Vive la France!

Ah, La Fête Nationale. The Emerald City is home to quite a prodigious population of Francophiles. It is little wonder at just how many Bastille Day fêtes blanketed the town. I began my evening at Vessel where I was expecting a bustling crowd of dapperly dressed patrons, conversing in français, but to my dismay my maison away from maison, wasn't all that crowded. I slowly sipped my Cocktail a la Louisiane and nibbled on Pomme de Terre aux Olives and Radis avec Beurre et le Sel del Fleur, while conversing with the few patrons who were at the bar, one a friend of mine, the other a familiar face from previous parties, most recently the Derby Day event, who was kind enough to complement me on my attire, both present and past. The aire, unfortunately, was not as festive as I was anticipating and whence I finished my drink and cleaned my plate I bid mon amis, adieu and set course for Post Alley and Café Campagne, where I have spent a number of Bastille Days before.

I could hear much merry-making half a block away and as I drew closer I espied a throng of fellow Francophiles abound in the alley. I crossed past the velvet ropes and maneuvered my way to the bar for a glass of crisp rosé, then, deftly sauntered through the jubilant crowd, over to where the action was taking place, not far from where I had lunched less than a week prior. I was just in time for the beginning of a burlesque performance, the kittenish vixen of a dancer, who served as a dance mentor to one of my girlfriends last fall, did an entertaining Édith Piaf-inspired number, complete with red roses and all, all strategically placed, of course.

Being in such close proximity of where I had celebrated my birthday, I reached out to my fellow friends to see whereabouts they were and yes, indeed, one was present, the other, was presently on their way. When I did manage to rendezvous with the first of the two I was much delighted to find her holding a bottle of rosé. It is true, birds of a feather, do indeed flock together. Close together in the narrow alley, a whirlwind of introductions were made in our oblong social circle with the question of the night posed to me numerous times: "So do you do yoga, is that how you know so-and-so?" Thankfully, I have done yoga in the past and know a thing or deux about the practice, but non, that was not how I became acquainted with my newly-found Francophile, foodie friends.

We talked health and yoga, local geography and the Emerald City, educational institutions, politics, sexuality, relationships and of course, food and wine. As the evening drew on, several of us needed more sustenance and I was given the task of selecting the next venue and steering all of us in the appropriate direction. It seemed everyone was rather content with me choosing Palomino for their recently revamped late night happy hour. Since I chose the venue, I was nominated to do the ordering: two more bottles of rosé we shared, (on top of the four we had consumed earlier,) along with Tuscan white bean dip, truffle deviled eggs, several flat bread pizzas, and my favorite for the night, Gorgonzola fries (which are not listed on the menu, but available upon request.) Half-way through our meal we played musical chairs with an even number of us rotating seats to converse and carry-on with those we hadn't spoken with before. No fireworks were required to complete our Bastille Day celebration, as our food, wine and wit provided all the sparkle and dazzle we could ever be in need of that night.