Couscous

On our last day in Paris, my sister and I realised that we had eaten neither crepes nor couscous, and set out to rectify the situation.

For brunch we went for crepes - I ordered in French, and although my "cafe au lait" turned into a "large black coffee", the crepes were everything we'd dreamed of.

We then found a restaurant specialising in couscous and went there for lunch - the menu was in French, English and another language, so we ordered by pointing at the menu and saying "merci" a lot, because we didn't want to make a muddle of the order by accidentally attempting the other mystery language.

Having never eaten couscous before I asked my sophisticated little sister how it was done and she motioned that one should use the fork to put the food in one's mouth. Seemed easy enough, and when the food arrived I put some on my plate and began to do just that.

Maybe two mouthfuls in, the French waiter came over, took my fork from my hand and dished the food up for me properly, whilst giving me a patronisingly patronising look of patronisation.

And NOW we've experienced Paris.