Le Lulli in the Hotel Palais Royale in the 1st is a place Colette and I have much affection for and apparently it's mutual because as I entered and smoothed my hair in the mirror after shaking what's left of it out of my black 2 E watch cap, the wait-lady said "You're beautiful" in English. No one's said that in over 75 years. The menus arrived; I can't understand mine; "what language is this?" idiomatic not Google-translate English; "A French one please." "Certainly." 39 for 2 courses, 46 E for three = "beautiful."
As we are perusing the carte, I order up a Bordelais - "le Bordelais Monsieur" I say in my impecable French. "Oui Monsieur, le Beaujolais." "No, le Bordelais" Like a Marx Brothers film this goes on for a while and then we get the Bordeaux (and plot spoiler, they run out after 3 bottles, and we finally do have the Moulin a Vent which was damn good. Bordelais, Beaujolais, who cares?
