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My birthday was last weekend, and Mike's birthday is next weekend. So we celebrated with one especially nice dinner at Chez Nous. The restaurant has been around town for years and years, run by a couple who moved from Texas. It really does look French inside, with little wooden tables, and the long narrow dining room. One waitress wore knee high white laced boots and looked like she popped out of a Goddard film. Another girl with a cherry pendant on a chain talked with me about how beautiful Prague was.
Tonight I had the single best glass of wine I think I've tasted in my entire life. It was a 2004 Sancerre pinot noir, but I didn't note down the name any further than that. It was silky and perfect. I probably could have put away an entire bottle.
There was delicious bread with rich cold butter, a velvety smooth and light pate, pork rillettes, tiny black olives and cornichons, slices of cured meats. I had a bowl of the cucumber mint soup, cold and refreshing. Mike had the duck, in a rich demiglace with onions and mushrooms and walnuts. I ate a couple slices of the duck, with its perfectly rare center. Gods above, well prepared duck is like a revelation from the heavens. I ordered the monkfish, in an orange butter sauce with pecans and thin spring onion bits. It sounds like an odd combination of flavors, but it worked so well. There was a side salad of roasted tomato halves, squash and zucchini, and what I could only describe as a French hushpuppie. For dessert we had the not too sweet and wonderful chocolate mousse. It was quite possibly one of the best meals I've ever eaten anywhere.
The atmosphere was only slightly disturbed by the Texas biker rally happening literally right outside the restaurant. Every now and then I would look out the window on my right to see if the bartenders for the street party had taken off any more clothes. My question is, can you really call it a wet tshirt contest if none of the girls are actually wearing tshirts?
Mike is playing the intro of "Sweet Child of Mine" over and over. I didn't think I would ever be dating someone learning to play the guitar after my teenage years. I'm going to take off my shoes because my feet hurt, and watch movies. We went apartment hunting earlier today, and there are a couple very good prospects.
Tonight I had the single best glass of wine I think I've tasted in my entire life. It was a 2004 Sancerre pinot noir, but I didn't note down the name any further than that. It was silky and perfect. I probably could have put away an entire bottle.
There was delicious bread with rich cold butter, a velvety smooth and light pate, pork rillettes, tiny black olives and cornichons, slices of cured meats. I had a bowl of the cucumber mint soup, cold and refreshing. Mike had the duck, in a rich demiglace with onions and mushrooms and walnuts. I ate a couple slices of the duck, with its perfectly rare center. Gods above, well prepared duck is like a revelation from the heavens. I ordered the monkfish, in an orange butter sauce with pecans and thin spring onion bits. It sounds like an odd combination of flavors, but it worked so well. There was a side salad of roasted tomato halves, squash and zucchini, and what I could only describe as a French hushpuppie. For dessert we had the not too sweet and wonderful chocolate mousse. It was quite possibly one of the best meals I've ever eaten anywhere.
The atmosphere was only slightly disturbed by the Texas biker rally happening literally right outside the restaurant. Every now and then I would look out the window on my right to see if the bartenders for the street party had taken off any more clothes. My question is, can you really call it a wet tshirt contest if none of the girls are actually wearing tshirts?
Mike is playing the intro of "Sweet Child of Mine" over and over. I didn't think I would ever be dating someone learning to play the guitar after my teenage years. I'm going to take off my shoes because my feet hurt, and watch movies. We went apartment hunting earlier today, and there are a couple very good prospects.