Thursday, November 11, 2010

October 11. Guess Where Rosie Is.

Rosie is ecstatic. Rosie is THIS CLOSE to Culinary Nirvana. She and Mr. Hawthorne are in Yountville, California. Mr. Hawthorne has no idea of the significance of this.
What IS Yountville? Yountville is a small town, population 3480, elevation 110 feet, on a scenic stretch of SR 29 in Napa Valley. It was founded by a North Carolina fur trader, George Yount, in 1835. Yount is believed to have planted the first grape vines in Napa Valley. You GO, George! Wait. We're from North Carolina. We like wine. It's kismet! "What's in Yountville," you ask?
Why ONLY The French Laundry.
Rosie calls the number of The French Laundry. 707-944-2380 Like she could actually get a rezzie. I get a recording and they're booking 2 months in advance. This does not deter me.
I want Mr. Hawthorne to park the truck outside and just wait for the opening of the restaurant. I'm sure they'll have a cancellation. Or at least I could go out to the influx of diners and offer them cash for their reservation. Money talks. And I imagine there's gotta be at least one guy out there who's being dragged here by his wife or girlfriend and doesn't want to go and thinks it's absolutely ridiculous to pay this much for dinner (as Mr. Hawthorne does). I know the price is outrageous but I still want to go. I want to see what it's all about. It's not like I'd be making a habit out of this.
I considered parking outside The French Laundry at dinner time with a bag from MacDonald's or BurgerKing. Chomping down on the contents. Tears trickling down my face. Grease dripping off my chin. Gazing wistfully at the lucky elite entering The French Laundry, ready to embark upon their dining experience. I SO wanted to be one of The Chosen Ones. Alas, it was not meant to be.
I had aspirations. I had a vision. And my vision was dashed. I was crushed. Mr. Hawthorne had enough of Yountville, or Yuppieville as he called it. He wanted outta this place. I made pitiful squeaks, whimperings, and moans as we drove away from the French Laundry and on to Fairfield, California, for the night. Woe is Wosie.
Goodbye French Laundry. Maybe we'll cross paths again.
Sniff. Sniff.


Marilyn said...

I had a feeling that was your semi-destination. I know I'd never get Mr. P to agree to go there either.

Kathy said...

This is where we part ways. The French Laundry has never appealed to me. Ever. But I'm glad you got to see it. And I'm glad you didn't spend all that money.

tortietat said...

I'll be if you had told them you are THE Rosie Hawthorne of Kitchens are Monkey Business they would have let you in.

Rosie Hawthorne said...

Mar, Mr. H. would've gone. On my tab. That's no prob. I'd just have to suffer through the "pretentious bullshit" blather I'd have to listen to.

Kathy, I'd just like to see what the hoopla is all about. As a food blogger, I'd like to eat there and write about it. Oh - and it's just money.

Rosie Hawthorne said...

And Tortie?

You are SOOO right!

SweetPhyl said...

Rosie, I'm reluctant to mention that I might coulda helped ya out in the rezzie dept., with a bit o' notice, but I don't want ya to feel bad, so I won't say a thing.;) My niece went last Winter with her husband & when she got home, I made her sit down for over two hours and describe every morsel. She was blown away and said it lives up to the hype...and she LOVED the salmon mousse cone. If I ever grow up and get to follow in the fabulous Hawthorne's footsteps on their cross country tryp of a lifetime, I WILL eat at the French Laundry, even if I have to take Keller hostage to get my reservation.

Rosie Hawthorne said...

I'll just have to plan another trip.