Don’t Judge a Hotel by its Rontinental Breakfast

Assortment of breakfast foodads at Hotel Joyce

I made the breakfast today. I mean, I didn’t cook it for all the guests- which would be pretty dang impressive- but I got there nice and early, which is a dang triumphant feat after getting back late buzzing with alcohol. From a jazz club. Jazzcohol.

But onwards. You know that common saying: “When in a French hotel do as the people who normally frequent such a hotel do?” So do I! This is France, this is Paris- I’m not grabbing sizzles in front of Bunnings here.

That is exactly the stark reality I faced as I attempted to order a mocha at Hotel Joyce. I’m already aware that most establishments in France aren’t mochaficionados, but I thought I’d ask for what it’s worth. You can imagine my simultaneous joy and suspicion when the waitress eventually replied with “Mocha… uh, yes…” I had no idea what I was supposed to do with that, so one affirmation later and coffee was on it’s merry way!

By the way, never say “What could go wrong?” It’s like a mating call for Murphy’s Law.

What sadly is not a mocha and rhymes with dang-it-was-worth-a-shot-get-it-a-shot-acchiato? Macchiatooooo! Good attempt and chalk it up to weird, picky tourist requests- coffee was still nice!

Firmly resolved that I wouldn’t be ingesting chocolate, cereal was up next. As a twist of fate, what did I find surfing the milky tides of my bowl? Copious chunks of chocolatey chocolate. Solid milk chocolate. This bowl of dairy devastation could eat Count Chocula for breakfast. Needless to say, it was awesome.

The bowl was so small though, that zanily enough I ended up with more coffee than my cereal and more chocolate in my cereal than my coffee. As the saying goes, “When in a French hotel!” ☺