Neil and I had a quiet breakfast together then met up with the rest of the gang later. Not sure what we did, gamble? Walk around? Don't have any photos to jog my memory.
That evening though we did our fancy dinner at Gordon Ramsay's steakhouse at the Paris hotel. It was AH-MAZING. But: the main story to this is this girl Megan. And I don't know how to write this without sounding like a bitch, but, well. Ha.
Bob's now ex-girlfriend (thank god) is a vegetarian (I really think this trip caused a riff in the relationship, we may have been less than nice after this dinner). Before the trip, we sent out menus of a few dinner places to Bob and his girlfriend, to make sure she was okay with the food. Eventually, we all agreed on this place. We checked with them multiple times, sending the menu link if this was going to be okay. Yes, they said. Cue Megan being the most clueless vegetarian that there ever was. Lucky me got to sit next to her.
Some of these things I can excuse not knowing. Others I cannot.
- She didn't know what a scotch egg was. (Okay, fine)
- She didn't know what welsh rabbit was. (Okay, fine, this is a weird name, totally get that)
- She didn't know what veal was. (This is the one NOT OKAY to not know. THIS IS BABY COW. I have nothing against people with special diets, but you have to know your diet, especially if it's one you've been on for over a decade.)
She asks the waiter what is vegetarian on the menu. Aside from a plethora of vegetable sides, he says the truffle risotto is the only main dish that would be vegetarian.
Despite him being very clear, she then goes item by item asking him if it's vegetarian. This waiter is a fucking saint.
She decides to try the french onion soup. She asks if it has meat in it. The waiter says, no but it has veal stock. So she says, but no meat?
She finally gets the truffle risotto. When she gets it, she sniffs the truffles, wrinkles her nose, and says she doesn't eat anything that is stinky. The rest of us ate the truffles, because hello, expensive, and hello, they were delicious.
The waiter comes by multiple times to check on us. She asks him for ranch dressing. Mother fucking RANCH DRESSING. Mind you, she did not order a salad. He tells her they do not have any ranch dressing or any dressing for that matter. She wanted it FOR HER FUCKING EIGHTY DOLLAR TRUFFLE RISOTTO. FUCK ME. She had no idea before that night that ranch dressing has a stigma to it and it isn't something you order at nice places. Our faces told her plenty, and she felt really bad about it after. Good. She was too old not to know, it's not like her family didn't go out all the time and travel (which Bob corrected me later and said they "vacation" not "travel" whatever that is suppose to mean). No excuses. Even the guys from bum-fucked Canada town knew better. (I would be less harsh on her if it was at least for a fucking salad, BUT RISOTTO???)
(I later come to the realization that she is what you would call a "Midwestern vegetarian" meaning she only eats pasta and cheese. And ranch dressing. But no vegetables. One time at my house, she started eating bread with a huge layer of mayonnaise on top for a snack. UGHHHHH.)
Everyone else absolutely LOVED their food. If I go to Vegas again, I would go here in a heartbeat. But you know, without a clueless vegetarian who asks for RANCH DRESSING AT A FIVE STAR RESTAURANT. At least that girl learned a valuable lesson on that trip, you do not order ranch dressing at fancy restaurants.