Elegant Solitude of Style

I was in that mood. That mood to be alone.  I get hungry for moments of solitude, time to think about that week's events and replay all my fond memories of friendship. Ironic, isn't it? Begging for time alone to think about time with others. After work, I got home and freshened up. I slipped on a long, ankle-length black dress, one that hung loosely on my shoulders with thin straps. After brushing through my newly cut hair, angling the edges around the curve of my face, I adorned some small diamond earrings and painted a smooth layer of deep red lipstick across my lips. My black, 4-inch heels waited for me on the way out. With a slight twist to my lips, I grabbed my little black and gold clutch. And with a last glance into the body-length mirror hanging on the doorway wall, I thought to myself, "It's been a while."

I had made a reservation a bit earlier in the afternoon. It took a little over half an hour to arrive at the restaurant, so on the way I played the music of my beloved Michael Bublé, humming along to his version of "Feeling Good" from his 2005 album It's Time. The night was approaching. The sun was creeping its way down to the horizon by the time I pulled in for valet parking. What an interesting evening this would be!

Café Dupont - Birmingham, Al

Logo taken from restaurant Twitter account

The space was elegant. I walked in and already could tell there was structure in this dimly lit room, almost a sense of rigidity. They seated me at my small table next to the wall and quickly proceeded to provide the menu. I took a few moments deciding how adventurous I wanted to be. Choosing an appetizer and entree is not only a hard decision in that one must consider the blending of flavors between dishes, but one also does not want to overdo the eclecticism of style. Too much adventure is too rushed, too forced. To try something new with a small taste or to savor for only a brief moment allows for reflection and permits one to brand the memory.

I settled for something novel in my appetizer, choosing the cast iron-seared foie gras. I had never had liver before of any sort, so to try this fattened duck liver was stepping out on a limb. The foie gras was set on top of this pastry shell that contained a goat cheese spread and some wine-poached pears. The side of the plate was lined with a currant and caper relish, with a couple of blackberries to maintain a bit of sweetness. I fully appreciated this dish as it burst with flavor. It was served at a perfect temperature, and the firmness of the pears with the slick texture of the seared liver was a beautiful combination.

For my entree, I decided on a more familiar farm to table vegetable plate. Serving a plate full of only vegetables though is an art form in and of itself. Sometimes, I find cooking meat to be an easier task than preparing the perfect vegetable. Like any other food, they have to be cooked in such a way not only to retain their flavor but to preserve their texture. This plate was full of all different kinds: carrots, potatoes, beets, okra, corn, field peas, cherry tomatoes, asparagus, squash, green tomatoes, and turnips. When I sampled a first bite of this plate, I felt that I had actually met summer with my palette. This turned out to be my favorite dish of the evening, because each vegetable was uniquely prepared, and the flavor only magnified as I headed deeper into the dish. 

After my plate was taken away, I ended up waiting about fifteen to twenty minutes for my waitress to return. I am not sure why it took so long, but I was patient as I knew one person among many brought less attention. During this time I looked around and watched the staff work on preparing the tables, and I watched the visitors as they conversed with their friends and family over food. The restaurant's decadence was phenomenal! 

As I mentioned before though, there was a stiffness about the place that distracted me. I watched as waiters and waitresses walked by and handled dishes with routine, draping a white cloth over dirty glassware and plates before returning them to the kitchen. I watched as many visitors filed in and refused to look at their servers who took care of their needs, forgetting perhaps that it was truly their privilege to be there. Honestly, it saddened me a bit, for as good as the food was, there seemed to be a lack of passion in the atmosphere. Almost as if all that was enclosed within these doors was a part of a ritual and no longer an art.

There was one moment during the evening when I caught one of the waiters in a bit of conversation. He stiffly had walked up to my table to serve me some decaf drip coffee that I had ordered with dessert, and I paused for a moment to look at him and ask if he enjoyed working there. At first, he did not hear me and routinely turned to inquire again after what I had asked. After repeating my question, for the first moment of the evening, I watched his shoulders relax as he heaved a small sigh. "It's okay," he said. He went on to describe how it was his first job and that he enjoyed the service duties. His voice trailed off as if he had more to say, but for the sake of the restaurant's reputation withheld his tongue. I never did get his name, but this young man liberated this visit for me as it was the first genuine look and smile I received that evening, however brief though that it was. 

To finish off the dinner, I had the Meyer's lemon creme brulee with a thick butter cookie and some blueberries and blackberries. This sour lemon bite with the bitter drop of coffee wrapped up my evening. It brought everything to a savoring close. It was elegant, but even in the heat of summer, I could feel the chill of the restaurant's structure. Two and half hours later after walking out of the doors of Café Dupont, I realized I honestly could have not asked to have felt more alone. My outfit was fitting. The dark night outside greeted me with the same chill I had felt enclosed within the walls. The food had been outstanding, and I knew the memory would last. But which memory would it be? The stark contrast of decadent flavor on my plate or the haunting voice of my servers asking, "Is there anything else I can do for you?"