Lunch in the countryside

Last weekend I went to a small village up in the mountains together with a friend of mine. The village has just one restaurant, and unfortunately it is a gourmet place, where one has to make reservations in advance to be sure to get a place. So we did.

To be on the safe side, we asked in advance if we had to wear ties, and to my dismay that was so. In addition they did not allow jeans, so we had to abolish my friend's plans of getting some pocket money selling trousers to the other guests during the meal.

The problem with the tie is something I have been able to handle before, and my method worked this time as well. The trick is to wear a tie when you enter the restaurant. You then make sure you carelessly bend over one of the lit candles so it starts burning. You make sure the flames are bright and nice. I usually do this by first dipping it in the restaurant's finest scotch whisky. It is important that the waiters see your problem, so I usually climb a chair screaming and waiving the tie around, as if I am trying to extinguish it. In fact, I waive it only so slowly that the flames get more oxygen, until I throw the tie in the ice bucket for the rosé wine. After this, the waiters usually do not insist on your putting on another tie, and you can eat comfortably without anything throttling your neck.

An additional problem here turned out to be that the restaurant did not allow sports shoes. It seems strange to have a restaurant close to a hiking trail, where people are not allowed to wear sport shoes, but that was the rule. My friend, who had that kind of footwear, politely took them off and left them in the cloakroom during the meal. His painted red toe nails looked very nice against the polished brick floor. Everyone agreed about that, except an old lady at the table next to ours, who offered him her own black stockings instead.

The meal was excellent. He had a sandwich de caviar d'esturgeon iranien, and I had a burger de foie gras.