A great little book -humour, philosophy, romance, food. What more can you want in a novel?
It just reminded me of a holiday we had in France many years ago, in 1989 in fact, when en route to the south we stayed one night in a Campanile in Vendome. There was no restaurant, so we asked in reception for some advice about where we could go with two fairly small children. The receptionist gave us the directions to a few places and then warned us that on no account should we go next door. Didn’t say why, just said don’t go.

So off we set. It was late and raining and we were hungry. We peered into next door which seemed inviting enough, and we were starving and tired. What could possibly go wrong? It’s France, after all, well renowned for its excellent cooking.

We walked in. We were invited to sit down and given the menu. We chose different delicious-sounding dishes. We waited. And waited. The anticipation was unbearable. But actually it was far preferable to what actually arrived. Four plates of food in four different stages of disintegration. All four deluged in the same taupe coloured sauce -it looked and tasted like some very diluted Campbell’s mushroom soup. Great as a soup. not as a cover-all sauce.
That was when the scales dropped from our eyes. We should not have gone next door.

Is this the restaurant that Alexander McCall smith based his book on? Or was this actually the very worst restaurant in France?