France.
That was B.C. (Before Cheese – Big Cheese, that is) – and before La Mom knew that Frenchmen could live up to their stereotypes.
Restaurant Taillevent, 15 Rue Lamennais, 75008 Paris.
La Single Girl (moi, before becoming La Mom), Ze French Lov-air, Le Serveur
Heavenly (although I only had a few bites)
Kir Royale Cerise Griotte
Château Mouton Rothschild 1983
La Single Girl: Thanks to your tongue, my French has improved so much.
(Sidebar: Oh mon Dieu. Did I really say that back then? So beyond fromage. It must have been the apéritif talking.)
Ze French Lov-air: Zat ees nice, ma chérie.
La SG (stroking FL’s cheek): My friends in the US are so jealous I have a French boyfriend.
Ze French Lov-air: You shouldn't call me your boyfriend.
La SG (shocked): Why? Aren’t we dating?
Ze French Lov-air (snorts): Day-teeng? This is what you see in Amairicain feelms. On sort, c'est tout. In fact, I have something to tell you...
Zere are two others.
And I plan on keeping all three of you.
Le Serveur (seeing La Single Girl burst into tears): More wine, mademoiselle?
The Conclusion: Leave it to a Frenchman to put his cheating on the table. The table of a Michelin-starred restaurant.
At least I ordered the most expensive dish on the menu.
Photo credit: zazzle.com