We went to dinner on Saturday. Somewhere expensive.


The trip to Paris was a birthday treat pour moi from Red, so in return for such an extravagant gift I agreed to buy dinner, and I chose a fancy shmancy restaurant at the top of the Pompidou Centre. Ooh la la.  We had limited time in Paris so I thought we’d combine dinner and a butcher’s at one of the world’s architectural masterpieces. Boom! Two birds in one stone. Hashtag WINNER!

The restaurant was stunning and is designed to be an experience, a combination of art and design, not just a place to nosh.  The waiting staff, men and women, were all sickeningly beautiful and the place had an air of sophistication one expects from the height of Paris,  at the height of Paris. From the sixth floor of the Pompidou Centre we could see all of Paris at night.

Georges 2

We chose our drinks. Not the 1982 Petrus for us this time, just a simple cocktail. We perused the menu and deliberated, cogitated, pondered and chewed over the choices and by the time I’d worked out what I wanted to chew on, and the waiting staff sashayed back and forth bringing drinks and appetizers, I was very hungry indeed, and looking forward to chomping down on their signature beef fillet. Red chose the wild organic salmon.

The waiters arrived and as they put the plate down I went into a fixed smile as I tried to contain my look of confusion, disappointment, and ‘is that all there is’-ness but, was that all there was?

Now I know how everyone I’ve ever been to bed with has felt. Really, is that all there is down there?

I’ve seen cows, they’re MASSIVE, but for me to know this and to be given something so small and be happy to pay for it, was going to involve a suspension of disbelief akin to watching Avatar. Was that all there was?

I waited a bit just in case someone was gonna bring the rest of the cow for me, but this didn’t seem likely, and what I did have was going cold.

My partner had chosen the salmon. Wisely. It was big and fish-sized, and I was reminded that this is not the first time she’s done this ‘ordering something that looks much better than mine’ thang. She’s got some knack or skill or something. I made a mental note to self: order what Red is having. It’s gonna be bigger than what you’re thinking of having. Always.

But then I heard three magic words: “I’m not sure I’m gonna be able to finish this.”

Pretty sure I heard a choir of angels break into the Hallelujah chorus too.

We tucked in and my beef was sublime. Yeah, it was a small portion but as I put each beautiful, tiny, gorgeous, luscious, dainty morsel into my mouth I’m pretty sure the people on the next table saw my O face.

Or maybe not. Maybe the rest of the restaurant were too busy looking out the 30 feet high windows at Paris by night or staring at the models serving the food to see me polish off a plate of beef fillet and creamed potatoes AND half a salmon and a tower of triple cooked chips.

Note to self: carry on as you were. That way you get to eat yours and finish off Red’s too.

Hashtag WINNER!



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