Today, I had a good roasted chicken.
Because today, I had lunch at Bouchon.
Bouchon is Thomas Keller’s other restaurant in Yountville, CA. You know. The one that’s not The French Laundry. The one that only has one Michelin star. (Come to think of it, I’m not sure why I even deigned to eat there, what with the paucity of stars. But I suppose a girl can’t be fancy all the time.)
I should preface this by saying that my Big Wedding Weekend started somewhat horrendously… with me wiping away tears on the train from the San Francisco airport to the rental car garage, all while forcing myself to yawn repeatedly in the hopes that the other train passengers would think my eyes were watering because I was tired, and not that I was crying like a baby because my plane to San Francisco had been delayed three hours, causing me to miss the wine tasting I’d taken the whole day off work to attend, and sending me into a spiral of self-pity about how much it sucks to travel alone when things go wrong because there’s no one to commiserate with or bitch to or make laugh.
Plus, going to a wedding alone.
So then I decided I would eat sugar. I was already planning to eat sugar for Thanksgiving. (There’s no way I’m not having chocolate pecan pie. Not unless my hands fall off and my teeth fall out, and even then, that’s what blenders and straws are for, my friends. Blenders and straws.)
And I must say, the sugar decision perked me right up. So over the course of the last four days, I've had a bar of chocolate, half a pint of Ben & Jerry's, and a rice crispy treat. Plus two little pastries at the wedding. And then, today, I had profiteroles at Bouchon.
They were perfect.
(Lest you feel I’ve turned into a complete and utter slob, I also went for a long walk/jog in Calistoga, took a Pilates class, and did two, count 'em two, sessions with the personal trainer.)
This is all to say that ending my trip at Bouchon was a perfect button. Or maybe a perfect arc. Friday was rotten, Saturday started moving things in the right direction (I’ll write more about that tomorrow), Sunday delivered the most wonderful wedding ever created (also more about that coming), and today the roasted chicken at Bouchon brought it all home.
I haven't quite figured out what's so special about roasted chicken. It's so simple, at least on the surface, and yet so easy to get horribly wrong.
Which, now that I think about it, is a lot like life.
And it must be said: if the rest of my life were as good as Bouchon's roasted chicken, I would certainly die happy.
Is there a better way to start a meal than bread and butter? I'm gonna go with no. And can't you just HEAR the crust of this bread crunch?
And then this beet salad with persimmon...
Yum. Big, big yum. And the chicken...
Ah, the chicken. The opposite of tears.
And it didn't make one bit of difference that I was eating alone.
On a totally different topic, with the exception of one black blouse and a silk sheath, I wore everything I packed! Meaning I will be a hopeless over-packer forever and ever.
Do you enjoy eating out by yourself? (If you haven't done it in awhile, I recommend it!)