Dinner at La Serre, Dubai

Sadly, my little holiday away had to come to an end, and work was waiting for me back in London. Freezing, cold, wear-a-jacket-little-eurasian-girl London. Goodbye sunshine, I’ll miss you.
There are two parts of La Serre – the first is the little café where we had breakfast on the first day, and the second is the French restaurant upstairs, as you can see below, it’s the square with wall-length windows.

This gave me an excuse to wear some of my shopping.

And to take some cheeky double-selfies.

The restaurant itself was bloody nice. As you know from the last few posts, my family don’t really stray far from the hotel food-wise, especially if the restaurant is good. And oh, was it.

If you look really closely you can see the ‘La Serre’ on the menu.

Bread circulated the table, and received many rejections. Such divas.

We didn’t say no to wine, though.

Damien and Lisa love this restaurant, so we let them choose all the best things to order. I’m not going to comment on each one by one because everything was pretty damn good. Say hello to heaven…

Burrata et Tomates (Burrata with tomatoes) – their mozzarella is flown in from Italy

Cherry tomatoes, goat’s cheese and hazelnut

Crab and prawn croquettes

Provençale style squid

Warm green asparagus, truffle sauce

Some sort of delicious looking pizza that I didn’t try and didn’t even want to know the name of (soz carbs)

Damien was keen to go for the chicken, which was for 2 people, and I’m not going to lie to you, but ‘Roasted chicken with foie gras and truffle sauce’ sounds pretty close to my perfect meal. Ever.

I decided to half my portion of chicken with Dad and share the grilled seabass between us as well.

Lisa went for the cod, which was served in a miniature brass dish – so cuteeee.

We ordered a monstrous amount of sides, including beans and spinach (which I devoured), as well as chips and potato dauphinoise (which I sulked about not having).

Although I did find a lot of comfort in the chicken.

After dinner was over a little too soon for me, the dessert menu was soon stuck under my nose. As I fantasised about my spoon caressing each individual dish, my face ridden with ecstasy as I took each bite of sheer delight (okay maybe a bit of an exaggeration, but girls on any form of diet get what I’m talking about), I still decided that I wouldn’t have any dessert.

The annoying thing about people is that when you decide you don’t want dessert, people do everything they can to convince you that you should have it and that you’re boring or wrong not to have it. Those people need to BACK OFF. Don’t let them make you feel bad because you want to be healthy. They just want to drag you down with them. Sabotagers. Now, I’m not saying that happened now, but they did try and tempt me to have dessert, which did piss me off a little bit, and made me not want to have it even more. Nice try, losers.

Damien ordered the cheesecake, which looked good. I could appreciate it’s beauty, but from a distance away from my mouth.

Dad ordered one of my top, if not my top, dessert fantasy choices on the menu – Warm chocolate mousse with malt ice-cream.

Oh. My. God.

Everything that I had said to myself and the annoyance that I had built up in my head had disappeared. Detox aside, my self-rightousness to prove to everyone that I couldn’t be (fucking annoyingly) ‘tempted’ into dessert would usually be enough to stop me, but not in this case.

I didn’t need much convincing.

It’s not enough nearly to say goodbye to my body, but it was enough to say goodbye to my dignity. Yet, it was so bloody good that I JUST DIDN’T CARE ABOUT ANYTHING ELSE DURING THOSE FEW MOMENTS.

Dad had to fight for his own dessert. He fought a battle that we both knew he was going to lose as soon as that plate hit the table, and my eyes had locked on. Sorry, Papa.

I ordered a peppermint tea to digest the shit out of my dinner.

I’d like to think it’s as useful as the gym. It’s not.

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