Date of Last Visit: Friday, August 1, 2008
The Victims: Jen, Feathers, Siri
The Damage: £40 each
The Background: I’ve just given a presentation to about 150 people. I think I did good.
But golly do I need a beer.
OK, maybe about three beers.
And then…and then do you know what I really need?
I need a French dinner at a romantic French restaurant with three very American gals. (Four, really. Counting my Yankee-turned-traitor self.)
The Entrance: I am more than a little charmed by the entrance to The Bleeding Heart. I like the courtyard. I like how we’re greeted…very French. Very charming. They take my very heavy backpack (why I didn’t leave it at the office, I don’t know) and we’re shown to our table in the very romantically and cozily lit Bleeding Heart.
Gentlemen, if you’re reading this, you should take the special someone in your life here. Tomorrow.
The Drink: Feathers orders a New Zealand white, which I just don’t understand. We’re in a French restaurant! And there’s a sommerlier! Why just pick randomly? She is too fast for me. I could have used a Sancerre.
The Food: We order two starters to share…one, a trinity of duck, is a dish I don’t want to share. But I do. Because I work with these people and people talk. The other starter is unmemorable.
I get the sole as my main, suckered in by two words: "truffled" and "polenta." Imagine "truffled polenta." Yes. It was good. A little short on the polenta though.
The Service: Really lovely. Although I really didn’t need someone to walk me to the loo.
An Observation: Way too empty for a Friday evening!
The Verdict: I liked it here. I’m a girl. I’m a sucker.
P.S. Sorry for the slightly blurry photo. Three beers for someone who really hasn’t been drinking in 2008…