Paris Journal 2011 – Barbara Joy Cooley Home: barbarajoycooley.com
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The effects of the rentrée are upon us. They’re BAACKKK! The frenzied Parisians are coming BAAACCCKK! Look out. Restaurant Axuria was going to be very busy, and we were dining at regular French 8PM-or-later time with our friends Carol and Ron. I’d called the resto earlier to make a reservation. Voicemail answered, and I surmised from its rapidfire French message that I was supposed to leave a message if I wanted to reserve. And so I did, in my slow, enunciated French. They’re fast; I’m slow. That’s just the way it is. Carol, Ron, Tom and I had a drink at the apartment and then sauntered down to Axuria. The server had received our message and knew exactly who we were. “Les Cooley.” He looked familiar to me – but not from Axuria. From somewhere else, years ago. I was sure we’d met him before. The chef, Olivier Amestoy, was nowhere to be seen. The other times we’ve dined there, he has been hanging around the front of the house between 7 and 8. Also, he pops up into the dining room a number of times during the dinner hours. Finally, he hangs out in the dining room at the end of the evening. He likes to see his clients, and to watch them enjoying dinner. He must have good help in the kitchen. But last night, Olivier was nowhere to be seen. As I expected, the restaurant became almost completely full by 8:30 or so. The service was understandably a bit slow. The kitchen was taxed, and the only server was busy, too. But this server always kept his cool, was not frenzied, and his sense of humor remained intact. That sense of humor added to my feeling that we’ve met him before. How he did the job all by himself last night was amazing. Carol and I both prefer white wine, so even though we were ordering the lamb, we still wanted white wine with it. I ordered the Menétou Salon blanc, and our server asked if I was sure, with the lamb? And I nodded affirmatively, with a long, mock “dead-serious” look on my face, and a tiny smile. He returned the look in agreement. I like this guy. Tom also ordered the milk-fed lamb (selle d’agneau), which is a specialty of Axuria, as I’ve mentioned before. Ron, the rebel, ordered the raie (skate), which is a great choice. I’ve had it before, and loved it. The lamb arrived and Tom and I were surprised at the very tiny portions. Carol’s was an okay size, and for that I was grateful. I want her to know this place can be oh so good. The lamb was very, very good, but not up to the superb level that it was before. Chef Olivier was nowhere to be seen. We each had the soufflé au Grand Marnier. It, too, was very, very good, but not up to the superb level that it was before. It wasn’t as rich as before. And no little glass of Grand Marnier came with it this time. Oh well. C’est la vie. We had a lovely time chatting nonstop at dinner. Ron is particularly good at keeping us all going with the conversation. He’s a clever guy. The end came. We asked for the check. Chef Olivier was nowhere to be seen. He must be on vacation. The server came out to give us a nice farewell, shaking our hands, and saying he’d see us soon. Again, I was just sure we’ve met him before, but where? I wondered. It was not at Axuria. I later asked Tom if perhaps it was at Stephane Martin’s restaurant, on the rue des Entrepreneuers. He said no, he didn’t think that was it. I slept on it. In the wee hours of the morning, another wonderful thunderstorm struck. I do love thunderstorms, so I woke up to listen and read. Later, I went back to sleep. So I’m running late today with this journal. But the memory cells benefitted from the night’s rest. This morning, I remembered where we’d met that server before. It was at a restaurant that no longer exists: Le Bayadère, on the rue du Théâtre. We loved that place, and went there several times to dine and to chat with the guys who owned it. One time, we were seated near the front of the restaurant, not far from the bar. Near us was a table with a French couple, and an American couple. The woman in the American couple was a Southern Belle, and she’d had maybe a little too much to drink. So she spoke loudly. She spoke French, sort of, with a thick accent that to our ears, sounded funny because of her thick Southern drawl. She said something in her awkward, simplistic French that was hilarious, and sounded hilarious, and then Tom and I lost it. We couldn’t control ourselves. We broke out laughing, but pretended we were laughing at a private joke, just between us. The server came up to the table then to take our dessert order just then. He saw that we were laughing uncontrollably, and I was about to be embarrassed because I couldn’t stop, but then the server said, in French, “To laugh, it is good! Laughing is GOOD!” as he made encouraging gestures with his hands, urging us to let the laughs out. That was him. The server who wants you to have a good time. He’s back; he’s at Axuria. Sign
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Friday, August 26, 2011
The
Restaurant Axuria, 54 Avenue Felix Faure, Paris 15.
One day Tom
and I stood babbling away about this oriental rug and that one, as we stared
into this shop on the rue de la Convention.
A homeless French man sat on a bench behind us, marveling at all the
rug names that we bandied about. I wondered if he sometimes works as a rug
flipper in the shop.
Flowers in
parks like Square Saint Lambert are happy about all the rain falling on Paris
this summer. Even so, the drought is
still officially continuing. Not
enough rain yet, say the experts.
We’ve been
amused by the new series of Orangina billboards on
bus shelters and kiosques. Orangina is very
popular in France. |
