Loving It

The tantalizing aroma of fresh pomme frites wafted through the air outside the swanky glass and steel entrance of Wichita’s hottest new restaurant. My inveterate dining companions Etienne and Hercule, just arrived back from their annual trip to Martinique’s incomparable Tour de Yoles Rondes, practically shivered with anticipation of the gastronomic delights to come. Hercule insisted on wearing his positively sumptuous Lanvin gloves for the occasion.

“Darling, one must meet excellence with excellence,” he explained.

Of course, Hercule’s English is so heavily burdened with his Champenois French accent that Etienne quickly insisted he switch back to the mother tongue for the rest of our evening together. I will happily translate any further commentary.

Upon entering the establishment, we were struck by the hustle and bustle of the place. In a nod to the state of the economy, the restauranteurs placed their price point within reach of the working man. Thus, a mélange of Wichita’s society presented itself to us: mothers and their children using the colorful language of the streets; a bourgeois man in a dull suit bellowing into his phone about some vulgar consumerist product he wished to sell; and of course, humble men of letters like ourselves.

We encountered brief confusion when searching for the host. However, this temporary state of affairs quickly resolved itself as a gentleman named Randy (too humble to identify himself as the headwaiter, but obviously so) asked if we wanted to get in line. Etienne quipped that he was already 12^th in line to be duc d’Anjou. He laughed heartily at his own little joke, but it was now Hercule’s turn to admonish Etienne. Acknowledging the likelihood that an experienced headwaiter like Randy spoke French fluently, Etienne quickly switched to Corsican (the pair spent two glorious years in a lovely villa on that island studying its unique honey industry) so he could excoriate Hercule privately for delaying their meal. But much to our surprise, Monsieur Randy directed us to a line of people facing a counter.

We were all delighted at the idea of bringing the customer to the waiter. So cutting edge! But dear reader, the innovation didn’t stop there. Being the avant-garde restauranteurs that they are, a partnership with Silicon Valley (presumably at the highest levels) produced a cellular telephone application that allows one to decrease the cost of the meal. Having been told of this technology before today’s meal, I had Arnaud (my longtime assistant and absolute favorite Provencal) transfer it to my cellular telephone device. Of course, per usual, Hercule refused to have anything to do with such technology.

“If Yves Klein could not use a thing, what use is it to me?” he proclaimed (he always does bring up that giant of 1960s Nouveau réalisme in the most absurd situations).

Etienne has no patience for such attitudes, so he sent Hercule a number of very sharp words about his regressive Luddite ways. By the time he finished, we had reached the front of the line, where a charming young waitress awaited our order. The menu shined down upon us from behind her head, prompting Hercule to remark that Le Grand Véfour in Paris could learn a thing or two about scrapping paper menus (and thus saving the environment) from this establishment.

Thanks to the cellular telephone application, I was prepared to order. It still boggles the mind to think that I purchased four sandwiches for the price of two, plus one single American dollar! My excitement at the time reached such a peak that I tipped equal to the price of the meal. Our young waitress seemed taken aback but composed herself long enough to slip the money into her brassiere. As I lingered at the counter, I couldn’t help but stare at the chefs preparing the food. I could even overhear the conversation being conducted in their native Spanish. I was not surprised in the least that this establishment poached their talent from the best kitchens in Madrid and Barcelona.

The food was placed on trays in no time at all. Etienne selected a prime table with a view of both the lovely sunset and an automated DVD dispensary across the alley. We took our rather pedestrian-looking cups (not even the best dining experience can be without flaws) and headed in search of the sommelier. Hercule found him next to a most peculiar wine dispensary. I shrugged off my unfamiliarity with the device (it squirted the wine directly into the cup, the source shrouded in mystery) and requested a white. Apparently produced at a winery called “Sprite,” this sparkling white did not disappoint. Hercule went with a red (Mountain Dew winery’s “Code Red” …aptly named!) but pronounced it too sweet for his taste.

As we opened the paper box containing each sandwich, we delighted in the aroma of fresh ground beef patties. As Hercule refuses to use the English system of weights and measures, we explained to him that each of his two sandwiches weighed a little over a tenth of a kilogram.

“I shall call my meal a quarter-kilo with fromage,” he proclaimed proudly.

Speaking of fromage, the cheese was a particularly gooey variety originating in America. Etienne deduced it to be a descendant of a Camembert de Normandie, but it is not an exact science. I told Hercule and Etienne that this food was of the highest quality and that I had been assured that it would keep for very long periods of time. The pomme frites however were best fresh. We left none for the trash bin. The meal satisfied all three of us, which is a feat few chefs have accomplished. The minimalist wine selection could be expanded and the selection of newspapers in the seating area did not include Le Monde. However, Etienne reminded us that the time difference was such that they must have been waiting for the newest edition to come out. Surely there are few restaurants in Wichita with such potential as this new “McDonalds.” We are loving it!