Pichet is a rather informal restaurant on Trinity Street.
The food was good, the service was excellent.
I was eating my duck while I was watching a red haired woman in a purple dress sitting silently at a table with her boyfriend or husband. She was in her twenties, perhaps in her early thirties. Thank god she didn’t appear to be on a diet.
Her silence made me uncomfortable.
But I was reading a good book and the waiter and the maître d’ were so charming that I left Pichet as a happy man.