I See Red

There were the usual small candles at each table. The walls, with a darker hue on the bottom half, really made the calm visual ambiance and yet, Vicki knew this restaurant was different. In spite of the variety of dishes she saw on nearby tables, this classy restaurant didn’t smell like nothing nor was it inundated with flowers to overcome such a gap. This restaurant, Chez…something or other - - “Oh my,” Vicki wondered to herself. “I seem to have forgotten the name of this place!” She resolved to check out the name of the restaurant on her way out since it was too fancy to have a menu and her boss was picking up the tab on this one.

Straightening up and swinging her hair to the side with a gentle twist allowed her to see her waiter approaching. She smiled her usual smile, wondering if she would be delighted at this…venue. “Hello, Madame.” (Pronounced mah-DOM). “I hope we may add to a delightful evening.”

“Thank you.”

“Will you be dining with company this evening, Madame?”

“Kind of.” Vicki liked to be more playful at classier restaurants. “You see, I am the one who is reviewing this place.”

“Establishment, I see,” corrected the waiter hurriedly so as not to allow a poked hole to tatter their hard-earned reputation.

“Yes, and I would like to speak with the chef.”

“I will look into arranging that Madame. Is there something I can acquire to fill your cup? After all, society calls for grace and a cup demands nothing less.”

“Merlot, definitely Merlot.” Vicki was happy with how things were vamping up and she was not going to forgo the chance at a decent wine this time.

“And does Madame have a particular type in mind?”

“Usually I go for a 12 to 15 year old Sangiovese, but tonight I am in the mood for something savory. Make it a Monastrell of about the same year.”

“Very well.”

“And the chef.”

“I will see.”

Vicki looked around as though feeling very light and having been brought up to sit on a cloud. As time passes differently in the heavens, it was not long before a female staff approached with the waiter standing half a step to the side.

“Madame,” she said with the same pronunciation. “The chef only speaks to those after they have enjoyed their meal and only if they are not overly…imbibed.”

“Ah, yes” Vicki said, bowing her head as she smiled. She raised her head back up and continued, “But I am here to report on the chef’s process that leads to the supposed virtues of his creations. Maybe I will praise his skills at his chosen craft and maybe I will not. Let me assure you, no review will be written without it.”

“I will mention it to him directly, Madame.” She turned and nodded once to the waiter.

“Your Monastrell.”

Vicki smiled. “Thank you.”

֎֎֎

Moments later, the kitchen doors starting swinging back and forth as Vicki had been granted access to see the chef. Two kitchen staff quickly and seemingly instinctively, walked over to properly attire her. It was fast and she barely felt a thing. In fact, for a moment, Vicki felt like Cinderella in the instant when her gown magically appeared on her.

“The chef is over there, Madame.”

“Thank you.”

There was a long counter-top and an almost-young man with fine features stood on the other side wearing the expected white - although fortunately without the tall hat.

“Hello,” he said with a smile. “What brings you back here so soon?”

Vicki wasn’t sure what to make of him, but she liked him and was a little drawn to him. “I would like to taste without tasting first.”

“Very well,” said Marceau as he crossed his arms as he now had nothing to do in his restaurant.

“Time to break the ice Vick’,” said her conscience.

“Ok. There is no menu, so how do you choose what dishes to offer?”

“A rudimentary question,” Marceau thought to himself, but he knew she was a critic, so he answered plainly. “I start with available ingredients and, of course, they must be fresh.”

“Ok, and what is all that behind you?” she asked, motioning to the wall behind him with her free hand.

“It’s wine.”

“Yes, and so many, but why are they here in the kitchen? Do you drink - -”

“No.” Marceau interrupted plainly.

“Then why all the wine?”

“It is at-the-ready Madame.”

Finally! Vicki sensed intrigue and she wanted the whole truth behind it. Now. “For what?”

“For cooking.” Marceau turned, extending his arms to a couple bottles to show as samples. “I get a different bottle of wine every week.”

“Like a wine-of-the-month club?”

“If that is what you call it, but there are no five-dollar bottles here, Madame,” he stated with a brief, angry look in his eyes.

“Huh….”

“And I use them for cooking.”

“Oh. You don’t drink them?”

“No. Never.”

“Ever?”

“No, Madame. Otherwise, I could not deliver appreciation to my waiting guests.”

“And after you have…'delivered appreciation'?”

“Then it is up to them. If they let the food and drink caress their tongues, they may choose to offer gratitude, and I accept. If they have no purpose other than to fill a tank, then the thought will not cross their minds when they depart, although I know their bodies will have been gifted.”

“Do you approach women the same way?” asked Vicki. After all, she needed a metaphor or angle for her piece.

“Yes.” His answer could not have been plainer or more direct and was without hesitation.

Vicki was still smiling as she gazed into his eyes.

“I like how you do not back down,” Marceau said.

“And my style?”

“So far, phenomenal. You know what to explore, how to reveal, and it is genuine, for your lips have not touched your glass. Come. You will stand by me as we cook your dinner.”

Vicki felt something inside of her guiding her to his side and felt very happy. In that joyous evening, he dazzled her mind with food choices to compliment her drink, made her food sizzle, and let her eat at the chef’s (his) tasting station. Her playfulness and occasional determination fit her position perfectly, which was by his side for the next 53 years.

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