Paul Buckingham - Philosophy and life in general

We went to a restaurant in the mediaeval part of Annecy, at the side of one

of the canals. We go there quite often. There is an ancient sluice gate immediately outside covered in flowers. As you look along the canal you see, outlined against the sky, the mountains which mark the beginning of the Alps. In winter they are covered in snow, but this was the summer and people were sitting outside enjoying the warmth of the evening and the late sun turning the mountains red while they ate their meals. As we went in, we were spotted by the head waiter who came and shook hands with us. We hadn't booked; all the outside tables were taken and so we were seated inside. All the French doors along the side of the restaurant were open, however, and so it made little difference to us. It was warm, but not too warm.

The restaurant was nearly full. To my left there was a man, with a woman obviously rather younger than him, whom he seemed to be trying to impress by talking about how successful his business was. Behind me was another table of two where the man's voice betrayed the fact that he had enjoyed a lifetime of smoking Gauloises. A table of four in front and to my right consisted of, as far as I could judge, grandmother, daughter, son-in-law and grandson. It was the daughter who attracted my attention. Every time I looked up, I saw that she was talking. And not just talking, but talking quickly and without any pauses, although by some miracle her plate was emptying at the same time. Occasionally someone else at the table would say something, but they were only allowed a sentence or two and then it was her turn again. They had that resigned look, that set of the shoulders which said that they had long since learned to accept their role as extras in her drama.

Behind them, as part of the far wall of the restaurant, was a very large aquarium. It had lots of different fish in it, some big and some small. It was the little fish which fascinated me. They passed between the left shoulder of the son-in - law and the back of a lady sitting at another table right by the aquarium. Every time I looked at the aquarium the little fish, perhaps 15 of them, passed in a shoal from one person's shoulder to the other, instinctively trying to resemble a big fish and so ward off the dangers of the seas. If only they realised that the rules of the ocean are reversed in a restaurant. In a restaurant, it is more dangerous to be a big fish, for it is the big fish which we eat and not the minnows. If I could somehow convey this to them, they could breathe a collective bubble of relief, get their deck chairs out and enjoy watching us perform instead

The owner of the restaurant remembers us, as we happened to go there just after he took it over and we had a long discussion with him about a sole meunière which was tougher than it ought to have been. He is very much front of house and obviously believes in chatting to the customers, or at least those whom he recognises, kissing the hands of the woman, shaking hands with the men and patting them amiably on the shoulder as he passes by.

The waiters are all very professional. They move quickly, taking orders, bringing out the food, pouring the wine and removing the plates from the tables. Sometimes they act independently and sometimes they emerge from the kitchen in little shoals, bringing out meals for an entire table at the same time. They never stop. But where do they go out of season when the restaurant is only half full and there are fewer staff serving? Do they migrate South with the birds?

And then there were the fish out of water - an American couple. From the passes which lay on their table, they were apparently participants in Annecy's "Week of the animated film". They ordered their meal, in American, just before us. They ate the first two courses and then became increasingly agitated whilst waiting for the dessert. Suddenly at 9:30 pm the man got up, said in a loud voice that he had to go as he had to be at an event and just went, leaving his poor wife to deal with the aftermath. The people at the tables around expressed their disapproval of his action saying (in French) that his behaviour was ‘unacceptable', although he understood not a word. Just as he left, his dessert arrived - an elaborate chocolate soufflé - and so it was taken back to the kitchen. The wife paid the bill and then, realising that she had paid for the soufflé, asked for it to be returned to her. It was brought back covered in aluminium foil and she left the restaurant bearing it in front of her. As she left I offered my sympathy to their waiter for their behaviour. He replied sardonically: "They confused us with a fast food outlet", and gave a Gallic shrug.

29 June 2007

Paul Buckingham