Last night, while wandering downtown Durango between meetings, looking for someplace to eat dinner, we came across Jean Pierre "Le Cafe Chic" and Wine Bar -

                                                

Now, it occurred to me that I've never actually eaten at a French restaurant. For one thing, I'm a recovered drunk, and the French like to pour wine into everything - even water. And the French are not known for low-fat cooking.

But we decided to give it a go, anyway - we figured that if there was any problem with eliminating the booze, we were just a short walk to the front door.

As soon as I entered the place, I was a bit overwhelmed - there are no French restaurants in Flat Red Clay, Alabama, where I come from. And the movies have taught me that French waiters can show you the entire contents of their nostrils just by looking down at you - "yes, I am Frahnch. I show you my boogarrs, you scummy Ammericun."

And the place was gorgeous - as Ethel said, it was an old building "repurposed", and it was done well. Most of the wood had deep grains - it looked like stained honey oak. The rest was all carved ornately. There was a grand piano taking up the space of four tables - which told me that the prices on the menu would be padded to cover the lost revenue from those four tables.

But when the maitre'd (trans: "the mother of D") was seating us, Ethel explained that we didn't need the wine list - that we were allergic to alcohol, and he didn't miss a blink, even when I explained that they did not want us to order from the wine list. And the server put me right at ease - a nice American girl with normal nostrils.

Ethel ordered the Ratatouilie (I'd like to announce here and now that I spelled that right the first time) which turns out to be a yummy vegetable soup; I ordered "La Something d'New Orleans" which turned out to be a really tasty, really small biscuit covered with shrimp.

(ed. note - the server pronounced it "New Orleans", not "Nawlins", which gave me a shiver of superiority. But that didn't last long).

Along with my shrimp biscuit, I also got 1.5 carrots (assuming that each of those slices was a full half of a carrot), three spears of asparagus, and two little heads of broccoli. I think that it was the most expensive meal I've ever had, based on price per pound.

Ethel and I split our meals - I got some of her soup, and she got half of my biscuit, one of my carrot slices, and two spears of asparagus. (I was keeping count).

We then had dessert - usually I pass on any dessert, but after Ethel got those two spears of asparagus, I was in bad shape from a caloric perspective. I ordered what they called "flan" but what any Mexican would call "fruitcake" - Ethel order something called "L'Opera" which was five different types of chocolate, in layers. After eating that, she'll have to go to confession. (OB-GYNs reading this - I suggest this dish as a new specific Rx for menopausal patients).

They finally brought me the check, and I called my broker and sold some stock - I got out of there for just a few shares of Oracle and what I still owned of Netflix - and, as we walked out the front door, we stopped and had a nice conversation with the Maitre'D (literally, "The Maid of D") about L'Opera - it seems to be a local favorite.

It was a very good meal, although the portions were small (I'm still not sure that those were whole half carrots). I don't know when we'll be back, but I suspect that that will be determined by Ethel's estrogen levels getting low, and the DOW going back up.

(editor's note: standard FCD prizes to the first person who can, without Googling, identify the source of the subject line. Not you, Ethel)