A couple of nights before we left for Paris my sister came to my house for dinner and told me she heard a story on NPR about this man in Paris that invites guests for dinner every Sunday evening at his house. “Do you want to go, sounds interesting, don’t you think?” This did sound interesting, it could be very interesting or not, but either way it surely would be an experience. Jim requested that anyone that wants to come to his house send him an e-mail and tell something about yourself, pressure was on to say something short and creative to get his attention. Waking up in the morning I opened up my e-mail and there was a response from Jim. He said that there was a waiting list for the Sunday night dinner which he added us to and we should call him at noon on Sunday to see if anyone had cancel making room for us. He also invited us for a glass of wine sometime during the week if we had time. I guess the e-mail sparked his interest.
I called exactly at noon on Sunday, Jim answered and said we were on, and he looked forward to meeting us at 8. After riding 3 different lines on the Paris Metro we arrive following his directions, taking a left and going 30 steps, then a right 11 steps, well, you get the idea, we arrived at the large green gates. He had given us the code to punch in which we did and the the gates opened to a long, very dark, crushed stone walkway. We continued with our directions in hand illuminated with our cell phone, we found his door. We were early, miscalculating how long the trip would take but decided that he probably could use some help, there were 60 people coming.
One of the finest lessons I ever learned in my life was from my
grandmother, "Mamie." We were having dinner at Harry's Bar in Venice
many years ago on a warm summer night in July. My parents had given me,
as a graduation gift from high school, a month in Europe. I had gone
through numerous brochures and found the perfect trip, 10 countries in
28 days. I was exhausted on day 22 but Mamie was quick to remind me, as
I was slouched in my chair, my head nodding dangerously towards what is
probably the most expensive spaghetti in the world, that most people
would break their left arm to have the opportunity to have dinner on a
Saturday night at Harry's Bar in Venice. I sat up straight in my chair
and have always remembered her poignant words.
