French Bistro

[Stephanie Southerland]

I ate lunch with my co-workers at a quaint little place the other day. "The Black Rabbit" is tucked away between a coffee shop and a ladies beauty supply store, near a bustling Market of Choice, but when you step into the cafe' you are suddenly in Paris. The decor is sleek and art deco. The tables are cozy and the menu is out of the ordinary. I smiled as I tried to imagine how to pronounce the French names of the salads, sandwiches and soups. I smiled even more when my eye fell on the appetizer "Crispy Frog Legs".
I teased my boss, "You're ordering those, aren't you David?" He is a mild mannered and highly civilized gentleman, with careful etiquette and diplomatic speech. He laughed out loud and said "I haven't had those since I was eight years old!" He shared a story with us. He had gone, as a boy, to his neighbor's for dinner. It looked delicious and he was eager to eat. He asked his hostess what she was serving "Frog legs!" she replied. "Oh?" he'd asked her, innocently. "What are they made out of?", certain that she was being colorful. He said he'd been rather horrified when he realized she was not naming some interesting mix of ham and cheese, but had actually fixed frog legs. This started a really amusing conversation about awkward food moments in childhood, and it made my day.
I chose the soup de jour, potato and leek, by the way. It was delicious.
What is your favorite food moment?

[Stephanie Southerland]

We returned to the "Black Rabbit" as a birthday treat for me from my co-workers. This time we had the good sense to arrive exactly at opening time, so we were seated and served before we were starved too thin. I had a delicious open-faced salmon sandwich, and my co-workers had onion soup and salad.
Our discussion was about humor, and we shared funny stories from our family vaults.
I remembered an anecdote that I thought would be fun to share here. Back in the day, when Papa would teach ya a lesson with a switch, now . . . he would often reinforce the message by sending you out to get your own switch off of the tree, just to make the lesson stick with ya. One sharp little boy, after realizing he was gonna get his bottom beat, was sent out to get a switch. He was gone a while, Papa started to get even madder, until the boy reappeared dragging behind his little body the biggest tree branch he could carry. Papa laughed until he cried, and that cheeky little feller didn't get a whippin' that day after all.

[Rose Wolfe]

Raspberries ..........

[Chuck Stromme]

I have to admit a taste for frogs legs. I know next to nothing about French food, though. I acquired the taste in the summer of '62 while living in a prune orchard near Santa Rosa, CA. Yes, a long story and not for here or now, but maybe someday.

French food. I had some odd military reason for being in Saigon, alone, in the summer of '71. No, really, I did. I craved a good meal in a civilized restaurant. There were lots of tempting places but I settled on an out-of-the-way French joint. I've still got a picture.

I was the only one in the place. It was dark and mercifully cool. A couple of waiters hovered around me, telling me how happy they were that I had chosen their restaurant. Seemed a little over-the-top but OK, and everything looked pretty good. What a find.

I started eating and drinking and sure enough, the food was to die for and the beer was ice cold. I could put the war aside for a while and just enjoy the moment. Still, no one came in. Then I noticed that the windows were sandbagged. Hmmm. I couldn't stand it any longer so I called one of the waiters over. "I'm curious. Why is this place so empty and why are there sandbags in the windows?" "Oh sir, that's why we're so happy to see you. We just finished rebuilding after our last rocket attack. We get so many rocket and grenade attacks that no one will come here any more and now you're finally here. It is a good sign."

Talk about a buzz kill. I didn't bolt out of the joint but I thought about it. Instead, I choked down the food, which had lost its taste anyway, paid and left. Off hand, I don't recall being in a French restaurant since.

That may not be my favorite food moment but it's one I'll never forget.