Lakeside languages and lone ladies who lunch

Their gnocchi was the best I’d ever eaten. I’d have told them that if I could have, because it truly was gorgeous gnocchi. The Italian restaurant nestling in the corner of the Mont Blanc bridge and the shore of Lake Geneva looked lovely back in June when I first saw it. But I wanted company to eat there, so Daughter and I went at the weekend, when the weather was still warm and sunny, and a lakeside meal seemed like a good idea.

The – presumably Italian – maître d’ joked about our lack of French and demanded more languages. We gave him Swedish, and he shut up because he couldn’t match it. For a restaurant that has menus printed in English (separate menus, not just English added) you expect a bit of linguistic skill, and they certainly had that. A professional looking waiter soon took our order in impeccable English, and the food came promptly.

And as I said, the gnocchi was fantastic, as was the pasta with salmon. We swapped halfway, so sampled both. The half litre bottle of water soon came to an end, and while it’s positive that they don’t want to fleece their customers by opening two bottles, it’s what we are used to and expected. But you can always order another.

We tried. Oh, how we tried. After half an hour I decided we would go thirsty, because I was just too well mannered to get out either of the two bottles we had in our bags. After another half hour when we’d had our fill of sitting by the lakeside we decided to ask for the bill.

We tried. Oh, how we tried. But we were in that corner, window and all, and nice view, but where they maybe put the undesirables. Was it our unattractiveness? Or simply the fact we had no male with us?

I rather regret not walking out without paying. I wonder if they would have noticed. As it was, I walked up to the maître d’ where he was standing, mid-restaurant, but was prevented from speaking by our now irritated looking waiter. Perhaps they punish waiters whose remiss attention disturbs the king? The bill arrived extremely fast. Great.

Except, you know what didn’t happen next, don’t you? That’s right. No one came for our money, and there is only so long you can wait for non-existent service. Luckily I had the correct money, so I put it on the table and we left.

It’s a shame. The food was great. When they wanted to, they had the right restaurant skills too. I recognise it was a busy Sunday lunchtime. But still. And they could easily have sold us another water, possibly some dessert, maybe even tea. There would have been some hope of a tip, which they clearly wanted, judging by the layout of the bill, despite this not being a Geneva thing. Or so I’m told.

But I can recommend the gnocchi. And the view.

One response to “Lakeside languages and lone ladies who lunch

  1. Pingback: Risotto for lone women | Bookwitch

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