What to Order for Lunch in Paris

I was watching something on television the other day which reminded me of a real life incident that occurred in April 1992. My partner and I were in Paris walking around the Sorbonne. It was lunch time. We found a quaint little restaurant that dated back eons. We went inside. The place was packed, dark, and charming as all get-out. We stayed.

Our waitress appeared. As I recall these many years later she was probably in her 30s, but more than her age, I remember that she had hairy legs and unshaven armpits which reeked.  She spoke only French. We only spoke American. I used my pocket sized French-English translation book to order my selection: beef salad. I remember exactly what I ordered.

I am pretty sure we had some wine while we awaited our meals. Then they arrived. I don't recall what my partner ordered but I remember almost gagging when my bowl was placed in front of me. You see my beef salad closely resembled what we fed Gertrude our German Shepherd every night: ALPO. Our dog got a mix of kibbles and a whole can of little ALPO meatballs in a gravy. She loved it. I did not eat my lunch.  I drank it!