I'm surrounded by all sorts of dead, stuffed things. Ducks, what appears to be a wolverine, some other birds, and more. Everything is in shades of brown and all is cast in a soft, golden light coming from an assortment of lights and lamps that look to have all at one point belonged in a log cabin. I feel so at home.
I'm in a restaurant that seems to have escaped the tourist trail. It's large and warm and full of loud, laughing families and friends from the area. It looks like nothing special from the outside, but I am about to have quite possibly one of the most peaceful and satisfying evenings of my life.
Our server is by no means a patient woman. Nor does she really feel all that much like a server as much as a stern, yet kindly grandmother, who obviously knows best for you. We ask which two of several plates she would recommend, and with a hand on her impatient hip and a roll of the eyes, the obvious answer is to just order them all. Duh.
We eventually opt for just one each. Not too long after, a huge plate is set before me. At first glance, you think it's some kind of pizza, but it is so, so much more. All sorts of cheeses and sauces and meats that I don't know the name of, but it doesn't matter at this point. The entire table is then taken over by the second dish, almost frightening you with its enormity with it's small mountain of ham and a field of potatoes. We are excited if not a bit intimidated by this meal.
The next hour that passes is one of the best I can remember. I barely remember any of the conversation (there was one, wasn't there?) just a blurry, seemingly never-ending series of wonderfully delicious moments that I will never be able to accurately describe here - it's better if you just go and eat there for yourself to understand.
Every now and again, you feel like something is going to last forever. You get so caught up in a moment that you forget about time completely. I wouldn't have expected one of the moments for me to be sharing a meal, but you don't question feeling infinite. You just go with it.
Eternities later, we do somehow finish the meal and are on the brink of coming back to reality, when who other than the chef bursts out of the kitchen in his great, 2-foot-tall chef hat, playing an accordian. He proceeds to sway and shuffle and swing all around the cozy restaurant, going from table to table serenading families and friends and babies and even the servers. He sings songs that I don't understand, but it doesn't matter. I just feel full of a happiness (and a good meal) that I know I will never be able to relive or accurately retell, and so I just enjoy and absorb the moments the best I can as they pass.
He ends with a lively song that's got everyone clapping and singing along, and with a loud "Yee-hee-hee!" he ends on a goofy note and takes a bow. Everyone claps and I'm just beyond words at this point, when he shuffles over to a baby in a high chair and starts right back up again. Guess nobody's getting their dessert for a while!
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If this memory is reds and golds and blues and greens, the rest of the weekend was grays and blacks and the shades in between. That's not to say it wasn't good, but compared to the sheer life that we experienced in that restaurant, the rest can hardly compare.
Nancy was gray, not just in weather but in people. For some reason, nobody seemed happy in the least. So many people walked everywhere with such a drag in their step, it made you wonder if they were all upset about the same thing. It was just so obvious when walking down the street. We saw very few smiles or excitement or really any kind of real energy at all. Perhaps they all need to learn about the restaurant we ate at to spice up their lives a bit.
At least there was lots of Art Nouveau to seek out and see. We started our tour here, at the Place Stanlais:
Where everything was a nice shade of gaudy gold:
With a little help from a guide book and brochures, we found the following (and many more) Art Nouveau buildings / art (which sprang up around the end of the 19th / beginning of the 20th century). Nancy is the Art Nouveau capital in France.
We checked out the Museum of Fine Arts and it was the first time I think I've ever thoroughly enjoyed an art museum visit. I don't understand art in general, but I was a huge fan of this place, and of Art Nouveau.
It was quite cold the most of the weekend, but we bundled up and were constantly on the move and enjoyed our stay in this sad, gray-with-gold-edges city as much as one can enjoy a gray-with-gold-edges city.
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| Me at the Porte de la Craffe (1336) |
Katie
