You know what I am supposed to be doing right now? Working on my dissertation. Instead, I am procrastinating while waiting anxiously for my chair to send back comments to a really rough draft of chapter four. I've even rewritten chapter three, to the degree that I can, but I am reluctant to start chapter five. If she hates four, most of the work I do on five will be for nothing. I could continue my scour of the library databases for new and exciting articles and dissertations, but instead I'm writing about my weekend. So there, stupid dissertation gods.
J is a bit of a language savant. It drives me nuts. See, I'm the one with the good memory. He, quite literally, can't find his way home sometimes. I don't get how you can speak Spanish after two weeks of lessons, but can't find the local grocery store. Anyway, French is his strongest foreign language, so I picked out a French film for us to see last Saturday night. It got good reviews and I knew he'd enjoy listening to it. Roman de Gare was a nice little mystery with compelling stories and some good scenery. Sometimes watching non-US stuff is great because of how normal the actors appear. You know, they have wrinkles around their eyes and slightly crooked teeth. And the French seem to like the really close face shots which emphasize every little pimple. Same is true for MI-5 (a series called Spooks in the UK - highly recommended for the social commentary, watching the UK's approach to dealing with terrorism, and the physically imperfect, but excellent actors). My only complaint is that the subtitlers were clearly French. Sometimes their English word choices were more hilarious than accurate.
The movie was at the Edina, so we decided it would just be easiest to eat around the corner at Salut, a pretend French brasserie brought to us by the people who also own Chino Latino, Muffuletta, Manny's, etc. This place drove me nucking futs. First, the waiter was one of those super, obnoxious, cheerful types. You know the ones, who might just sit down next to you if you give them the room. Then, when he brought out the amuse-bouche he very slowly explained to us what it was. In a manner that was so condescending, I wanted to throw the food at him. We know what an amuse-bouche is and, even if we didn't, he did not need to speak as if we were not native English speakers, in that very hesitant voice. And sadly, that little piece of cucumber with mustard and a bit of sausage was the best thing about the full meal.
I started with a frisee salad with bacon and egg. I don't like hard boiled eggs, so I gave mine (one) to J. The bacon was good, but there was very little dressing to cut the bitterness of the frisee, so I left most of that. Then, I ordered a croque monsieur. Which is basically, a hot ham sammy served on good French bread, covered with melted cheese. The bread and cheese were hits, but the ham was so salty it was inedible. I left it on the plate. J also had a salad and a sammy. They were fine. He is easier to please when it comes to "cheap" food than I am. He is pickier when he is spending really big money on a meal. My sammy came with fries, which are supposed to be the best in town, as touted by some local magazine. They're not. Really skinny is fine, but only if they're crispy. These weren't. I got a bowl full of fry mush. Mmmm. Not. We also both ordered one drink. I had a yummy grapeish martini and he had something non-alcoholic. Okay, I admit, I didn't look at the price of my martini, but when we got the bill I almost threw up. I was so disturbed, I was tempted to ask for a box for my lump of ham figuring I could put it in soup or something. MY MARTINI WAS MORE EXPENSIVE THAN MY SAMMY! WTF is that about? Yes, I know it is my fault for not being more attentive. I could have lived with it if the meal was good, but it really wasn't. We just spent way too much on a crappy meal, which was capped off by an almost-$11 martini. I'm still sick about it.
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