First night we went to this place called “Le Trois Cochons” (the three pigs), and while I am not sure who the third one was, I think Yannick and I definitely qualified as the first two. They actually enjoyed giving us more food than we coould possibly finish, accompanied with a look saying “and you call yourself PIGS? you? pffffffft”. It was nice though. And now I know what Queue de Vache means in French! Who would have thought oxtail (well, cow tail) go so well with a shepard's pie??
Second night we went to some obscure place on some obscure street by the river (but then again, all streets seem to be by the river). We were greeted by a fairly old guy, who looked like the last thing he was expecting that night was diners. Not in a bad way, he was all smiles etc, just seemed a tad surprised.
Well, it appears that said old guy was not really working at the restaurant. He actually WAS the restaurant. He seemed to be the cook, the bar person, the guy bringing out the food and clearing the tables.
Only time he got stuck was when he ran out of ice, at which point he called his daughter (granddaughter? much younger girlfreind? mail-order bride?) who ran down the stairs with an ice tray from the fridge.
Lyon rocks.
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