Monsieur Spoon Petitenget — Restaurant in Bali

Upon our morning descent into what can only be described as a culinary ghost town, the stark emptiness of the establishment did little to expedite the arrival of the wait staff—a full 15-minute mystery worthy of Agatha Christie herself. But the real intrigue began with a simple request for cream on the side, a petition that seemed to trigger diplomatic tensions reminiscent of a Cold War standoff. Initial affirmations quickly soured into a saga of extra charges, with each new staff member's entrance onto the scene escalating the situation like a poorly choreographed ballet of bureaucratic inefficiency.

This parade of confirmations, each more solemn than the last, was as bewildering as it was unnecessary. The final act—a manager or perhaps the guardian of the cream itself—solemnly inquiring about our comfort with the added charge, was the crescendo of this farce. The delivery of the milk, in cups so comically oversized and awkwardly designed as to ensure a spill, was the punchline to a joke we never found funny. The lack of a simple pouring lip transformed what should have been a trivial addition to our coffee into an exercise in futility and frustration. This wasn't service; it was an exercise in absurdity.

But the comedy turned to tragedy with our request for mustard—a condiment as controversial in this setting as a peace treaty at a war council. Their response was not just a refusal but a declaration, steeped in the kind of French culinary nationalism one might expect in the halls of Versailles, not a French restaurant nestled in the heart of Bali, Indonesia. The disdain for mustard, dismissed with a haughtiness that would make Louis XIV blush, was baffling. Citing its Germanic origins as if we had requested the forbidden fruit itself, the staff's refusal to entertain the idea of mustard in their kitchen was as ironic as it was infuriating. After all, one of the most renowned mustard brands carries the name "French's," a testament to the global tapestry of culinary tradition, not a line in the sand between nations.

Their pompous resistance to mustard, a staple as innocuous as it is universal, was a stark reminder of the absurd theater we had unwittingly become a part of. This wasn't about preserving the sanctity of French cuisine; it was an arrogant display of culinary xenophobia, a refusal to acknowledge that even in the realm of food, cultures blend, borrow, and grow richer for it. In their misguided quest for purity, they forgot the essence of hospitality: to make guests feel welcomed, not alienated by an invisible culinary dogma. And so, our breakfast became a lesson in the limits of tolerance, served with a side of frustration and a dash of disillusionment, in a place far removed from the spirit of true French elegance and grace. Indeed, the irony of the situation was as rich as the cream we never quite enjoyed. Here we were, in a French restaurant in Bali, a locale as famous for its cultural syncretism as for its beaches and temples, yet faced with a culinary nationalism so misplaced, it would be comical if it weren't so maddening. The refusal to carry mustard, on grounds that seemed more rooted in historical grievances than in any genuine culinary principle, was a jarring reminder of how far from home we truly were—not geographically, but in terms of hospitality and openness.

The insistence on a French purity, in a setting that begged for cultural amalgamation, was not just a denial of the global heritage of food; it was a stark display of arrogance. A French restaurant abroad, especially in a melting pot like Bali, ought to be an ambassador of French culture, showcasing the adaptability and inclusiveness of its cuisine, not a fortress guarding against culinary invaders. The vehement rejection of a simple request for mustard, a condiment as ubiquitous as salt or pepper in the global pantry, was a missed opportunity to blend tradition with innovation, to show how French cuisine can embrace and enhance local flavors and preferences. The sheer absurdity of this entire experience is why this...

Monsieur Spoon has a pretty eating on Zomato and other sites, but sadly my experience wasn’t really up to expectations. Nothing wrong with the service, decor or ambience. It’s a nice space, filled with delicious smells of fresh French baking. The lighting is good, with some nice feature lights around the place. There’s a good number of varied seating options, and a beautiful view of luscious green rice paddies out the large windows at the rear of the restaurant, which also has a shaded seating area. I ordered bacon and poached eggs, which came with some caramelised onions and a couple of cherry tomatoes on a lettuce leaf. The bacon was super crispy, and had that taste and feel of bacon that’s been cooked and held for too long before plating up. With my temporary crowns, it made for slow and nervous eating. The eggs were perfectly poached though. The breakfast was served on a small wooden cheeseboard, which is both unhygienic and impossible to keep hot food warm. Thus, my meal was cold in no time (but I doubt the bacon was very hot to begin with). In many countries, the use of wooden boards for service are banned, due to problems in properly sterilising them, and this has led to incidents of serious food poisoning. Please save the trendy boards for serving cheese and other cold/room temperature items, and serve hot food on the hot plates it deserves. My Bali juice of watermelon, papaya (?) and melon was served in the ubiquitous mason jar, and was fairly bland (maybe too bland for my admittedly sweet tooth). The cappuccino was lukewarm, and the coffee art had lost some of its appearance, probably due to waiting too long for delivery. Apart from this, the flavour was pretty average, I’m not a fan of drinking my coffees from ramekins. To finish on a positive note, the prices here are very reasonable 35k for coffee (5k for honey on the side), 30k for juice, 55k for bacon and eggs, and prices include GST and no service charge = Rp125,000. So try your luck, and hopefully you’ll do a little...

Their croissants are definitely the best in Bali. I haven't found any other place that serve bread as good as theirs. Usually I just got in and bought bread for take-aways, but today, I decided to have breakfast on the spot. The settings are great. Love the ambience.

The staffs greeted us when we came in, but there were a discrimination among Westerners and Indonesians. My sister, mom and I wanted to sit at the corner, but they told us that we couldn't sit there as it's only reserved for groups (min of 4 people). We moved, totally fine with it. Until we saw a person casually sitting there and the staffs didn't say anything about it. So, she was literally sitting by herself and her dog in the place reserved for groups. I didn't say anything, thinking maybe she is the owner of the place.

Then, another Indonesians group came in (3 of them) wanted to sit at the same spot where we planned to sit. The staffs said the same thing, they couldn't sit there. The girl being super straight forward and told the staff, then why did you let the girl and her dog sit there. The staff didn't reply and brought the groups to another seating.

Not long after, there were another group of Westerners (3 of them), sitting at the spot on the corner. The staffs didn't say anything and let them sit there, even brought them the menu. I called one of the staffs, and asked her, why did you keep letting people sit there, but we (the Indonesian groups were behind my seats) couldn't. To be honest, I don't get it. I bought like 8 breads (to be eaten on the spot and take-aways), 3 cups of coffee and a pot of tea. It's not like we were just sitting there and didn't order anything.

Next time I will just do take-aways, because the service experience...