Today, I decided to treat my girlfriend to a special time. Thought of going to the movies but she was apprehensive of public places and being blown to smithereens by the fanatical supporters of aggrieved politicians (owing to the tensions from the Presidential election). So I immediately recalled a blog on here by Miss TnS of a love nest called Paris Choice replete with a wonderful ambience, swinging chairs, tasty chicken noodles and orgasms in a cup (read blog here). So I looked up my GPS and Google maps and to Paris we drove, with all the anticipation and excitement I could muster (as per guy wey wan trip babe).
We finally got there. The ambience was very impressive. I immediately rushed the swinging chair, it was pure pleasure sitting and rocking gently on that chair while making small talk. We must have rocked for about 30 minutes before we realized that no one had bothered to attend to us despite our loud chatter. They finally did after we must have called out for about 10 minutes. We were informed that we had to wait for about another 30 minutes before we could order for the remarkable noodles to be prepared since they open the outdoor kitchen by 5 p.m and we had arrived earlier. We agreed to wait and requested for 2 bottles of Heineken beer to pass the time. The beer was promptly supplied.
5:00pm struck and the chef arrived much to our pleasure. We immediately ordered for the Paris Choice Chicken Noodles and was told by this expressionless guy that “Indomie don finish”, as if they import their Indomie from Paris. Everything pretty much went downhill from there. So in its place I ordered a variety of other items on the menu, to most of which I was informed by this robot chef that “I no sabi do that one, it is my oga that prepare it”. After much hassling, I settled for Chicken wings and a plate of gizzard with pepper sauce. Something that i felt could be easily prepared by everyone. I was wrong! This guy prepared that worst dish I had ever seen, let alone tasted. The Chicken wings and the gizzard were only just boiled and the pepper sauce was just pure and raw pepper, with some miserable looking onions sliced inside.
My girlfriend immediately signed out and left me to go through the ordeal of eating that whole thing alone. After eating a few parts, I practically begged her to join me (at least make my money no waste). We rushed through the food and paid before the bad experience becomes even worse. We decided to go to the cinema and take our chances there than stay here and die from poor service and bad food.
If you want to head to Paris Choice, go there for the ambience, the swinging chair and the drinks. You'll enjoy every bit of the experience. BUT IF YOU MUST EAT, avoid the short chef with tribal marks on his face and ask for Mr. Senior Chef. I believe it is he who must have sprinkled the magic touch on the food that our Miss. TnS blogged about earlier.