Last night, Bill and I managed to have a grown-up night-out. A brother-sister teenage babysitting duo volunteered to sit for us… at their home so mom and dad were home in case of a real emergency. The first restaurant we’d called to make reservations was closed because Saturday was a bank holiday. I was not giving up my night out… so Bill found a restaurant he’d remembered driving by. Or so we thought.
After dropping off Kaitlyn we headed up the mountain to our awaiting table. Up and up and up… past where Bill thought we were going… into a national forest… up and up and up… Finally we saw the sign for the hotel/restaurant we’d called. It wasn’t big or fancy, which around here means absolutely nothing. The small parking lot had about half a dozen cars in it almost all pricey BMW’s. Bill said that was a good sign. But being so far up the mountain and apparently so far in the middle of nowhere, Bill was a bit worried that our French would really be put to the test.
Inside, the woman behind the desk smiled and led us into the dining room and said sit wherever you want… but I have to warn you a loud party of ten will be sitting at that table. I know for certain that is what she said because she did so with perfect English. It’s always kind of a let-down when we go out and someone speaks to us in English, because I kind of do want the chance to practice my French. But it’s always kind of a relief, too.
The décor was more reminiscent of a Cracker Barrel than of what I’d think of as a French restaurant. I guess it goes to show, cheesy country is cheesy country wherever you are. Teddy bears were everywhere you looked, including hanging off a lampshade and peering over Bill’s arm while we ate. Each table’s salt and pepper shakers were on a little piece of wood with fake fauna and an animal. Ours was a cow. Bill noticed the people behind us had a beaver guarding the seasonings.
I’d secretly been hoping for some scallops, but didn’t see any on the menu. (I have learned to recognize things I really like… and things I really hate) We settled in on a meal for two which we deciphered as some sort of beef fondue. I hadn’t quite had enough of a chance to figure out what were on the different salad choices, so after Bill ordered I went for the old stand-by meme chose. Same choice. Yea, I’m a chicken. But I was a happy chicken when I tasted the salad. Mind you, top to bottom it was all stuff I’d have been reluctant to eat at home. I’d have never in a million years imagined Bill would touch it. The lettuce looked like weeds, the cheese was a little strong (I still fear the cheese here), there were little chunks of bacon (apparently that’s what was listed as lard), crutons soaked in bacon grease, no real dressing except for the grease and maybe some vinegar, walnuts and black olives. Oh, and tomatoes. It was one of the best salads I’ve ever had. Bill ate even more of his than I ate of mine.
Then, the main course arrived. Yes, we’d guessed right that we had to do the cooking ourselves at the table. (kind of funny since one reason to go out was to not have to cook!) But it wasn’t done by plunging the meat into boiling oil, which had been my assumption. It was done by sticking the slices of beef onto the side of this big, sizzling hot bell contraption the waiter brought to the table. It was pretty good. There were three sauces to go with it and potatoes, broccoli and broiled tomatoes.
I was a bit disappointed the dessert choices did not include any chocolate. Three kinds of tarts. I picked pear. Bill ordered la meme chose. He didn’t mean to he thought I’d ordered the berries. So we went out to dinner to a place we didn’t mean to go to and ended up eating the exact same things and cooking it ourselves! The only thing we didn’t have to do was the dishes!