26 July 2015

Thursday was our 48th anniversary. In those early, heady days we would leave our Birmingham flat at 10 p.m. and head out to the smoky Elbow Room where we'd dance to Wilson Pickett 'In the Midnight Hour'. But that was '67, a lifetime ago, and this was France. Despite this being the land of le bien manger, lately we haven't had much success.  First there was the drunken waiter at Brousse. Then there was the vegetarian restaurant La faim des haricots in Toulouse. Unfortunately they've moved their premises to the opposite building and said we must now eat downstairs, where it was damp and impossible to balance our food on frequent trips up and down the stairs. Albi fared no better. Our favourite Le Tournesol was inexplicably shut the day we arrived, and at Le Vigan brasserie - well - we walked out. Enough said.  So where?  We ended up in the place that we feel the most comfortable, not a French place at all really, the Buffalo Grill in Le Sequestre. It never lets us down. The most wonderful oven-baked jacket potatoes and desserts anywhere.  Sittin' on the dock of a bay? No, but it suited us.  Cheers.

20th January 2013

Him indoors had a birthday on Thursday so we planned to have lunch in our favourite Albi restaurant, Buffalo Grill. I know, I know - not very French - but once a steak man, always a steak man is what he says.  But, woke up to snow. Lots of it.  We can't go, I told him.  Oh yes we can, says Him the Builder.  But, first, he opened his present - one of those new tablet Androids. However, the Android is still not talking to Google.  At 11.30 our temperamental front door meant we had to go out the tricky downstairs route, through the workshop and into the garage.  The 4 x 4 expertly reversed, we pressed the gate gadget but, as expected, too much snow.  At last, armed with trusty spade, voila, they opened. We skidded left along our narrow road. Naturally, a large truck was heading our way. No-one was going to budge for fear of getting stuck. Did we ever get to the restaurant?  Surprisingly, yes, albi-it, very late.  The main roads had been well gritted and the A68 motorway to Albi was superb.  The food was, as usual, very much to our taste. But, having eaten in a Buffalo Grill in America, it's clear why the French are so slim. The French portion sizes are much smaller. And I managed to drive home, in the snow!  Well, he had to have a drink on his birthday, didn't he.  And his birthday present, the dratted Tablet?  Unlike the meal, very hard to swallow!