I guess it is customary to eat at a french Bistro on arrival in Paris. As Dad and I braced the icy Winter’s air (a type of cold never experienced in Australia) we felt the need to run into the first Bistro we could find, irrespective of the quality or the pricing of the place. I guess you could say our first meal in Paris was a gamble, it could have been amazing, but it also could have been devastatingly horrible! Picking the standard breakfast item on the menu, we sat in ignorance, not knowing how to read french, and thus not sure of what we were about to eat. But it was the fried eggs with bright orange yolks and quality dijon mustard accompanied with a full basket of fresh french style bread that set my taste buds up for the amazing culinary journey they were about to face in Paris. There is something quite beautiful and elegant about having the courage to serve up such a simple dish as a restaurant specialty, but it was my arrogance as a foreigner that doubted the breakfast preferences of the frenchman.