I finally tell the truth about the French tapas

Casa San Pablo

Hello again, another month another Travel Linkup with Emma and Kelly. I have thought long and hard about this post (actually I just had a GnT and thought, what the hell), but I think it is finally time to tell you what actually happened in Casa San Pablo. I posted last year about this amazing tapas joint I found on my Paris trip (read the post here), well amazing food wasn’t exactly the whole story…I may have skipped the part where I accidentally proposed to the french waiter. Yep.

My first night in Paris happened to coincide with the last night in Paris of some family friends from NZ. Things started well with a few drinks at the Last Bar Before the End of the World before a short walk to Casa San Pablo. I should declare now that I am a serious light weight when it comes to drinking – normally two glasses of wine and I am out for the count, so cocktails followed by sangria and margaritas was both a fun and lethal combination.

At the point where our (cute) waiter bought out the third round of tapas (the food was really fantastic), I decided that he was my future husband. Thinking that he only spoke french (you can see where this is going), I very loudly in English declared my love for him and went on to discuss where we would get married, how many children we would have, what holidays we would take and how we would compromise and live in Paris for spring and London for summer. He spoke English. Balls.

Well, maybe not. Mr French Waiter may have got the very subtle hints I was dropping and in broken english he asked me back for lunch and more sangria the next day. Still vastly entertained by the situation and seriously under the influence I said yes.

So the next day I went back for more tapas, after all regardless of what my future husband turned out like, I knew the food was damn fine. The food was even better the second time around and Mr French Waiter was a real gentleman up until he asked me back to his place to show me his “ultimate fighting skills” (no, not kidding). I declined the offer and went on my merry way thinking that was that. 

Until of course the next day when I remembered that he had taught me a couple of french words…le blog & le facebook. That Facebook post I had written when drunk that went something along the lines of “OMG I JUST FOUND MY FUTURE HUSBAND AND HE IS FRENCH AND OUR BABIES WILL BE BEAUTIFUL AND IM GOING TO HAVE SANGRIA WITH HIM TOMORROW”? Mr French had found it …


Facing a real and social media hangover I quickly deleted everything possible and went to hide in an art gallery.

Who could have guessed that SciFi, Paris and tapas could be such a terrible terrible combination.


Author: runawaykiwi

11 thoughts on “I finally tell the truth about the French tapas

  1. Love this! A food story – AND some romance; it’s the full package!

    On a side note, I need that tapas in my life 🙂

    1. I have a serious problem with falling for waiters..I think its because they bring me food.

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