Yes, it's true. I've been eating a fair amount of ethnic food since I've been here—especially when it comes to actual meals out. Not so last night.
After a couple glasses of wine at the café on my corner, Rob and I headed to a real French place for a late dinner. The waiters were in white shirts and black ties. Snails and fois gras were on the menu. It was legit.
Our waiter in particular was quite sassy. He made fun of my accent but also flirted and kept inviting Rob to leave him alone with me. It was 100 percent charming, et si droll.
We went all out with the eating. I had my first escargot of the trip, though certainly not my last—steamed with butter and fresh herbs, they were the unabashed highlight of the meal. That's not to say that everything else wasn't delicious. We had funky goat cheese on toast with salad, roasted lamb with a side of white beans that changed Rob's life and a cut of steak au poive swimming in a rich, creamy sauce (perfect sopped up with bread and frites). The meal ended with milky creme caramel and a couple cafés. It was so much fun.