T is an ice cream fanatic. I think I've mentioned that more than once. It should be common knowledge by now. So of course we had to find ice cream in Europe.
We heard about Berthillon from a variety of sources. We probably should have spent more time looking for the actual Berthillon store, but we were too cold and wet to expend that much effort.
Instead, we ducked into the first place that looked warm and popular and had "glaces Berthillon" emblazoned across the awning. Which happened to be Restaurant Jules:
We felt a little embarrassed to be only ordering ice cream, but hey, no shame right? But before we could even give our order, we were first handed a dish of attitude, not from our server, but the head server or whoever he was.
He misunderstood me when I was trying to ask him something about the menu. He somehow jumped to the conclusion that we only wanted to order one ice cream to split between the four of us. He informed us in his haughtiest tone (at least it sounded like it) that that was unacceptable. We rushed to reassure him that no, we each wanted one.
Feeling chastised despite having done nothing to deserve it, we could only look at each other mutely as we waited for our ice cream.
When it came, I was totally prepared to hate it:
But I couldn't. Dammit. It was good. We got blood orange, grapefruit, salted caramel, and another flavor that I can't recall anymore.
Though our Berthillon experience was a bit soured by one prissy Parisian, we still enjoyed our ice cream interlude. Next time though, forget comfort, we're heading straight to the actual Berthillon shop.
After we finished with our ice cream, we got back onto the metro and it was there that my camera was stolen. Let's just say Paris didn't exactly endear itself to me our first 24 hours there.
19 Rue des Deux-Ponts
75004 Paris, France