I suppose if the bare minimum skills of a food blogger is that they are able to tell you exactly what they ate and how much it cost then I have failed in this post before I have even begun. The truth of the matter is that I simply have no idea. I don’t know exactly what I ate, and I can’t remember how much cash I forked over.

I blame my inability to grasp even the slightest nuance of the French language.

The truth is, that this particular evening we had actually planned to have Israeli pitta pockets, but I got all the times wrong and the place was closed. Instead, we drank two Aperol spritz and then wandered, slightly drunk, down Bermondsey Street in search of alternative nourishment.

This was when we happened upon Casse-Croûte, a compact little red check tablecloth bistro, with a menu of French classics. We had both passed frequently and never succeeded in visiting. This time, they had space at the bar, so we thought, why not.

Now dear reader, this is where I become a failure of a food blogger, because the menu was in French, written in chalk, in a lovely slightly hard to read decorative script, on a small blackboard. I didn’t take a photo of it. I’m not actually convinced I totally knew what I was eating, while I was eating it, and I certainly don’t remember now writing this, a few weeks later.

I do remember that they had rooster on the menu, which I didn’t order, because for some reason the idea of eating a rooster felt, for me, a bit squirmy. It’s probably delicious, what do I know, I just imagined it as tough and making me crow twice at sunrise. I was also remembering that time I went for the pigeon at Brawn and almost immediately regretted it. No, tonight was not the night to eat rooster.

I had the entree of cold melon soup, a beautiful orange spectacle. The bowl brought out with pink slightly spicy sorbet atop diced melon pieces. The server pouring the melon liquid into the bowl, leaving the sorbet swimming in the middle like an island. the mint perched in the middle like a small island palm. It was sweet but also a bit spicy. Delicious, but I would have been happy with half the amount.

Following that, some kind of white fish, with some sort of mash, and a sort of a buttery sauce, and some fresh veg on top. Are the precise details even necessary, do you even care? I can tell you it was delicious, the flavours were beautifully blended. The fish perfectly cooked. My coupe of champagne also went down a treat.

As for my friend, he enjoyed ‘some snaily thing’ followed by ‘some piggy thing’, neither of which I could try and both of which he reported to be very good.

My impression is that they have a regularly changing menu du jour, the staff were lovely and patient in explaining it. Perhaps when you go, your French will be better than mine and you can have a more rounded grasp of what you are eating, but it doesn’t totally matter.