After spending 5 days in London with my very French boyfriend I learnt a few things about him. Such as his favourite style of t-shirt is the polo shirt, he can shop for longer than I can and he has an aversion to mint chocolates which is apparently a part of being French.
It’s right up there with English atrocities such as roast beef and tea with a dash of milk in it, having French blood makes you allergic. We were at a Portuguese restaurant in London and three courses plus a bottle of wine later, the waiter gave us the bill with two chocolate after-dinner mints. My boyfriend put one mint into his mouth, five seconds later he looked like he had a spider crawling in there. His face screwed up and he spat his chocolate into his serviette.
“Oh my god, what’s wrong?” I asked, running through the possibilities of has he broken a tooth or bitten his tongue in half?
“Damn, bloody English” he stammered. “With their chocolate mint – it’s like ‘roast beef’, what the fuck? Chocolate is good, mint is good – but together?!?”
During his long rant against English cuisine, I was naturally, pissing myself laughing. “Oh, mon pauvre homme francais!” (oh my poor French man!) I consoled him, as I happily put my chocolate in my handbag for later. “I thought there might have been… a hair in it or something!”
He narrowed his eyes, ‘I would have preferred there was a hair in it!” he replied.
Needless to say, I will never forget the look on his face, and make a mental note to stock up on after-dinner mints before I go to France again.