I do not mean to start this post with toilet humour but this has to be one of the the best signs I’ve seen!
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Earlier this evening we argued about where we wanted to eat. I wanted Indian. He wanted good pub grub. So obviously we chose French. And what an insanely divine choice it was.
Le Bouchon turned out to be perfect. Even the blunder made by our elegant server was exquisite. She brought us escargot in garlic butter and said how wonderful that we decided to have the 8 course degustation. I gently (I really was on my best behaviour) corrected her that, in fact, we hadn’t. With quiet grace she said to please enjoy these, compliments of the house. I’ve never eaten escargot, I could have kissed her. (I could’ve kissed that gorgeous French gentleman too. Even my husband might’ve. That’s how good it was).
Our meal only got more sublime as we went… Oysters with champagne vinegar. Scallops wrapped in bacon in this completely oogly-boogly butter sauce. I know you know that’s not a French word-but you get the drift. Shiny green garlicky buttery beautiful beans. Pan-roasted grass fed wagyu… Help dear lord, I could actually eat the whole cow. How good can a meal get!!
And because I suffered from EBS* tonight, I HAD TO HAVE the four-dessert tasting platter. What? Stop rolling your eyes at me. I shared the coffee with Big Foodie.
Oh by this stage we were literally struggling to even ask for the bill. Every limb…every cell, was in a food-induced coma. I don’t remember walking to the car to get back home. I don’t even remember taking these photos or writing this post.
I’m trying to be funny but I’m failing miserably.
Thoughts of garlic and butter and shiraz and coffee and chocolate and nougat and raspberry coulis and walnut icecream are all clouding my judgement and making me verrrryyy sleep-satisfied indeed. Goodnight sweet yummy delicious world. Vive la France!
Dee x
*EBS: Eyes Bigger than Stomach.
And usually an affliction my beloved suffers from.
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