“I have.When I was being transferred back home from Germany, I took some time off and travelled around France.I loved it.I’d go back at the drop of a hat.”
“That’s good to know.”Jamie smiled.“My father lives in France.He stays in Paris three or four days a week and then has a house, well...château in Seine-Saint-Denis.”
“Okay.”Mike tilted his head slightly and raised his eyebrows.“I did not know that.Do you visit often?”
“Not as often as I would like.”Jamie sighed.“I took Joesph with me two years ago.Then I went for Christmas last year.”
“I think if I had to pick a foreign country to live in, it would be France,” Mike said.“I like the culture and, of course, the food.They have...I don’t know how to say it.They really like their food.”
“It’s respect.”Jamie straightened his posture slightly as he spoke.“They respect their food.From the produce to the proteins.Even their butter is some of the best in the world.I won’t even go into the cheese they produce.Wine, bread, charcuterie, everything.Just the absolute best.”
“Yes!”Mike sat back.“That is exactly what it is.I hadn’t thought of it like that.Respect.”
“Your bottle of wine,” a young man about Jamie’s age presented the bottle to Mike.
Mike read the label.“Georges Duboeuf?”He read aloud, looking curiously at Jamie.He nodded to the guy, who was standing there staring at Jamie, but not saying anything.He proceeded to open the wine, removing the cork with little effort.He poured the sample for Mike.
“Good,” Mike said, nodding his head.
The server poured a glass for Jamie and then for Mike.Jennifer appeared with a standing ice bucket for the rest of the bottle.The young man who’d opened the wine wrapped the top of the bottle with a white cloth napkin, then placed the bottle in the ice.“Enjoy,” he said, nodding to both men and left.
“I knew that poor girl couldn’t open a bottle of wine,” Jamie chuckled and took a sip of the wine.He couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose.
“I agree,” Mike said.“That’s some cheap wine.I’ve never heard of that winery either.”
“I bet they send all the crap wine to the States,” Jamie laughed.“I can’t see a Frenchman drinking this.”
“Have you made any plans to go back to France?”Mike asked, wine glass in hand.
“No,” Jamie said flatly.“I had thought about sometime this summer, but all that got put on hold because...”
“Have you gentlemen made a decision?”Jennifer asked, again a slight smile on her lips.
Mike nodded for Jamie to go first.“I think I’ll have the house salad with bleu cheese dressing and the house strip steak, medium rare, no sauce, and the side of steamed vegetables.”
Mike had watched Jamie carefully as he ordered.“And I’ll have the house salad, also bleu cheese dressing.”He looked at the menu again.“The shrimp and grits special, please.”
“Very good.”Jennifer wrote the order in her little black book.“I’ll put your order in.I’ll be back with your salads.”She walked away.
“So, what did you do today?”Jamie asked, breaking the sudden silence.
Mike scowled.“Paperwork.The never-ending chore of paperwork.”He looked at Jamie.“The military and the government demand piles upon piles of paperwork.Even if everything is on the computer, they still want the damn stuff on paper.A forest of paper.”
“That sounds exciting,” Jamie laughed.“From the look on your face, I can tell you love your job.”
True to her word, Jennifer brought two house salads, a basket of sliced baguette bread, and packets of what Jamie would call fake butter.
Jamie took a piece of the bread and smelled it.It was missing that rich yeasty smell that he’d become accustomed to with the bread.He didn’t bother with the so-called butter and took a bite.
“Well?”Mike asked.
“It’s...flat.I don’t know how else to describe it.”
“Good word.”
They ate and chatted some about the diner, and a little more detail about what Mike’s job entailed.After they had finished their salads and the plates had been removed, Jennifer delivered their main course.“Enjoy.”
Mike took a bite of his shrimp and grits.“I don’t think this is supposed to be runny.”He grimaced.
