Winter is reluctant to loosen its grip. It snowed in the foothills last week, snow is forecast for tomorrow… and I’m beginning to wonder (again) if Montesquieu wasn’t onto something in connecting climatic conditions to people’s behavior. Geopsycho.
I’ve noticed of late an occasional Shining gleam in my reflection, not to mention in my neighbor’s eye. Now that the first two stones have been cast:
This past Wednesday, the “Coularou” club members (that really is their name) met for lunch at the village’s S. Restaurant, for their annual spring bash. The Coularous being civic-minded senior citizens, they alternate the meal’s venue every year. That way each of the three local eating establishments is equally patronized. This year it was the S.’s turn. The seniors were off and grumbling weeks beforehand. They say the service there is inadequate, the server cranky, the prices inflated, the food just barely average and the wine just barely drinkable.
Bref, word is that the owner-hostess-server is cheap and out to scam the clients.
The seniors must like to play the game. They grumble and criticize with confidentially reprobative eyes and knowing nods. Some develop post-meal digestive problems once every three years. And yet, every three years, they’re back at the S., forks and tongues on the ready.
The occasion was animated by the multi-talented Hervé. Composer, lyricist, pianist, singer, imitator and pharmacist…, he delighted the seniors with his talent and humor. The first course – steamed mussels – was met with decidedly less applause.
The mussels had surreptitiously decamped, leaving the diners’ bowls with mostly empty shells and broth. Complaints were politely registered. The chef/co-owner agreed that it wasn’t acceptable, while blaming the fishmonger, and offered to replace the mussels with another dish. No dice, countered the wife/server/co-owner (and my neighbor), “it’s not our fault.” Gazes averted.
Next course: lamb stew, with an original twist: one of the principal ingredients seemed to be pork. More knowing looks exchanged.
They say there were also problems with the wine, but the finale dessert and coffee were quite tasty. A good finish...
In lieu of a break on the bill, D. the proprietor-server, proposed to deliver éclairs to this week’s club meeting. The gesture was accompanied, however, with a request for a list of diners who’d ordered mussels. Most of them only attend the annual dinner and are not regulars at weekly club meetings. Apparently this is common knowledge ‘round these parts.
Who wouldn’t find this amusing?
I’ve noticed of late an occasional Shining gleam in my reflection, not to mention in my neighbor’s eye. Now that the first two stones have been cast:
This past Wednesday, the “Coularou” club members (that really is their name) met for lunch at the village’s S. Restaurant, for their annual spring bash. The Coularous being civic-minded senior citizens, they alternate the meal’s venue every year. That way each of the three local eating establishments is equally patronized. This year it was the S.’s turn. The seniors were off and grumbling weeks beforehand. They say the service there is inadequate, the server cranky, the prices inflated, the food just barely average and the wine just barely drinkable.
Bref, word is that the owner-hostess-server is cheap and out to scam the clients.
The seniors must like to play the game. They grumble and criticize with confidentially reprobative eyes and knowing nods. Some develop post-meal digestive problems once every three years. And yet, every three years, they’re back at the S., forks and tongues on the ready.
The occasion was animated by the multi-talented Hervé. Composer, lyricist, pianist, singer, imitator and pharmacist…, he delighted the seniors with his talent and humor. The first course – steamed mussels – was met with decidedly less applause.
The mussels had surreptitiously decamped, leaving the diners’ bowls with mostly empty shells and broth. Complaints were politely registered. The chef/co-owner agreed that it wasn’t acceptable, while blaming the fishmonger, and offered to replace the mussels with another dish. No dice, countered the wife/server/co-owner (and my neighbor), “it’s not our fault.” Gazes averted.
Next course: lamb stew, with an original twist: one of the principal ingredients seemed to be pork. More knowing looks exchanged.
They say there were also problems with the wine, but the finale dessert and coffee were quite tasty. A good finish...
In lieu of a break on the bill, D. the proprietor-server, proposed to deliver éclairs to this week’s club meeting. The gesture was accompanied, however, with a request for a list of diners who’d ordered mussels. Most of them only attend the annual dinner and are not regulars at weekly club meetings. Apparently this is common knowledge ‘round these parts.
Who wouldn’t find this amusing?
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