There isn't one inch of Le Bouchon du Grove that is not covered with bottles, pictures, lamps and knickknacks, and the gap between the tables is so small, a great deal of skill is necessary on the part of the waiters to weave in and out while serving dishes. But the chaos is charmingly French, and had it been a slightly cooler day, sitting under the frame of the French doors right on the sidewalk would have been the perfect European experience.
Our waiter was efficient, tall and handsome, but had an arrogance about him that could only be charming if he had at least pretended to have a French accent. Without that touch, the haughtiness was just off-putting.
The company you keep during a meal is critical to the overall experience, and my company was excellent. That alone made for a lovely morning. Le Bouchon, however, didn't do its part. It didn't offer the richness I seek in a brunch event. I left with a sense of incompleteness, like I had missed something. We made a quick exit and ran to the gelato café down the street. More on that in the next post.
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