Ninjas Ate My Lunch…So I wrote a blog about it.

Caro and I decided to, after a long day of sightseeing, to treat ourselves to a nice dinner in a Parisian restaurant. On the street of our hotel there are a number of cute ones, and we chose one advertising itself as a “Pizza Resto.”

“Pizzaria” seems to be used pretty broadly here and in Spain, but this particular one did indeed have pizza on the menu, as well as other Parisian/Italian fare. It also looked pretty reasonably priced, so we went in.

Now, it must be mentioned this was our first opportunity eating a real meal at somewhere other than a cafe. Multiple courses were available, as were lots of wine choices (much to the enjoyment of the person in our party whose name starts with a “C” and ends with “arolynn.”) We were seated by a very friendly waiter/manager/owner who I swore was speaking some sort of French-Spanish hybrid and was quite a smiley guy.

Looking over the menu I decided I could go the easy (and more heavy) route and choose pizza, but I wanted to try something a little different. Caro honed in on the wine and some awesome sounding pasta with cream sauce and salmon. Flipping through the menu I found a section dedicated to cheese, and my pulse quickened.

Caro picked the pasta and a glass of the house white wine. For me beef carpaccio with salad, the emmental cheese plate and some water. The salad was an entrée which here means appetizer and I figured the cheese would be a good addition, as is usually my train of logic.

What followed as our food and drinks appeared would have normally made me feel stupid, but we were virtually the only diners and dude seemed to be enjoying us.

First to arrive was the “glass” of wine which turned out to be a caraffe that was actually 2/3 of a bottle with 2 glasses. I turned down my glass because I didn’t feel like drinking. Dude looked surprised and smiled. I think he knew what Caro was in for…

Next our food – my beef was very thinly sliced, filling an entire dinner plate, dripping in oil. Salad next, then Caro’s pasta. Then my cheese which is about a 6in diameter wheel cut into four triangles, also on salad. Then a basket of bread. Then a giant bottle of water.

With all the food there what I ordered spreads to Caro’s side. I take a picture of Caro and her gallon of wine, she takes one of me and my feast of protein. Then Dude, wise to our love of photo ops, offers to take one of both of us; we readily accept the offer and grin our biggest tourist grins surrounded by our bounty.

When it comes time to eat, I can only imagine what was running through Dude’s head as he watched…

“Blonde girl has whole bottle of wine to herself…good thing she ordered pasta. Maybe I should bring extra bread. Now the other one is making a sandwich with the carpaccio, soaking up oil with rest of bread. Why doesn’t she put it on the salad, that’s why it’s there. Ah more sandwiches… Cheese this time. Should I have told her that was from the dessert menu? Ah, she doesn’t care…Good thing about the extra bread. More sandwiches, and now the blonde is on her 4th glass of wine. Conversation is turning to unsavory things, quickly and loudly. I’ll bring more bread and some complimentary fruity drinks. At least one of them likes to toss a few back. Hey, I’m from Paris or maybe Spain, either way I’m European and I can dig it.”

Maybe he didn’t say those exact words, but it’s what I imagined as we fumbled through our meal, realizing when each was meant to be eaten and how. It was delicious nonetheless, and I want to try to go back for more pasta. Oh, and Caro definitely enjoyed our next stop, the Eifel Tower, just a little more that night.