There is a tiny French café in downtown Sacramento, walking distance from my office. The chef, a delightful French man, wears blue gingham pants, calls me "madame," and creates wonderful, wonderful goat cheese and strawberry sandwiches.
It's a one man operation: the French chef bakes the bread, makes the sandwiches, pours the wine, serving just one person at a time. It's a whole routine: he takes an order, makes the order, rings up the bill, takes the money, makes change (counting it out loud), and washes his hands. Repeat, repeat, repeat. He often stops between tasks to remove bread from the tiny oven or add a dash of something to a pot of simmering soup. Sometimes he disappears in the back to get an ingredient, the whole operation halting to a stop. Everything is done with care, calmly and meticulously. The ever-growing line does not ruffle the chef in the slightest.
As you might imagine, it takes a very long time to get your meal, but the line indicates that the food is worth the wait. And, it is.
I wait 35 minutes to get my sandwich, but there is cheerful French music and a stack of old fashion magazines and nobody complains, nobody!, about the tiny crowded space or slow service. Sometimes somebody orders a Crème Brûlée, which the chef places in a tiny oven, and the whole tiny café suddenly smells deliciously sugared. It's just lovely.
At the end of my lunch hour, as I walk out the door, the chef looks up from the sandwich he is creating, this one with smoked salmon and asparagus, and says, "Au revoir, madame!"
Sounds delicious! Is he open on the weekends?
Posted by: Michelle | May 22, 2009 at 04:52 PM
What a lovely place! Thanks for sharing such a nice story.
Posted by: Michelle | May 22, 2009 at 05:37 PM
So, let me get this straight...you don't miss high school cafeteria food?
Posted by: maggienwilly | May 23, 2009 at 03:03 PM