A series of shots of unreported food.
Napoleon of Foie gras with some fancy gelee
(that tasted like nothing) and a pansy.
Croque m’sieur of coquille saint jacques.
Odd but delicious.
Coquilles St Jacques (this was luscious).
Essentially a chimichanga filled with confit de canard
something that should be unctuous and toothsome.
It was dry as the sahara. The sauce didn’t help.
Tarte Tatin of endive with goat cheese. Meh.
Soup that came with the couscous. Tasted like Campbell’s.
Everything was mushy. I’m sure that is how it is in Morocco.
Asian meal of various unknown oddments.
It was good.
Foie gras with chalk dust and mucilage dabs.
Couscous and merguez. Couscous tasted stale.
I can always like merguez.
Cheese topped mashed potatoes. D-L ish iss.
Ashish professionally deboned his sole, though it
was “plaice,” he testily declared.
No matter what the menu said.
I thought this was supposed to be pork chops.
It turned out to be a salad with some pork pieces decorating it.
On the one hand, I’m fine with that. On the other, the menu description might have
been a little more forthcoming. And, then, on the 3rd hand (of which I have 5),
I probably wouldn’t have ordered it then.
This little “amuse bouche” was a jelly of lentils sitting
on top of some truffled cream stuff. The smell of truffles makes
me gag. I wish it didn’t. I feel very not cool but, no. I ate the
lentil “gelee” even if it was tainted with the stink of truffle.
But I left the truffle cream layer in the little glass.
It wouldn’t be Belgium if I didn’t mention chocolate. I can only mention it since
I didn’t have any of it even if there are 2 chocolate shops on every block.
It’s charming but apparently not alluring, to me anyway.