Feeling as under as the weather and hugely contrary, we decided to take a ride in the driving wind and rain to the lovely little town of Troyes, existent since the Roman era (GPS prononces this tee-raw). We’d been here years ago when my husband was bitten by a monkey in Mali and needed several rabies shots.
Troyes has a fabulous 13th century cathedral St. Peter and St. Paul that is worth a visit. Pity about my trembling hands; I even had it on automatic and it still didn’t help. Oh well.
If you are in this region, you really should visit Troyes. It’s a medieval town with the same narrow streets and houses like back in the day.
We would love to have one of these ancient apartments in this town center, although my husband says the buildings are crooked.
So what did we decide to do for lunch in this old, old town with its vibrant covered market and its numerous, quality bistros and brasseries? Crotchety, contrary, grouchy and just plain ridiculous, we decided to eat at the English pub, the James Joyce. Really! Sometimes we’re inexcusable!
Yes, we chose it but we were immediately prepared to criticize, a la M. Parret. The butter; not near the best quality (less than President) and served in little one pat packages. Bad. To be fair, the salmon was good but for some reason, the cherry tomatoes on the salad were roasted. I asked. We figured it was an English thing. Roger would know.
In an restaurant, we absolutely hate it when our condiments are served in little packages! So why did we choose a restaurant that was almost certain to do this? I don’t know. Our minds are not right.
The food was edible but we don’t like big fries. We ordered an outrageously priced bottle of wine to be sure that it was at least the quality of table wine and that was a good idea.
I totally believe that Roger Stowell is right about taking automatic pictures; the camera doesn’t really know, you do. All these pictures are taken on automatic and I don’t believe this is exactly what I saw but whatever, I couldn’t be bothered.
My husband ordered a Charolais beef hamburger that was correct. I had the duck breast that was also correct. When asked how I wanted it cooked, I answered “normal” in a grumpy old lady way and it was, more or less; I like it a little more rare. See above. Don’t have the Cafe Gourmand.
Would we eat here again? Probably not. It was perfectly edible, but it’s because this is not the food we want to eat in France. Our fault totally.