Nine years ago, not long after I had got together with my future wife, I whisked Julie off for a romantic break in Paris. A trifle cliched, I know, but Paris' reputation is nothing if not deserved.

While exploring, we chanced upon a restaurant serving traditional French fayre. When in Rome, as they say (yes, I KNOW we were in Paris ...) The dining experience is still remembered to this day; sadly, not for thefood, but for the remarkable time the waiting staff took to either ask us what we wanted or to deliver any food, and we were virtually the only people in the place.

I have no idea whether that night has contributed to the fact that we have eaten out on hundreds of occasions since, but never ventured to a French restaurant in our own country.

But enough water has flown under Le pont Neuf since*, so it was time to end our self-imposed Gallic exile.

We visted La Parisienne, the one of 14 years standing in Romsey rather than its two-year-old offshoot in Southampton.

Though we don't live anywhere near it, my wife and I have always enjoyed our culinary visits to Romsey, and this was another positive tick in its box.

Choosing to have a drink in the bar area before gave us the chance to see that dining out here seemed to be an occasion, as opposed to just going out for something to eat for the sake of it.It was for us - we were celebrating our wedding anniversary - and I'm sure we weren't the only ones. Well, nothing wrong with an occasion... if you can afford it. The couple on the table next to us had a bottle of bubbly that tipped the till at well over £100. Oo la la indeed.

A journalist's wage doesn't stretch to that, sadly, so my wife had to make do with a glass or two of wine (but she declared it very nice).

A bigger blow to myself than the fact I couldn't afford £100-plus champers (well, I could, but the kids would have eaten bread and butter for a month), was that the mussels I had salivated over for starters were not available. So we both ended up with the prawn cocktail, a level or two above the fayre most restaurants can rustle up.

Much to Julie's chagrin (I can use French-sounding words even if the bubbly was beyond me) I chose the duck with a raspberry sauce for my main course. My wife can't bring herself to eat the same animals our kids happily ply with bread down the local river, but I did in the name of journalistic research. As for the desserts ... c'est magnifique. My sorbet was faultless, but though it pains me, my wife chose far better with the chocolate profiteroles. She even demanded, and I quote, peux je veuillez avoir les profiteroles, et n'oublie pas le chocolat'*** The most famous bridge in Paris, come on, keep up ...** please can I have the profiteroles, and don't forget the chocolate.

SIMON CARTER La Parisienne, Bell Street, Romsey. Tel 01794 512067.