It has been a busy day, characterised by delightful adventure. You have spent the day doing many of your favourite things, and trying new things, too. Night has fallen on the busy city and you find yourself in the heart of town: the place where you can find any cuisine that you seek. Your feet and legs are tired from the day. You walk one street before finding a restaurant that looks interesting: a small French eatery. You’re in the mood for a light meal: it’s getting late, and you don’t want to have anything too heavy before bed.
Please wait to be seated, reads a sign at the door. A waitress, delivering wine to a table, sees you and takes note, deftfully making her way over to the entrance way after all wine had been served. A table for me, please, you say. There is a bit of hestitation in your voice, for you don’t see any open tables. The place is small. One moment, replies the waitress, after which point you are invited to go downstairs. There is a table available and it’s ready.
You make your way down wooden stairs into a cosy, candlelit basement.
A waitress guides you to your table. On the wall next to you, a mirror in an elegant, dark wooden frame. On your right, a painting of a street in France. The painting is pained with four colours: terracotta, yellow, green, and blue. There are light grey outlines to indicate the buildings. The yellow is for the fence. The green is used to mark trees and the grass in the gardens of the houses. The blue marks the sky. The terracota is used for the ceiling tiles.
You take a look at the menu, excited by all of the options available. Risotto, beef bourguignon, salmon. You take a few moments to decide whether to order something new, or an old favourite. You opt to try something you have never had before, eager not to let the adventures of the day be finished. You are now in a world of culinary exploration.
You look around at the details of the restaurant. On your table, there is a dimly-lit candle. Most of the illumination of the room comes from candlelight and soft, warm ceiling lights. Your table is solid: it feels well made. Is it solid wood? you wonder. It feels like it, you say as you move your hand with the grain.
In the background, there are sounds of glasses clinking – toasts. French music plays quietly from a speaker. There is active conversation from couples and groups. You enjoy soaking in the sounds. As you do, your eyes start to become a bit heavier as your body catches up to all of the activity of the day. Luckily, your food has just arrived: a new dish that you have never tried before.
From the first forkful, you start to notice combinations of flavours you have not tasted in any other meal. You are surprised; delighted. With every subsequent forkful, the flavours become more vibrant. You try your best to segment out flavours, eager to understand how they made the dish and what ingredients were used.
While you are without a dinner guest this evening, the restaurant is your companion: the sounds, flavours, artwork on the walls – attention to craft in all regards. You smile and take notes in your notebook, knowing that here, tonight, there is a story: one of a basement restaurant in which you found peace after a busy day.
