We’ve had delectable meals in New Orleans, and we “discovered” a wonderful, cozy little restaurant near Notre-Dame in Paris. Good food doesn’t have to be expensive. Street vendors cook yummy crepes on the Left Bank of Paris.
At an oceanside restaurant on Elba, two waiters filleted sea bass tableside while we watched the sunset. Exquisite! One of our most delightful meals was in Florence. The place was packed, but they squeezed us in next to the tiny kitchen where we could watch the chef while listening to fine singers.
I have to go only as far as Irvington to find good food. Dufours’ excellent breakfast includes scrumptious little potato cakes. The Roll With It Bakery has crusty baguettes, yummy desserts and excellent sandwiches. Jockamo’s pizza is renowned. I always order the Legend’s meatloaf and mac and cheese. (My own meatloaf, alas, resembles dog food!)
Tired after tromping through St. Peters Basilica, Vicki and we had thin, tepid soup and overcooked, tasteless food at a nearby cafeteria. Recently, we had an awful meal at a Mexican restaurant near Angola. The place was packed and our teenaged waitress couldn’t cope. Vicki didn’t get what she ordered; the green peppers in Tom’s meal were raw; and the chicken in my enchiladas tasted odd. It’s hard to imagine ruining refried beans, but they were a glutinous, tasteless mess.
A group celebrated the birthday of Bill’s niece, Lynn, at a well-known “Inn” in Grand Rapids. Bill and niece Carrie ordered rare prime rib. Carrie cut a bite and told the rather clueless waiter, “Take this back. It’s well done. I ordered rare.” Bill also sent his back. About fifteen minutes later, the waiter set a plate down in front of Bill who said, “Take this back! I’ll order something else.” It was the same piece of meat out of which Carrie had cut a bite!
The best hotel we’ve ever stayed at was in Florence across the street from the Ponte Vecchio. The room was lovely, the bathroom was state-of-the art and best of all we had our own private rooftop deck from which we could look out over the beautiful city and the hills of Tuscany.
Then there was the Hotel Mignon in Avignon, France. “Mignon” means sweetheart. While Jean ran an errand, I inspected her bed and called the front desk. “Get up here immediately! The sheets on our friend’s bed haven’t been changed.” To be fair, I recently found favorable comments on the Internet. However, one person did note unchanged sheets.
I slept on top of the bedspread in a hotel in an ante bellum mansion in New Orleans. Later a New Orleans native said, “That place is notorious for dirty linens!” Even worse was an inn near the French market where the fuses in our room blew repeatedly, and the blanket was soiled. Again, I slept on top of the bedspread.
Then there was the “Fairy Tale” Inn in the boonies near Nashville, Indiana. We arrived at dusk with English relatives for whom we’d rented the house across the street. It reeked of must, and our room was dusty. Our friend, Phyllis, said. “You actually stayed there? No one does that. People just go there to eat.”
Our experiences couldn’t compare with that of a prof whom I knew at I.U. He took his wife and young children to Paris. “Don’t you think we should reserve something?” “Don’t worry, cherie, there are hundreds of hotels in Paris.” They arrived at nine in the evening. They walked and walked. No vacancy. His wife became increasingly irritated, and their exhausted children whined. He finally found a room with one bed. His furious wife and their children lay under their coats on top of the bedspread. She made him sit up all night in a straight chair propped against the door. You see, the rooms rented by the hour!
P.S. I love it when readers share experiences. wclarke@comcast.net