We spent several days exploring Colmar and driving out to Kayserburg. We flew down the Tricky Track. We ate street food. David kept ordering mustard and getting giant flatbreads covered in Munster cheese. Unfortunately, we declared the Tarte d’ Alsace better from Trader Joe’s. Fortunately, the hotel buffet was beautiful. The boys filled a minimum of three plates at breakfast every morning. They slathered things with various butters from the butter station. Eliza ate kiwis like egg cups and told me to call her Lil’ Kiwi. And she downed crepe after crepe covered in lemon juice with mashed sugar cubes.
Our first night in Colmar, we walked to dinner at Ville de Paris. We’re seated upstairs in a quaint room perfect for our sizeable party of thirteen. The grown-ups order starters and drinks. We get to Alesia, and she begins odering for some of the littles at the far end of the table. Chicken nuggets and pomme frites. You want four chicken nuggets. You want two pomme frites. No. Three chicken nuggets with pomme frites. One chicken nugget with spaetzle. So you want two chicken nuggets. One pomme frites. One spaetzle.
The waiter’s frustration is rising. We’re all talking. Trying to help. His little calculator order taking machine is trembling. He tells us to read the menu and he’ll come back. We all re-read the menu and it doesn’t make sense. How are pomme frites le plat principal? Aren’t we trying to choose a main dish and a side?
Our server comes back and he has erased everything. He’s punishing us. Oh he did put in our alcohol requests but everything else, c’est fini. We all reorder our entrees and plats again, fully anticipating a side of spit.
Our food finally arrives and we eat what we’re given. Mine was delicious, but I broke the rules and ordered two entrées. Charles is sitting across from me and he’s ordered what he’s calling Chowkraut. It’s a plate of sauerkraut and sausages. The waiter places the dish on the table, and points it right at us. My unnamed companion points out the questionably placed potatoes. I can’t help it. We dissolve into a fit of giggles.
Honestly, it was so indecent I can’t even post the picture on this family-friendlyish blog. Oh, geez… does Esteban work nights?