Different country different restaurant

A bit more than a day later and I am in a different continent and in a different  restaurant. And everything's in a different language.

But it's much more than that. The place I have chosen for a quick dinner is relatively small; there's about 30 people inside. There's another fifteen or so outside, even though it's November and we're in the northern hemisphere. Actually, it's unusually mild for this time of year in France. But here people sit outside even in the middle of winter - as soon as the sun makes an appearance you'll find people outside. Of course the fact that it's night-time now makes that logic less relevant, but you get the idea.

To serve forty or so people there's one waitress and two cooks. It never ceases to impress me how here in France a single waiter will manage an entire restaurant. That's not something you will see in Australia, and it sort of goes against the general labour market trend in the two countries. Restaurants and the job of the wait staff are clearly an exception. Actually in a sense in this particular restaurant there are one and a half people serving since the waitress is heavily pregnant. Her enormous tummy is bulging over her pants and other parts of her are also straining at their containing garments. She's already not a small person, and now is doing an amazing job getting around the tiny restaurant. 

The two cooks look like they've been working here for decades and look like caricatures: if you saw these characters in a movie you'd say they were overdone. The only thing missing is a half-smoked 'Gitanes' between their lips. One is behind the counter in the tiny open kitchen putting large handfuls of spaghetti into an enormous pot of boiling water and plating up veal escalopes and chips while the other is manning the pizza oven, which is just behind the front door so he's essentially standing in the doorway as he makes his pizza bases.

Although the restaurant is called "L'Entrecôte" - a pretty archetypal name for a French restaurant where you'd expect to find steak-frites, crème brûlée and mousse au chocolat on the menu, this turns out to be a pizza and pasta restaurant. Not quite Italian, since both the pizza and the pasta have a decidedly French influence, but nevertheless it's Italian-inspired.

I spot some flies circling in the open kitchen and am glad I cannot see further around the corner where presumably the salads are being made and the dishes are being washed.

Most of the people in the restaurant are seated at two long tables. When I arrive the waitress points me to a still-empty space between two groups and I squeeze between the rows until I get to the indicated spot. It's almost convivial, although I detect a certain coldness in the returned "bonjours" of my neighbours who clearly were not expecting someone to join their party. I am in between a group of four (mum dad and daughter with boyfriend) on  my left and a young couple on my right. I am facing the kitchen, and together with the two groups on either side of me and the goings-on in the kitchen I have plenty to keep me occupied during the meal.

There are too many notable things happening around me to be able to remember them all, but here are a couple of highlights:

The young guy on my right has ordered a steak with a creamy pepper sauce. When it arrives, his first comment is "where's the mustard?" Even his young girlfriend questions this: "You want mustard with a pepper sauce?". He insists and calls the (rather busy) waitress over to bring him his mustard. "I can't eat steak without mustard". 

At the end of the meal the family on my left asks for the bill. The boyfriend rushes to grab is from the waitress before the father can get it - clearly this is going to be his treat! There's a mock argument about who's going to pay for the sake of appearances and he triumphantly pays the bill.

When I finally leave, the restaurant is still completely full inside (the family on my left has been replaced by another party of four). When I get outside I discover that the tables there are also almost all occupied - and it's still just the one waitress! Admittedly, someone from the back (the dishwasher?) has appeared and is helping to re-set the tables, but the food service is still being done by that same waitress, who even manages to say goodbye and thank me for dining with them. I leave impressed.