Last Friday in Bordeaux the weather was doing a quickstep between snippets of sunshine and cascades of rain. The former showed the city to perfection, gloriously restored and barely recognisable now from the drab, sad metropolis that presented a tired face to the world in the 1990s. The latter sent the crowds scurrying for shelter under awnings and umbrellas or, more effectively, the portico of the splendid opera house. There I stood, peering grimly across to the Regent Hotel, as the Porsches and BMWs divested guests and luggage for a short, wet sprint to the lobby.

There was only one thing for it. Proper shelter would have to be found, only so much time can be killed watching rain. Though the lunch hour had passed we presented ourselves at a favourite spot over the years: Brasserie Le Noailles at 12 Allées de Tourny, which will be celebrating its 80th birthday next year. The welcome was bustling and Gallic. Two cheese omelettes, avec frites, were quickly ordered, along with a half bottle of entre deux mers. People watching replaced rain watching.

An older gent, with what appeared to be a liberal and inexpert dose of shoe polish in his hair, read his paper in solitary silence. A trio of Americans at another table were in loquacious rapture about the quality of the crème brulée. A distraught mother and daughter were elated when the daughter’s Blackberry, mistakenly left behind earlier, was handed back with a smiling flourish. Meanwhile the omelettes were excellent, quivering on the firm side of sloppy and beautifully flavoured. The frites disappeared in a trice. By the time the coffee was drunk and the bill paid the clouds had parted again, allowing for an easy walk to the nearby L’Intendant wine shop…

Tags: Bordeaux