le french restaurant

I still haven't met any Brazilians I don't like.

OK that's a lie, I've met two, but they don't count because I don't see them as Brazilians, I see them as 'assholes.' And even if they did count, only two! Everyone else here is like the happy crowd at your favorite bar.

But in Rio when we went to Le French Restaurant I thought I had finally met a Brazilian Fail.

Apparently the lone staffer at this restaurant, Le Dude welcomed us with a weird stuffiness I hadn't seen since movies. He was all unsmiling and scowl-y at our self-concious laughing-at-our-shitty-Portuguese. And he kept correcting my Portuguese.

Bow i know it's insanely hypocritical to get annoyed at this since I ask people to please correct my Portuguese, but not when I'm HUNGRY. And also not if I don't know you and you're not even friendly.

Tickby heard him speaking Parisian French to some dudes later, so I chatted with him a little in French, which he corrected.

He also corrected food I tried to order, saying I would prefer something else.

So Le Dude was a giant boo-hiss. I was getting grumpier by the second.

Also he told me that I shouldn't have so much trouble learning Portuguese because he had learned fluent and perfect French in no time at all. I almost stood up and started booing out loud.

Then two things happened.

Second was that our food came, and turns out Le Francophile had been correct about what food I would like. THIS FOOD. It was too delicious to talk about. And the salad it came with was in a BOWL MADE OF CRISPY CHEESE.

But first before that, Le Dude came over and asked if I would like him to turn off the air conditioning. He was concerned that I was sitting with my elbows pinned to my sides and my arms crossed. At first I was annoyed. I thought he was correcting the way I sat. It seemed he didn't like that i wasn't looking blasé and French enough for his fancy restaurant. I explained that I'm one of those losers who's always cold and to please leave the AC on. (It was like 200 degrees celsius outside.) He seemed displeased.

A few seconds later he appeared with a white table cloth he'd folded into a blankety shawl and wrapped it around my shoulders. Still busybody, still all Le French and unsmiling, but I realized that he was in fact a sweetheart who just wanted everyone in his restaurant to have a comfortable, wonderful French time. And thus his grade went from an F-- to an A before the DELICIOUS food even arrived.

The moral of the story: just because someone acts snotty and French and tries to make you be snotty and French too doesn't mean he's not an awesome person. And also probably does mean he makes delicious food.

Fin