I've always counted myself among the luckiest people on earth; I was born in the postwar economic boom in the United States, I had good parents, a good education, dear friends, a fun working life, good health (and good health insurance for the few times I needed it), a happy love life and relative affluence. What more could I ask for? Every now and then, however, I get even more royally spoiled.
This past week was one like that. My Fairy Godson was up from Los Angeles visiting us and My Beloved came along when we went to the little town of Larkspur for lunch and a poke through the shops. I am blessed with menfolk who actually like poking through shops - how many women can make that claim? See what I mean about being lucky?
After a pretty productive shopping trip, we stopped at The Left Bank for lunch. It was warm so we sat in the shade outdoors on their patio with light traffic rumbling by and enjoyed attentive service and, for me, a simply delicious lunch.
At the Left Bank, they have plates of patés and sausages or plates of cheese but if you smile and ask nicely, they will mix and match them. They seemed to be in to spoiling me as well. I chose their country paté, slices of sausage, and a Brillat-Savarin cheese that was absolutely swoony it was so rich and slightly stinky. The waiter brought me plenty of thin, crisp toasts in an immaculate white paper cone and checked back later to make sure I had enough. Plated with a nice grainy mustard and chunky chutney, some cornichons, olives, and radishes, it was perfect - enough to share bites and still satisfy my post-shopping peckishness.
We sat and chatted for quite a while, l'il ol' me, replete and sandwiched between two handsome men. As I said, spoiled rotten.