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liuzhou

liuzhou

2 hours ago, Thanks for the Crepes said:

 I want to say it was @liuzhou who linked to it originally on eG, but with my older memory, I can't be completely sure. Sorry if I am wrong

 

It may have been me. I certainly read it when it was first published and would probably have been inclined to mention it here, but my memory is even older than yours, so I can't swear to it.

 

Anyway, the notion that all French food is idyllic is a romantic nonsense. They serve up as much bad, average, barely acceptable food as pretty much anywhere else. When It's great it's great. Often it isn't. Usually, it isn't.

I remember sitting in a Paris restaurant with an acquaintance who had never visited before. She was hopelessly rose tinted. We were eating a rather nasty, under-dressed salad which hadn't even been properly washed and she was in raptures, delighting in her "eating in Paris" trip but not actually looking at or tasting the food. The rubbery omelette that came next was "a taste of heaven".

If it makes any difference, I am half French. My French mother is possibly, probably, certainly  the worst cook I have ever met!

Sorry, Maman!

(Actually, she knows it, too.)

liuzhou

liuzhou

2 hours ago, Thanks for the Crepes said:

 I want to say it was @liuzhou who linked to it originally on eG, but with my older memory, I can't be completely sure. Sorry if I am wrong

 

It may have been me. I certainly read it when it was first published and would probably have been inclined to mention it here, but memory is even older than yours so I can't swear to it.

 

Anyway, the notion that all French food is idyllic is a romantic nonsense. They serve up as much bad, average, barely acceptable food as pretty much anywhere else. When It's great it's great. Often it isn't. Usually, it isn't.

I remember sitting in a Paris restaurant with an acquaintance who had never visited before. She was hopelessly rose tinted. We were eating a rather nasty, under-dressed salad which hadn't even been properly washed and she was in raptures, delighting in her "eating in Paris" trip but not actually looking at or tasting the food. The rubbery omelette that came next was "a taste of heaven".

If it makes any difference, I am half French. My French mother is possibly, probably, certainly  the worst cook I have ever met!

Sorry, Maman!

(Actually, she knows it, too.)

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