Had a nice day today. Went to the Whitney Museum, and then dined at a French restaurant. I felt so sophisticated, even though, as my dining companion said, it was just a restaurant. (I rarely go to French restaurants, and this was a step or two up from my usual diners.) The menu had a chicken dish that looked interesting, but when the waitress came to take our orders, I was feeling oh so worldly, ready to speak just a little bit of French, and said “Croque Monsieur,” which was the next item down on the menu. Croque – Coq.

Until, of course, the dish actually showed up… with a very pungent cheese. I guess my expression was a bit more dismayed than I thought, but my companion immediately called the waitress over, and explained my distress. I felt incredibly sheepish as I said I’d been thinking the chicken dish listed above it, but the waitress was great, whisked away the Croque Monsieur, and very soon I got my Chicken Paillard (which was delicious).

So, Pastis on Gansevoort Street is now on my list of good restaurants. And I’m feeling far less sophisticated.