For my recent twenty-fifth birthday, I decided to dine at a lil' French bistro in Darlinghurst called Sel et Poivre for dinner. I'd always wanted to try its fare, and my mother, sister and The Boy all tagged along. The restaurant was great (really and truly, highly recommended!) and the cherry on the top of a lovely, relaxing day.
Although we were all thoroughly stuffed from the delectable French dishes, it wasn't until the question of dessert came up that I remembered that I hadn't had any kind of cake during the day - which, as we all well know, is mandatory when celebrating one's birthday. So I eenie-meenie-miney-moed between the creme brulee and chocolate fondant, and the latter won.
Supposedly, the hostess cornered my mother and sister on their way to the bathroom and asked whose birthday it was. Because when the fondant was brought out, respendent with a singular sparkler, it was also accompanied by half the waitstaff boisteriously singing Happy Birthday To You. Some of the patrons joined in as well, and my mother took a trillion photos of the whole thing. I must admit, it was all rather flattering :p
If I look a little nervous here, I was still recovering from the previous night's shock, where Blue and I was witness to our first Bombe Alaska. It was placed on the corner our table unannounced, not ten centimetres away from me in a very frilly and very flammable outfit. Then, as the waiter liberally poured the rum on and created a massive cake-ferno, the sparklers lost their stability and fell through the metled meringue - towards me. I nearly fell out of my chair leaning back, trying to escape the sparks and wayward tongues of flame.Although we were all thoroughly stuffed from the delectable French dishes, it wasn't until the question of dessert came up that I remembered that I hadn't had any kind of cake during the day - which, as we all well know, is mandatory when celebrating one's birthday. So I eenie-meenie-miney-moed between the creme brulee and chocolate fondant, and the latter won.
Supposedly, the hostess cornered my mother and sister on their way to the bathroom and asked whose birthday it was. Because when the fondant was brought out, respendent with a singular sparkler, it was also accompanied by half the waitstaff boisteriously singing Happy Birthday To You. Some of the patrons joined in as well, and my mother took a trillion photos of the whole thing. I must admit, it was all rather flattering :p
I am genuinely sorry that I have no photos of that chaos to show you.
But I, as always, digress!
That chocolate fondant was perfect - so warm and gooey and rich and wonderful. I shouldn't be so impressed by this - what with it made at a French restaurant and all - but you'd be surprised how many subpar fondants there are out there!
(All photos courtesy of my mother. You know, I don't think she knows about my blog - let alone the whole food blogging phenomena - but with no precedent and for no real reason, she took some nice shots of all our meals this night. Perhaps this is where I've inherited the blogging gene?)
(All photos courtesy of my mother. You know, I don't think she knows about my blog - let alone the whole food blogging phenomena - but with no precedent and for no real reason, she took some nice shots of all our meals this night. Perhaps this is where I've inherited the blogging gene?)
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