It truly is a shame when restaurants open to great fanfare and critical acclaim and then slowly become complacent; in this particular occasion, the restaurant fitting the bill was Bistrot Bruno Loubet. Having just finished watching a performance of the San Francisco Ballet and being blown away by the poetry of movement, we eagerly trotted to the nearby Zetter hotel with high hopes and eager anticipations …
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September 21, 2012
Bistrot Bruno Loubet
September 12, 2012
Bombay Brasserie
Being one of the old world restaurants, Bombay Brasserie is a behemoth of a dining room, fitting in no less than 300 covers. The dining room in spite of its recent refurbishment to give it the visage of a grand Parisian restaurant stands out like a sore thumb as soon as one picks up the menu; there is just no harmony between the sound and style of food offered and the room it is served in. The menu, straight out of the 1970′s, feels like it should be served in one of the several impostors masquerading as restaurants on Brick Lane.
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September 3, 2012
Le Moulin de la Galettes, Paris
A day that begins with the dead, always ends in sex. Such is the continuity of life and the balance that goes with all things. We paid our respects to the genius of Oscar Wilde, the beauty of Edith Piaf, the mastery of Frederic Chopin and the madness of Jim Morrison at Pere Lachaise cemetery; enormous, and in spite of the throngs of people visiting it, incredibly calming. That was, of course, until I nearly wanted to throttle someone to death for disrespecting the dead. It was at Oscar Wilde’s grave and a Frenchman, quite eager on taking photos, was clambering all over the grave next to Oscar’s to get the perfect photo, whilst his wife laughed at him as he desecrated this grave. Infuriating! Nevertheless, the inscription on Wilde’s grave is one that I have always remembered and cherished as the words of one of the most prolific and gifted writers: “and alien tears will fill for him, pity’s long broken urn. And his mourners will be outcast men, for outcasts always mourn.”
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