Poor Bill.
No, we didn't make it to Longwood Gardens on Friday. Or Saturday.
We also didn't go to the winery.
No, instead the plan was to go to a small (bring your own wine) French bistro named Charlotte's, which had gotten great web reviews. We were going to catch a late lunch there and then meander through the gardens before driving the 2.5 hours back home to walk our vacationing neighbors' dog.
It was pouring down rain as we left the State store (that's liquor store for those of you who don't know the original name the State uses for their highly taxed and controlled alcohol disbursement system). If it was at all possible, the rain was coming down harder as we drove past Charlotte's the first time. We knew it was Charlotte's because that's what it said on the sign; right above the word COCKTAILS. Omen number one.
By the time we pulled into the parking lot, the wind was howling so hard that it nearly blew over two of the 85-year-old men running for their Caddys. Omen number two. This point was the first time that I asked Bill if we were at the correct address. He assured me that we were, checking the mapquest directions again. We looked at the windowless, stained cedar-shingled building, considered the wisdom of going inside and instantly checked it against our growling tummies.
As we reached the door, there were four more 85-year-old men holding it open and yelling about the rain. Their 85-year-old wives were sitting at the top of the stairs immediately in front of us—and immediately below the most enormously tacky crystal chandelier I've ever seen. And yet, dear reader, I did not hesitate one bit to enter the abode. I knew I was in for an adventure, and adventure I would have!
As a very heavily Emerauded Maude led us into the dining room, I was totally overwhelmed by the ambience. I can honestly say that I have never seen alcoves covered with camel-covered carpet before, especially when accompanied with a pressed and punched copper convertible Dusenberg wall-hanging! I musn't neglect to point out that there were separate brass and crystal chandeliers for each table. The piece de resistance was that every table had a huge piano bar tip glass (a la Making a Living's piano player) full of, um, some kind of 10-month-old balls of crunchy dough which we bit into with our molars as we perused the menu of over 75 offerings. To say it was all overwhelming is totally selling the place short. I did some minor translation for Bill with the waiter and we were on our way.
I can't really talk about the food. There was a lot of it, for sure, but like all good design, there must be a hierarchy—and in this restaurant the decor was definitely in the driver's seat.
Bill was crushed; his plans had been entirely romantic, and here I was mocking the velvet and gold floral patterned wall-paper. At the time I asked him if it was comparable to a woman laughing at a man's ding-ding and he said it was. From my perspective, I couldn't have asked him for a more hysterically intimate afternoon if I tried—my imagination is good, but my imagination would never have come up with a bow-tied, 90-year-old waiter offering me alfredo shrimp fra diablo (ewwwww and wha?) and prune liquer in a crusty glass, while Tom Jones sang It's Not Unusual over the restaurant's hi-fi system.
Unfortunately, by the time we were done with the meal, we had to immediately drive home. Still, no one else has ever given me anything like that.
ED Note: Yes, we went to the Phila. Museum of Art on Sunday for a champagne brunch. It was most welcome.
No, more like Poor Jen.
Stupid dumb me. Catherine's was the place I originally picked out (note the BYOB), but for some reason, I went back to my computer and pulled Mapquest directions for Charlotte's instead. It's been years since I dined in such schmaltzy opulence-it reminded me of my prom at the Rye, NY Playhouse, which is the type of place Tony Soprano would hold his daughter's wedding reception.
I hope the sunday champagne brunch at the Philadelphia Museum of Art made up for it in some small part, though.
Posted by: the idiot | July 31, 2006 at 04:01 PM
Yeah yeah - Catherine's sounds lovely and all, but as an experience, I suspect it couldn't even come close to Charlotte's.
Charlotte's RULES.
Obviously.
Posted by: Linda Messing | July 31, 2006 at 04:56 PM