a tale of two cafes

There is a lovely cafe in Dallas where W and I go for quiet brunches. We take a bottle of rosé, knowing to call and order the Florentine quiche ahead of arrival or we severely risk missing out. This quiche is old world; Paris driven in my mind. 

We settle in, never in a hurry.  Customers are cozied up to their thoughts or their laptops, seemingly as relaxed as we are, while others come in with or without dogs in tow, to grab and go. W often sketches. Maybe a cafe interior, or by my insistence one afternoon, the wine bar across the street. I peruse: the pastry counter, the ever changing cooling racks, the dozens of sandwiches being prepped in the kitchen, and sometimes the eclectic shelves of china, knick knacks, and books. 

That is how at Leila Cafe I discovered the novel, The Last Days of Cafe Leila.

I quickly secured a copy at the library and though I haven't quite finished it, I want to share a small but moving paragraph from its early pages. The about-to-be newlyweds, Zod and Pari, unaware of (more) tragedies to come, are enjoying blissful hours together.

So began their habit each morning of walking down to the sea, where Zod would spread his jacket close to the hem of the water and they would sit and eat their breakfast of bread and cheese and Pari would peel them an orange. Even this tiny resting of the rinds inside one another in her palm told Zod of the orderly home they would make together. With their life in her hands, Zod felt he would never again feel afraid.

The author, Donia Bijan, expresses so beautifully how a small gesture can represent or suggest something much larger, and possibly lend unexpected rewards. 

There is something about an orderly home that resonates deeply for me. Order grounds me. I think better in a clean and arranged space, it's true. I also crave routine for the same reason. My morning cappuccino in one of the thirty-year-old cups with chipped saucers is somehow an assurance that everything is going to be okay that day. If my physical space is in order, I can take on and relish anything in my path, from spontaneity to fervor.

Leila Cafe and Cafe Leila - life and art once again appearing in my life in such a sweet and delicious way. 

please, join me

I can’t remember W’s exact words but there was honesty and awe in her voice when she spoke.

It was recent, over one of the dinners which we've come to enjoy having at the round high-top in the office room we now call The Café, since hanging a half curtain at the window for evening privacy. It fits us; a tucked away table for two, within the bistro.

Our dinners are like Spoke and I had, like W has long wished for and now has with me, and like Jacques Pepin describes of his own such ritual with his late wife.

Wine is consumed and conversation never lulls. The dinners are leisurely no matter what. Time waits for us. Seems sometimes to stand still.

“You treat yourself as a guest in your own bistro,” is what she said, full of wonderment as if she was outside looking in; not wanting to be like me, but intrigued by what she sees.

It is true.

If alone, I take the time to prepare what it takes to eat well, even if, and often, in its simplest form. Well does not mean extravagant, but delicious, good at its worst. That I plate and serve in a beautiful manner is what I do whether for my guests or myself.

The effort may just be my way of respecting the food. It, by nature, is giving me so much pleasure and good health, meals should be acknowledged, even celebrated. Handwashing pretty plates is not a chore.

I know of perhaps only one like-minded person and that is my friend, Grethe. Our birthdays are just a day apart which may account for the similarities. It’s a nice, albeit unique connected feeling despite the distance between us.

Much like the pleasure of a great stemmed glass for wine, attention to detail sets a tone which is touted often yet I never tire of it: Life is short, use the good china.

Eat the cake too, I'll add.