Valentine's Day
For the most part, I think the French have started speaking more clearly. We got through a whole dinner last night without having to once resort to helpless "Pardon?"'s even once--although we still have some work to do, because we almost didn't get into the restaurant at all.
Nick tried to make a Valentine's Day reservation at La Chaumette, an unbelievably wonderful restaurant that is even more unbelievably located just down the street. Unfortunately, the language barrier prevented him from understanding exactly why the reservation was being refused, so we decided to simply go in person and try to straighten it out. We had a backup plan, of course, but there's really not much that can substitute for this place, so, fingers crossed, we headed over around 8:00.
The restaurant was almost entirely empty...and, apparently, entirely booked. "I'm so sorry," the host said. "There's really nothing."
I decided to go for broke, and pointed to Nick. "He asked me to marry him this morning. This is the only place that we want to eat."
The Digression
Oh, right.
Nick proposed almost as soon as I walked through the door. For those of you who know him and are scratching your heads, I have been asked to make it very clear that the fact that it was Valentine's Day had absolutely nothing to do with it.
In fact, he had planned to wait a bit. And he had probably planned to let me notice the ring myself, but he got so excited that when I lifted up the chocolate box to take a better look, he pulled it out of my hand. "There's a ring in it!" he all but shouted--and then did the one-knee thing.
"Ben and I had a very similar moment," my mother told me when I called with the news. Apparently, while she had helped to pick out her ring, they had planned a whole big "presentation," just to still have the moment. "When we got into the car on the way to dinner, he just burst out with 'Do you want the ring now?' and I shouted 'Yes!'"
And I remember that when my stepbrother had his proposal all planned and the reservations made, he found that he simply couldn't wait, and popped the question in the middle of an argument, instead. Somehow I have always thought that that was just about the most romantic thing I have ever heard.
And so, particularly in light of both of those marriages, I've decided to see this as an excellent omen.
Back at the Restaurant
The French are really, really into love. As soon as I offered to show the host the ring (it needs to be sized), he whipped out his seating chart and began talking a mile a minute. All we could catch was that they really were horribly full, but he could shift some things and seat us in an hour and a half, if that was okay.
Since the restaurant is so close to the apartment, that was fine with me, and I told him so, but as we left, Nick suggested that we just go somewhere else. We had gotten about 20 yards toward that goal when we heard shouting and turned to see the host sprinting after us.
"I was saying I can seat you now!" he called. The fact that he was still speaking French was the only thing that saved me from utter embarrassment--obviously he hadn't given up on us yet. "You thought I said wait an hour and a half," he guessed. "No, no--please eat now; it is just that we will need the table in an hour and a half, so I am sorry, but you may be a bit rushed."
That'll do.
Nick let himself be talked into pink champagne, and was stunned to discover that it was really quite good. And my veal nearly made my eyes pop out of my head on the first bite--and Nick's, as well, when I reluctantly offered him a taste. I know that I had a reason for leaving one bite on the plate, but try as I might this morning, I cannot think of any possible excuse for such an oversight.
At a certain point, we were told that one party had cancelled, and that we could stay as long as we liked, but by then we were so boxed in (it's a tiny place, and they are aggressive about using every inch of it) that we decided to skip dessert and call it a night. After making reservations for the next evening, of course--Nick's parents are in town.
"Wonderful!" crowed the host. "What is the name?"
Why, it's Nick's. Of course.
Nick tried to make a Valentine's Day reservation at La Chaumette, an unbelievably wonderful restaurant that is even more unbelievably located just down the street. Unfortunately, the language barrier prevented him from understanding exactly why the reservation was being refused, so we decided to simply go in person and try to straighten it out. We had a backup plan, of course, but there's really not much that can substitute for this place, so, fingers crossed, we headed over around 8:00.
The restaurant was almost entirely empty...and, apparently, entirely booked. "I'm so sorry," the host said. "There's really nothing."
I decided to go for broke, and pointed to Nick. "He asked me to marry him this morning. This is the only place that we want to eat."
The Digression
Oh, right.
Nick proposed almost as soon as I walked through the door. For those of you who know him and are scratching your heads, I have been asked to make it very clear that the fact that it was Valentine's Day had absolutely nothing to do with it.
In fact, he had planned to wait a bit. And he had probably planned to let me notice the ring myself, but he got so excited that when I lifted up the chocolate box to take a better look, he pulled it out of my hand. "There's a ring in it!" he all but shouted--and then did the one-knee thing.
"Ben and I had a very similar moment," my mother told me when I called with the news. Apparently, while she had helped to pick out her ring, they had planned a whole big "presentation," just to still have the moment. "When we got into the car on the way to dinner, he just burst out with 'Do you want the ring now?' and I shouted 'Yes!'"
And I remember that when my stepbrother had his proposal all planned and the reservations made, he found that he simply couldn't wait, and popped the question in the middle of an argument, instead. Somehow I have always thought that that was just about the most romantic thing I have ever heard.
And so, particularly in light of both of those marriages, I've decided to see this as an excellent omen.
Back at the Restaurant
The French are really, really into love. As soon as I offered to show the host the ring (it needs to be sized), he whipped out his seating chart and began talking a mile a minute. All we could catch was that they really were horribly full, but he could shift some things and seat us in an hour and a half, if that was okay.
Since the restaurant is so close to the apartment, that was fine with me, and I told him so, but as we left, Nick suggested that we just go somewhere else. We had gotten about 20 yards toward that goal when we heard shouting and turned to see the host sprinting after us.
"I was saying I can seat you now!" he called. The fact that he was still speaking French was the only thing that saved me from utter embarrassment--obviously he hadn't given up on us yet. "You thought I said wait an hour and a half," he guessed. "No, no--please eat now; it is just that we will need the table in an hour and a half, so I am sorry, but you may be a bit rushed."
That'll do.
Nick let himself be talked into pink champagne, and was stunned to discover that it was really quite good. And my veal nearly made my eyes pop out of my head on the first bite--and Nick's, as well, when I reluctantly offered him a taste. I know that I had a reason for leaving one bite on the plate, but try as I might this morning, I cannot think of any possible excuse for such an oversight.
At a certain point, we were told that one party had cancelled, and that we could stay as long as we liked, but by then we were so boxed in (it's a tiny place, and they are aggressive about using every inch of it) that we decided to skip dessert and call it a night. After making reservations for the next evening, of course--Nick's parents are in town.
"Wonderful!" crowed the host. "What is the name?"
Why, it's Nick's. Of course.
posted by Caroline | 2/15/2007 05:46:00 AM
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