As you walk into Bastille Cafe and Bar you are stuck by the floor to ceiling open windows, white subway tile covering the walls, and industrial style black crown mounding, chairs, and details. The tables are wood, stained to almost black green. The bar accoutrements are delicately organized in rows and the bar tender meticulously cleans glasses and wipes the copper bar top.
At our table we felt the afternoon breeze as we sipped typical French brunch cocktails like A French Kiss or Bloody Mary (or perhaps a Kir Royal?). It was difficult ordering, not only because of my desperate state of hunger but also because everything I read made my mouth water. Gman went with a burger and fries and for me, a croque monsieur. Can you tell we were hungover? We ordered another round of drinks and lingered at the table to relish in the atmopshere.
The presentation style, taste combinations, and setting were so influenced by Parisian cafe style that I might have mistaken it were it not for so much English being spoken. I did not expect such nicely executed French food in Seattle.
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