Boats Ventimiglia Blair Pessemier Acrylic/linen 13 x 21.5 33 x 55
Celeriac Laurie Fox Pessemier Acrylic/wood 13 x 6.25 33 x 16cm
Turnips Laurie Fox Pessemier Acrylic/wood 8 x 10" 20 x 25 cm SOLD
Artnotes: Lots of Lace
As the Tour Montparnasse glows orange, I sit down to
write. I am up these days by six; I
often lie in bed until seven, because almost nothing is open that early. I have big thoughts lying beneath my down
comforter.
I am thinking about the restaurant where we had lunch some
Sundays ago. We had just emerged from
the Tunnel at Frejus on our way to Cervo (48 euros and change, grazie) and the
traffic had stepped up to a harrowing pace.
Sunday drivers? Think again. It was more like formula one. We’d been up since 3AM so it was clearly time
for a drink and a solid meal.
We pulled off the highway (thank you Jesus) at a little
berg. It was a hill town, like so many,
in the foothills of the Alps. We walked
around and found the only thing open to be a pizza house, run by a friendly north
African. Do you serve vino – of course not,
and he sent us to the hotel: Albergo
Ristorante Regis in Fossano.
The hotel dining room was a scene from an old time Italian
movie. There was not a surface left
uncovered by lace: cut work, crochet,
embroidered. This was a place with lots
of time on its hands. The tables were of
major size, as one sees in Italian restaurants:
four tops which were a good 60 inches (near two meters) in length, and
plenty wide, for all the dishes, glasses and heavy silverware. I was underdressed, of course, having left
Paris in plaid slacks and an old-underwear-white turtleneck. We had a ravenous Harika with us, and a bag
of rabbit livers in my pocketbook.
We were escorted to a table under the gaze of two other
tables of diners. The two waitresses, blonde-haired sisters with a combined age
of 150, were dressed in uniform: lace of
course, but completely black. And as a
nod to fashion, they were both wearing boots.
They were extremely nice to us, and I felt at home immediately.
We were handed menus
(no prices, which is always scary). We
were encouraged to choose a first and second course and she would show us the
bill before she put the order in. We
did. I had a risotto with porcini
mushrooms, which were in season, followed by a braciola of veal. Blair chose the spaghetti, and another veal
dish. We ordered wine, which came from
that region, perhaps the vineyard of the hotel, which was only 10 euros a
bottle. With the road in mind, we
stopped at one.
Harika got a lovely bowl of water, much needed. I snuck the livers, by this time on the verge
of pate, out of the bag, gently feeding her lobes one by one, all under the
guise of the lace tablecloth. My hands,
which I wiped on the super-white starched napkin, looked like I’d been digging
in dirt. Miraculously, everything was
ok. It was a harbinger of our delightful
vacation to come.
