"Do you have a reservation?" inquired the lovely Madame. It being a last minute decision to dine at this particular place, we were forced to admit that no, we did not. She glanced around the room with in a way that was not at all encouraging, having mastered perfectly the facial expression I like to call "the french furrow" before seating us at an open table right next to where we were standing. Happily demonstrating her knowledge of english, she inquired if we wanted an aperitif. Anticipating the bottle of wine Low was sure to order, I opted for a Badoit. "What a charming little place" Low smiled as we relaxed and perused the room. The small dining room had an elegant yet understated ambiance, a rustic country french feel. Large slate boards on the walls served as menus, with tonights fare written in chalk. An antique sideboard rested at one end of the room, supporting a large vase of fresh flowers. "You are going to love the food" I promised. Madame approached with our water and asked us what we would like for a starter. In France it is customary to have an entrée, followed by a main course (plat), then dessert (which can be cheese or preceded by cheese), followed by a teeny tiny cup of liquid nitrogen (coffee). An typical entrée is usually foie gras, smoked salmon, escargot, or something avocado. Low ordered foie gras with figs, I went for the avocado and tomato salade. Accompanied by a lovely Bordeaux recommended by Madame, we were in foodie heaven! But there was an elephant dining with us - Low was still vexed by the slap in the face he had received from his former partner. "I'm sorry I have been in a bad mood" he apologized with a sigh. He was looking deep into my eyes as was his way. I reached across and put my hand on top of his, and with a squeeze I hoped was reassuring I told him not to worry. I understood completely! But I wasn't too happy with the guy that killed the romance for the day. "Do you know what you are going to do?" I asked, as Low spread a shmere of goose liver on a piece of toast and offered it to me. "Here" he said, "try this. It's fabulous!" (It was.) "Yes, but right now I want to concentrate on you, the wine, and this incredible foie gras. Cheers!" He raised his glass and I met his toast, making a point to look at him in the eye (embracing the french superstition that lack of eye contact during a toast results in 10 years of bad sex). "I was thinking of coming back for the weekend around the 20th" he hinted, "would you like to have dinner?" "The 21st is the "Fete de le Musique!" I exclaimed, "All night long there are bands of every genre in the streets all over Paris, it is one of two nights a year that the metro runs all night without stopping, and parisians wander the streets with bottles of whiskey and wine! You see families, and groups of college kids brazenly smoking reefers, and dixieland jazz, hip hop, and grunge bands side by side on the same block. You would love it!" Low's face lit up with the prospect of peoplewatching, one of his favorite pastimes - and mine. "I have made it a tradition to kick off my birthday with the Fete de le Musique" I said. "It's your birthday that weekend?" he asked excitedly, "Then I am going to take you to dinner at l'Ami Louis! That is, if we can get reservations. It is impossible, and even when you have one, they may not honor it once you have arrived! I am going to try though. You will love it, it's fabulous!" Smiling, he raised his glass once again, and I basked in the glow of a promising birthday. "And you will love the fete" I said, "It's one of the few times you will see parisians display a sense of collective joy!" The figurative elephant had wandered away, and we laughed and drank, and shared death by chocolate for dessert. It was nice to spend time with someone who seemed to genuinely enjoy my company, without the pressure of "should I" or "shouldn't I". I knew we would get there in good time. Despite the issue with his business partner, it had been a good day. The matinée had been spectacular, dinner was ecstacy, and it was comfortable walking arm in arm under the stars after dinner. We found a taxi, and giving me a long, sweet kiss full of promise Low said goodnight. He had a scathing letter to write! Join me next week for the "Fete de le Musique", dinner at a very exclusive restaurant, and a hot summer night with Low on "Your Friday night French Ro-Com". A bientot!
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