gnocchi and the single man
The last two days have been a mix. On Thursday, the water guy came to check the meter and make sure the water was running in the new apartment. This took all of 2 minutes and he arrived within the first 15 minutes of the hour and a half block he had scheduled. Then I went back to our old apartment and was just falling into a nap when I got a call from the heating company saying that even though the appointment was for next Monday, their technician was in the neighborhood and was free, so they could come right away. So I ran back to the other apartment, where the guy was already waiting. He came in, took apart the entire water heater, cleaned the pipes and mechanisms so everything would flow smoothly, and spent a good half hour because things weren't working to his standards. He also said the sealant around the main panel was becoming brittle and needed to be replaced, so he'd schedule another appointment and the cost would be absorbed by the landlords. Both these experiences just add to the list of other pleasant utility-related experiences we've had in France: they arrive completely on time, they do a thorough job, installation doesn't cost you anything and neither do unexpected repairs/maintenance (such as the complete replacement of the phone/cable jack in our current apartment to get our internet service running). It's one of the few areas in France where customer service is not only competent but excellent.
In the evening, Christian and I had planned on dinner and a movie (A Single Man). We went to a tried and true restaurant, but they were really busy and the menu was not appealing. So then I remembered this French/Italian restaurant that I passed by walking home from Christian's university last week -- the menu had looked amazing. It was also within short walking distance of the theater, so we thought we'd almost surely get through dinner in an hour and a half in time to see the film. Oh, was it ever not meant to be. Things hit a bad note with our aperitifs: classic kirs that were just way too sweet. Christian then ordered the Italian menu: a salad with carpaccio-like meat, followed by mushroom gnocchi in a truffled sauce. I got the more French menu: sliced salmon with a dill-cream sauce, followed by a duck breast in a boletus mushroom sauce. My duck was fine (even though the mushrooms were not fresh), however the issue was the gnocchi. First, Christian had asked if it was a cream sauce, and he said it was a pesto sauce. Pesto doesn't have cream, but this sauce did have cream. Second, and more critically, you couldn't taste or see any of the mushrooms. I was really mad and asked the waiter flatly "Est-ce que vous pourriez me dire où sont les champignons dans ces gnocchis?" He insisted it was in the dough of the gnocchi, but I said I couldn't taste it at all. It was the first time I've ever sent a dish back to the kitchen in France, but I had never had something so definitively wrong in a restaurant here (there had been a few flops before, but I would always doubt whether I simply misordered and that was the way the dish should be). So they gave me a pizza instead, which admittedly had very good cheese, so I calmed down. But on account of their slow service and the sending things back, we didn't get out of there until two and a half hours later. Sigh, no movie for us.
In the evening, Christian and I had planned on dinner and a movie (A Single Man). We went to a tried and true restaurant, but they were really busy and the menu was not appealing. So then I remembered this French/Italian restaurant that I passed by walking home from Christian's university last week -- the menu had looked amazing. It was also within short walking distance of the theater, so we thought we'd almost surely get through dinner in an hour and a half in time to see the film. Oh, was it ever not meant to be. Things hit a bad note with our aperitifs: classic kirs that were just way too sweet. Christian then ordered the Italian menu: a salad with carpaccio-like meat, followed by mushroom gnocchi in a truffled sauce. I got the more French menu: sliced salmon with a dill-cream sauce, followed by a duck breast in a boletus mushroom sauce. My duck was fine (even though the mushrooms were not fresh), however the issue was the gnocchi. First, Christian had asked if it was a cream sauce, and he said it was a pesto sauce. Pesto doesn't have cream, but this sauce did have cream. Second, and more critically, you couldn't taste or see any of the mushrooms. I was really mad and asked the waiter flatly "Est-ce que vous pourriez me dire où sont les champignons dans ces gnocchis?" He insisted it was in the dough of the gnocchi, but I said I couldn't taste it at all. It was the first time I've ever sent a dish back to the kitchen in France, but I had never had something so definitively wrong in a restaurant here (there had been a few flops before, but I would always doubt whether I simply misordered and that was the way the dish should be). So they gave me a pizza instead, which admittedly had very good cheese, so I calmed down. But on account of their slow service and the sending things back, we didn't get out of there until two and a half hours later. Sigh, no movie for us.