Atmosphere

If a picture is worth a thousand words, I'm not going to give you a picture, but perhaps 1,000 words, ok more like 500... Don't be lazy, use your imagination. It's more fun that way.

Today, after a long night with some friends from Como, I had a relaxed brunch at a familiar spot called Le Pain Quotidien just off of Rue St. Honore. Familiar not because I had been there before, but because it had reminded me of a time back in California with great friends and incredible memories. The amazing part of the meal was that I sat at the same communal table, and I was a part of a sort of pseudo-family. To my left was a young bloke, no more than seven who thought it proper to push the chair to my right with his short legs and pretend as if there was some sort of a spirit lurking about the table. The rest of his family, a group of five or so, continued their conversations as friends of theirs made their way into the café and joined us at the table. Double kisses on the cheek for everyone there. Across the way was an older woman, straight out of an old Zola novel. Her hair neatly pressed, sporting a fine man's driving cap and a smile that could stop a horse. She noted the fact that I was sketching, and I am pretty sure she turned her head so that I could view a better angle of her face. Directly to my right, were two young women who couldn't stop laughing about who knows what. It didn't even matter because it made me laugh non-stop as well. Everything was covered in an old distressed wood, so much so that a few of the planks below foot would pop up if stepped on by a hard heel leaving a sort of undulating landscape of textured wood. Aside from the food, the air was thick with the smell of salted butter melting onto fresh bread. The drinks, fresh citronnade, sharp and full of sweet pulp. If you were finished with your meal, a waiter would casually walk you to the door, ask you if you enjoyed your meal, and then continue with the logistics of paying and what not. Afterwards, they would see you out. Of course most people didn't leave promptly because it felt as if we were dining together in someone's home. You never leave after you eat a meal at a friend's home. You stay, converse, chat, so that's what we did. What I loved about this place is that it was instructional. A sensuous map about everything you need for a great experience that you won't discover in a picture. There was no fast-pace dance music playing in the background, no silly waiters dressed to look more 'french,' and of course no tourist section of the restaurant. The sound was just of people enjoying themselves. The space was simple, intimate, and warm. Every table, communal. No one ate alone... not even the weird kid from Los Angeles trying to find answers to questions he doesn't even know how to ask in French.

And yet isn't that the point? So you close your eyes, and your 5500 miles away, back in Claremont enjoying, enjoying.