OOooo La La, La Chene ~

Gil suprised me, his final night by our side. We'd already traversed the LA night scene by dining at Fogo du Chao. I had zero inkling that he'd pull a romantic date night out of his hat, a mere four nights later!

He informed me early in the day that I'd need to leave the evening free. I was more than happy to do so! It was mums the word on destination, though. We headed out on a country road, and soon, we were in the middle of no-man's-land, near desert conditions, pot-holes lining our path.

Homesteaders dotted the landscape here and there. An old, now closed for business gas station sat at the edge of the highway, and we continued. I was glad for the ride; glad for the company; and very much in denial that in a few hours, he'd be gone.

We rounded a curve, to find a large stone building. Much to my suprise, Gil began slowing down. That's when the sign caught me eye:


I felt hot tears well up in my eyes as he turned in the driveway. Reality was beginning to set in, and this suprise spoke volumes to me. A flood of memories from our dating days roared to life, as did an event just a week or so prior, where I'd made a desparate attempt to haul both Gil and Israel into a little French cafe` in West Hollywood to no avail. My heart was about to burst.

But it defied reason . . .this stone building? Could it truly be a French restaurant? After all, we were in the sticks. Here is a photo of the landscape, directly in front of, and beside the building on all sides:


A veritable oasis. A mirage of epic proportions. I decided to go along with the hallucination. In so doing, the place came alive! The pergola was heavy with vine, and atmosphere began to exude welcome at that moment.

It really was true. Gil and I were ushered in to a table for two [and a half!] in a swanky yet rustic dining room just adjacent to the open air patio, overlooking the gardens:

For the next two hours, we dined sumptuously on delicately flavored, authentic French cuisine. We alternated caretaking of Keller St. John, once he reached his limit of ability to stand his mom and pop making goo-goo eyes at one another. We marvelled at the Chocolate Mousse (that once upon a time, in a restaraunt far, far away, held my engagement ring) and saved my white pants when Keller grabbed my full-to-the-brim coffee cup of exquisite coffee.

It was paradise, and I didn't want it to end.

Yet end it must, as bags needed to be packed, and planes were waiting to be caught.

I'm missing my Frenchman today.

Perhaps, when he returns, we'll do a replay. And at that time, we'll leave Keller at home, that we might make eyes at one another uninteruppted.