As often the case, the side conversations of this thread are the most illuminating. Two of my most revered dining mates write about experiences far different from ours. The case of the three blind men feeling up the same elephant. All perfectly precise in their descriptions, each having a different perspective.
Vis a vis Amarant. We walk into a room decorated in Middle French Mr. Bricolage. Greeted by what we later deemed the quintessential Parisian waiter. Ramrod straight and slender and stiff as a wooden spoon. Shown to our table(s). He reads our table, we understand his professional stance. He and we somehow connect. We order, he pretends to love our selections… The food is everything we expect: classic innards, plats well sourced and executed.
When my entree appears, I tell him it is enough for 4 people; he cocks his head, looks at it and responds, “No, madam, only 2,” We are off to the races. He then looks ever so slyly at the adjacent table where two men are attacking sides of cow and whispers, “For 10”. He continues to check our table to make sure we are well tended. The food is well prepared and what we expect. The tab was minimal. We parted with meaningful smiles.
It is far from fine dining. But it created memorable vignettes we treasure above many more ambitious rooms. Will be one of our first returns.
