L’Olivier

The waiter wears a striped top and a red beret. All he’s missing is a necklace of garlic and a baguette! I ponder on how much he resents wearing this cliched uniform. I wonder if he’s French at all. He’s probably from the Curragh and he practices rolling his «R“s in front of the mirror each evening.
He’s very professional, a little too formal actually. There’s no banter with him and I secretly wish he really was from the Curragh so we could discuss the lambing season or something!
We order the house red and steak. I eye the accompanying peas dubiously. The dish doesn’t look very appetising but it’s surprisingly tasty.
Dining in this French/​Italian restaurant in a quiet laneway off the main street of Newbridge is like taking a brief trip abroad with its wine-​soaked ambience, foreign music, high ceilings and taciturn «French» waiter.