We just got back from our summer travels and there’s one thing I will never forget. I must bring my picnic knife. Because small children hate restaurants.
No, they don’t hate croissant dunked in hot chocolate.
Or creme brulee.
Or racing across the Seine after dinner. But, a few days in… sitting for a two hour meal loses its charm.
Especially when Daddy convinces you to eat not 1, but 2 escargot, and you don’t even complain.
We didn’t leave New York City with a knife. Four days into Paris, Beluga declared, “I’m hungry. And I don’t want to go to a restaurant!” So, I went in search of a picnic knife, found it, purchased it, and brought it back my family with cheese, bread, fruit and veg.
Breakfast became fruit cut in the sink.
By the time we got to London, I had my sights set on the farmer’s markets and obliging grassy parks.
And when all else failed, there was gelato, delicious gelato.