Carol and I had a day together today and spent it wandering the old district of Montpellier and checking out the shops. To this point we have been disappointed with the restaurant food that France is famous for and have been sticking with the more affordable sandwich shops and patisseries. Our dissapointment stems from a lack of understanding of the proper "protocol" when dinning in France which is profoundly different than dinning in Canada. I recently read a book (From Here, You Can't See Paris) that educated me to the unwritten rules and regulations of the French restaurant. This afternoon, armed with this new knowledge, we agreed to give it another try with this little restaurant we found, tucked away in a small alley. The next two hours unfolded just like I've read about in all the literature about the French lunchtime routine.
The traditional restaurant only serves a fixed menu that you can mix and match from the board. It is placed outside so one can see what is available today and how much it will cost. Once we agreed that this is where we'll dine, we mounted the stone steps and pushed open the old wooden door and stepped into our first real restaurant experience. There were about 80 people packed into a 350 square foot room, that was warm and noisy with all the lunch-time crowd making the most of their two and a half hour lunch break.
The waiter was was definitely not playing a subservient role and gave us the once over before deciding that we were worthy of patronizing his establishment. We were committing a major faux pas by arriving at 1300. It is expected that everyone arrives for lunch at noon and finishes around 1430 and the kitchen is run on this principal and can best plan the cooking and courses. With the kitchen in the middle of cooking and delivering the main course for 80 people at the time that we arrived, they now had to find the time to start over with the entree for us, which throws the routine of the kitchen into a wobble and annoys the cook. Despite this, the waiter found us a place out of the way at the bar were we could wait until a table opened. While we waited, we enjoyed a glass of red wine, snails in an incredible white wine sauce and an unsightly, but fantastic country cured ham laced with mold. Carol declined both, but I waded in...
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The cramped bar, with the ham leg hanging and the espresso maker.
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After a 10 minute wait, we were shown to a table next to the door and our glasses refilled. We relaxed, knowing we would be here for awhile and took in the energetic and noisy atmosphere. Walking into a restaurant in France is like getting on a Ferry to cross a river; you have placed yourself in the care of the Captain (waiter) and you are his for the duration of the ride (meal). Unlike Canada, the role and manners of the waiter in France is more like a head nurse, where you will be well taken care of as long as you behave yourself and follow the proper protocol. We haven't figured out all the proper protocol yet, but it does involve respecting the waiter and staff.
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| The original document addressing the French people after the surrender of France. |
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| The place was so packed that condensation was running down the window panes. |
We had 30 minutes to settle in with our wine and then the entree arrived as per the proper protocol. I had the smoked salmon and Carol had the most incredible cream of broccoli soup smothered in a layer of shredded emmindinger cheese.
The dishes were so full of flavour that after each bite you had to sit back and let your brain decipher each mouthful. A sip of wine to clear the pallet....pause.... and then another bite. At this rate it took another 30 minutes to work through the entree.
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The main courses: fish in a cream sauce for me and beef for Carol.
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The main courses are made up of what ever the cook can find available at the market and you can see that peas, potatoes, asparagus are all in for January. Judging from the size of the Rosemary branch, you can guess that there is no shortage of that at this time of year.
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| Macaroons! |
After the main, there was a short pause and then the inevitable shot of expresso. After more than 2 hours, we gently extricated ourselves from this womb and staggered outside into the chilly, overcast afternoon feeling comfortably full and rested. I don't know how someone could return to an office and be expected to be productive at this point. All I wanted to do was find a quiet place and sleep for a few hours.
