I’m not going to Paris this summer. The world situation being what it is, I’m not going to visit Rome or Istanbul or the White Cliffs of Dover either. I’ll just have to be content to read about them.
I’m a sucker for travel memoirs, imagining myself a silent companion along all of those interesting roads. My latest reverie is called “Delicious Days in Paris.” The author takes the position of a “flaneur,” a person who takes strolling through such unfamiliar places as a serious calling. Flaneurs meander, they browse, they stop to smell the roses, or in this case, the baguettes. Each chapter presents new neighborhood discoveries, small vineyard wines, rose and lavender macarons.
I’m approaching this book as a self-improvement manual because I have a tendency to latch onto a handful of restaurants and visit them in lockstep rotation. I order the soup and salad combo or, on days when I feel my calorie count can handle it, the soup and grilled cheese sandwich, neither too exciting, but reliably good.
Venturing out is always a risk. I might not like the restaurant better, but then again, I might. I’ll never know unless I venture, so I decided to launch a delicious days project of my own. I began my adventure on a quest for a good fish sandwich and I’ve found two in places I might not have thought to try. My husband, Harold, has launched a parallel search for the perfect burger, and he’s had success as well. The challenge has been to find both sandwiches at the same location.
Lately, I suspect that Harold is also doing a bit of travel “jonesing” because his new online restaurant searches are veering off in non-burger directions. He started with something like “Barbecue Places Across the TriState Area,” which wasn’t that big a stretch but now I think he just sits down at the computer and types in, “Odd Places My Wife Probably Won’t Like.” Still, I try to be supportive and ride along, figuring that if things go horribly wrong, I can always get a baked potato. How much could they do to that?
As expected, not all of the places have been winners, but then again, some of them have. I had the best falafel I’ve ever eaten in a place I would have driven right past. I had a vegan Cobb salad that was so good that I continued the theme with a piece of carrot cake instead of my go-to chocolate.
This probably doesn’t qualify me for a Bizarre Foods of Courage badge, but for me, it was a start. It’s not exactly a flaneur experience, either, because we have to drive every place we go. Technically, we could walk, but if we wanted to be there for lunch on Tuesday, we’d have to set out Monday around noon and a meal would have to be downright amazing to be worth all that.
Maybe next year we’ll get to Paris. Or maybe the Parisians will come here. Barbecue, cheese biscuits, fried green tomatoes – there were no chapters in the “Delicious Days” book about those. Or maybe Harold and I need to write our own book, “Delicious Days in Decatur, Amazing Eating in Alabaster, Cheerful Chowing Down in Chelsea. Caveat: Rent a Car.”
Either way, get ready, folks, Harold and I are making the lunch circuit. Maybe I’ll come across a place that makes lavender macarons. If you find one, let me know. I’ll stroll over and get a dozen…from my car, which I’ll drive to the parking lot.
