We did a bit more traveling to get us into the French Alps. Before leaving Nice, we found, much to our surprise, an actual supermarket that had quite a variety of food (the first of its kind we found in France). We bought some sliced pepperoni, a couple varieties of cheese, and crackers, which we enjoyed on our train ride north. Cheese and crackers and pepperoni I have always liked as a snack food, and also sometimes as a complete meal (which, this time around, it was). I also bought some Le Petit Ecolier crackers for later (a delicious chocolate and cracker combination that I have enjoyed from time to time back home in the international food section of our local Wegmans grocery store).
Prior to leaving for the supermarket, we ate a complimentary breakfast our cheap hotel provided for its customers, which included a croissant per person, butter and hot chocolate. At this point we had managed to procure jam again so we also had that as an option for spreading on our croissants.
Later that evening, we decided to try an actual French restaurant and, for the first time in France, to eat an actual meal. The three of us shared two bottles of red wine, and I had a generous slice of steak with some unidentifiable (French) dressing coated over it. This came with some green beans wrapped in a strip of bacon, a baked potato with butter, and another side dish that I couldn’t identify (but it had a bready outside and seems to be filled with some cooked vegetables and perhaps some meat, but I really had no idea – it was okay). For dessert I had an overpriced brownie that I thought would be bigger. All in all, dinner was a success, and it was nice to say at that point that we ate at a French restaurant. We certainly felt a bit out of place though. We arrived a bit earlier than most French people go out to dinner (in our defense, we hadn’t eaten well in days) and our French language skills weren’t too great. Undoubtedly we were unaware of some customs that probably go along with eating at a restaurant, although nothing we were aware of – we just felt like we were probably doing something wrong.