Life is full of lessons, isn't it? Dennis and I were walking back to our hotel on the last night of Paris when we passed a restaurant with an empty window seat. A table for two with fresh flowers in a vase and the top of the Eiffel Tower visible from the window.
"Ohhh! Let's eat here babe. It's perfect" I said
"I don't know...maybe we should keep looking" Dennis replied
"But BABE! Look at how perfect it is, by the window...close to the hotel. I really want to eat here. Go in and make a reservation!" I pleaded. "If it looks scary when you go inside, just walk back out" I tell him as I shove him toward the door.
"But it looks weird" Dennis said over his shoulder as I shoved him toward the door.
A few moments later Dennis appears again through the door with a funny look on his face. We had reservations for the window table at 7:30 PM but Dennis looked like he had reservations of his own.
"What's wrong" I keep asking as we walk through the wet streets back toward our hotel.
"It was weird. The woman didn't speak French..she didn't understand me when I asked her for the reservation. She kept talking to me in military time." Dennis explained.
I felt hopeful regardless. How bad could it be? After all, we are in Paris.
An hour later we walk back to the mystery restaurant and Dennis mood hasn't improved. When we arrive, we are the only customers. As we are seated I am immediately aware of very loud music blaring from the TV on the wall. There are balloons strung along the ceiling and at least 4 mechanical Santa dolls moving in time to the music. With each passing song, the music gets louder and faster. The hostess and the server are standing behind the front area, riveted to the TV set. The special menu was several euros more now, in comparison to when we first walked by.
We came to recognize that we were in a Romanian restaurant, specializing in authentic Romanian food (or as Dennis put it, "Iron Curtain Food") Writing about the food here would bring it back clearly into my mind and that is something I do not wish to do. Let me just say, the music's pace was pushing us along and we could not get out of that place fast enough. I felt a moral obligation to warn off any future customers so every time someone stopped in the window to read the special, I shook my head and gave them "Don't Do It!" eyes.
We walked to the metro and rode a train to Champs-Elysees to drink in the last moments of the Paris night. The huge sidewalks were full of people milling about, Christmas shopping villages selling gifts and roasted chestnuts. The lights hanging in the trees changed colors every few minutes and it was very cold. We walked all the way to the Arc de Triomphe. Even though my feet felt like bloody stumps of pain, the beauty made it hard to notice. There simply was not enough time to fully absorb everything around me but even the brief taste we had was intoxicating.
We ended that night back at the Officer's Cafe with a beautiful salad that was topped with wonton wrapped, deep fried goats cheese. YUM. After a whiskey or two...we both felt father away from Romania and sad to leave Paris.
"Ohhh! Let's eat here babe. It's perfect" I said
"I don't know...maybe we should keep looking" Dennis replied
"But BABE! Look at how perfect it is, by the window...close to the hotel. I really want to eat here. Go in and make a reservation!" I pleaded. "If it looks scary when you go inside, just walk back out" I tell him as I shove him toward the door.
"But it looks weird" Dennis said over his shoulder as I shoved him toward the door.
A few moments later Dennis appears again through the door with a funny look on his face. We had reservations for the window table at 7:30 PM but Dennis looked like he had reservations of his own.
"What's wrong" I keep asking as we walk through the wet streets back toward our hotel.
"It was weird. The woman didn't speak French..she didn't understand me when I asked her for the reservation. She kept talking to me in military time." Dennis explained.
I felt hopeful regardless. How bad could it be? After all, we are in Paris.
An hour later we walk back to the mystery restaurant and Dennis mood hasn't improved. When we arrive, we are the only customers. As we are seated I am immediately aware of very loud music blaring from the TV on the wall. There are balloons strung along the ceiling and at least 4 mechanical Santa dolls moving in time to the music. With each passing song, the music gets louder and faster. The hostess and the server are standing behind the front area, riveted to the TV set. The special menu was several euros more now, in comparison to when we first walked by.
We came to recognize that we were in a Romanian restaurant, specializing in authentic Romanian food (or as Dennis put it, "Iron Curtain Food") Writing about the food here would bring it back clearly into my mind and that is something I do not wish to do. Let me just say, the music's pace was pushing us along and we could not get out of that place fast enough. I felt a moral obligation to warn off any future customers so every time someone stopped in the window to read the special, I shook my head and gave them "Don't Do It!" eyes.
We walked to the metro and rode a train to Champs-Elysees to drink in the last moments of the Paris night. The huge sidewalks were full of people milling about, Christmas shopping villages selling gifts and roasted chestnuts. The lights hanging in the trees changed colors every few minutes and it was very cold. We walked all the way to the Arc de Triomphe. Even though my feet felt like bloody stumps of pain, the beauty made it hard to notice. There simply was not enough time to fully absorb everything around me but even the brief taste we had was intoxicating.
We ended that night back at the Officer's Cafe with a beautiful salad that was topped with wonton wrapped, deep fried goats cheese. YUM. After a whiskey or two...we both felt father away from Romania and sad to leave Paris.
