For the last three weeks, I've barely eaten any great quantity of food. There were four days when I wasn't allowed to eat anything at all, but even without that restriction, I have only picked at my meals for a while. Tonight, I am absolutely certain I made up for lost time. Twice a year, dozens of the area restaurants, across the several cities that make up the greater metro area here, participate in Restaurant Week. Traditionally they put out a prix-fixe menu, usually three courses for $30 for dinner. (I saw where that might change, and that makes me sad. There are lots of restaurants we could never enter for 30 bucks under other conditions.) Tonight, one of my best good girlfriends and I went to someplace new that we had never heard of before we went searching through the menus, trying to find three full courses that I could be confident were gluten free. The new restaurant was a small French place whose name and decor were based on the life and art of Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, once of my favorite artists. When I realized the place we settled on was a tiny little stall in a strip mall next to a giant grocery store, I worried that it would not turn out to be worth the trip, but it exceeded all my expectations. I kept meaning to try to be that guy, taking pictures of my food, but I was so hungry, and it was so good, I kept forgetting about the camera until I was halfway through my dinner. I started with a frisee salad with sherry vinaigrette, moved on to an herb-roasted chicken in a reduction sauce that should have been illegal it was so good, and even though I was ridiculously full by that point, I finished with the course that brought me to this restaurant, a lavender creme brulee. I broke a few rules of wine pairing and settled on a bold red "Super Tuscan" blend with everything. It was perfect. For the record, my dear friend said her mushroom soup and boeuf bourguignon were heavenly as well.
I wanted to steal some of the decorations from the restaurant, most especially the room divider screen of the advertising poster of the couple drinking absinthe. I've always had a thing for Toulouse-Lautrec's art. When I was a senior in college, a huge traveling collection of his work was on loan to the Denver Museum of Art, and to take advantage of that, CU had a full semester class devoted to just HdTL. I still have my textbook from that class up in my library. It was one of my favorite classes of all time, although I can never unlearn what bodily fluid that strange little man used in place of gesso on at least one occasion. Some things I didn't need to know.
The art hanging all around me brought back another of my memories. Years and years ago, back when sharing music between friends involved putting together mixes on tapes and later cds, I participated in a few exchanges with my circle of friends, the ones who later evolved into my fantasy football league. One year, the cover art I created for my mix cd was a direct ripoff of several images from the HdTL exhibition book, which were supposed to represent the voices in my head that I felt had inspired my musical selections. (It was all the songs that I considered earworms around that time.) I used watery acrylic paints to do sketches of several of the faces I liked best. I don't know how it would have looked if I had slowed down and tried to do exact copies. When I look at it, in the lines and curves of the faces, I see my own hand as clearly as if I was looking at the sloppy handwriting I use when I take notes quickly in class. I miss making music mixes. Digital playlists just don't have the same impact. It's a dying art.
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