I
was invited to dine out unexpectedly last night, by phone. Unexpected
as this friend and I usually go out for dinner only at weekends, and
always in restaurants with reputation of serving excellent food, as he
is nuts about fine food as I am. "I'll pick you up in half an hour.' and he hung up without saying another word.
I
ran up the stairs as fast as I could, shedding the home clothes I had
on my way up. I dressed hurriedly but taking care to ensure that I
looked elegant enough to keep up my 'weekend only' image, so as not to
clash with the posh restaurant settings. At home I am normally in jeans and baggy tops.
In
the car on our way, I learned that the restaurant he had booked us in
is 'La Llar' on the outskirts of Roses. My enthusiasm immediately
dropped down to the carpeted floor of the car under my feet. I told him I
had been there once before, many years ago, but had loved the place and
hated the food just as much. He said the management had changed hands,
the chef too, and that several of his friends had recommended it, and
all said it was wonderful.
The
restaurant looked even lovelier than I remembered. A 19th century
country mansion converted to an elegant restaurant, with decors mainly
antique, old fashioned features like old oak beams, stoned walls and
paintings on the walls by famous old masters. But dotted discreetly here
and there were some modern touches that mixed tastefully to please the
eye without imposing their presence.
The
food too was marvellous, served in enormous double plates (Never did
quite understand why so many posh restaurants do that), and presented
with such artful, and skilful, decorations of leaves and twigs, flowers
and other artistic ornaments, sprays of some sort of presumably edible
dust of something.
Every
course came to the table looking like some of Picasso's paintings. They
make you stared at them for ages and feel very guilty messing up the
harmony of colours and shapes by eating it. The main item you actually
ordered is exquisite, but the portion was so very tiny, I was sure a cat
would have felt insulted and meowed it's complaint and protest.
We
left the restaurant hungrier than before we went in, as by then it was 2
hours later, and our appetite had been cruelly awaken, teased, then
unattended to and abandoned!
The
following picture is the dessert in it's actual size, surrounded by,
again, vegetation, mounted puffs of cream, techni-colour dusts and a
mint leaf. The edible part was heavenly, but the best part was the
spoon. Doesn't it look lovely? I had a wicked urge to steal it, to
compensate for my indignation of being left hungry. But such daring
misconduct needs constant practice and rehearsal which I don't have. The
thought of it entertained me for a few minutes though.
Current Mood: 
Artistic
Cheerful