I have an intense love-hate relationship with anything France.
I love the cheese, wine and macaroons but not so much the rude French waiters - which is essentially all French waiters.
I have for the latter reason been avoiding the Aubaine restaurants seemingly cropping up in every other corner of London for the past few years - but as they are said to have the best Moules Frites in town, a visit had to be paid.
On one of those beautiful, sunny, first few crisp Autumn days, I really could not think of anything better than some warm buttery mussels in Marylebone Village (which by the way is slowly becoming my favourite area in London).
Fresh from the gym, I met up with Bambi (sleepy) and Hell's Bells (hungover) on this adorable little bistro overseeing the square and trying it's best to lure you in with beautiful chocolate éclair's and mille-feuilles, a top notch wine selection and fluffy quiches galore. It was the perfect spot for a ladies lunch.
Or so I thought. We pretty much managed to cover off two weeks of Bambi on South African Safari, including flights, before a waiter bothered to come take our order. I did the mistake of ordering a Virgin Mary and was met with a look more offended and disgusted than I had expected from calling his mother fat. You can take the waiter out of France but you clearly can't take the French out of the French waiter.
After the initial annoyance with the slowness and less-than-enthusiastic attitude of the waiter, he brought out my Moules Frites and all was forgiven. How these ugly little creatures can be so delicious is beyond me, but never the less. Yummy in my Tummy.
No matter what - I can't fault the French when it comes to their food!
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