I'm back in the very quiet hotel. Quiet. Elegant. Quiet. Good. Quiet. Slightly expensive.
Did I mention quiet?
So let's begin at the beginning.
Beer. Bread. Fidel's butter. I can work with this.
Of course, the waitstaff looks even better, but no pics, not yet.
First, the customary wee nibble.
A piece of salmon sitting atop a ring of celery drenched in truffle sauce. I nearly ate the bowl it was in.
With a rose on the table.
He brought me roses!
My condiments. Think safer dining. I did order steak tartare.
The Tabasco is authentic. The rest, down to the catsup, is local. Go figure.
More zucchini soup. I am ready to marry that chef.
About halfway through, I found myself wanting to drop in some rough ground flakes of black pepper, but I resisted. After last night's excitement, it didn't seem prudent.
Yes, I am in lust. Twice.
Dinner is served!
I have died and gone to heaven.
They expect me to use the mayo on the fries. They might have another think coming.
Of course, there's not a drop of ranch dressing to be found.
Yeah, I double dipped.
Bear in mind that after tonight, it's another 36 hours before I sleep again, and tonight will be a three hour night, as was last night.
It'll also be a while before we see food again. Think leaving too early for breakfast tomorrow.
If Jim is not good to Jim, who will be?
Yes, this is what the deity requires for my dessert here, and I am all too happy to oblige.
And here is the handsome man who has made my life complete this evening.
And yes, I even asked to take that pic. Imagine that. And he didn't even try to slap me.
And to think that I don't even know his name, but then, we are far beyond names. Meanwhile, the pianist started with Brahms, moved to Elton John, and now she's on Für Elisé, and doing far better with it than I ever did on the guitar.
I might just swoon.
Yes, good waitstaff, regardless of country, culture, and language, know how to extract a good tip from an old queen, and I am all to happy to oblige any time I can.