There’s never far to go to find a crêperie in France – usually a metre or two in any centre ville…
The other day I wrote about my translation issues with my dodgy French. Clearly it goes both ways.
To cater for tourists, many restaurants provide English versions of their menus. This is very helpful – and also very cute and funny.
Everything is literally translated, like crème brûlée (which is to die for over here!).
Their translation: Egg custard with burnt butter topping. Pass.
When comparing white wines to a nearby table of Brits today, a young waiter said “this has more flowers”. I think he meant floral notes, but I’m not sure?
Sometimes they are as lost in translation as we are. And there’s something quite comforting about that.
Flight path 