Table Talk

We enter the French restaurant Bouchon in downtown Asheville, and it feels like New York. The simple elegance mixed with cozy and cosmopolitan energy brings to mind Le Singe Vert in Manhattan and Bar Tabac in Brooklyn.

During my last years in New York I had a little bit of coin and a corporate life, and occasionally enjoyed a dinner such as this with a group of women. Tonight however, I’ve come solely for libations. I hope the ladies at the table won’t notice that,
1.) I’m not ordering food
2.) That my breath smells like cheese and salty meats. (My husband and I have just previously eaten dinner in the form of a Christmas care package we’ve just received from The Wisconsin Cheese Man.)

It’s not that it’s so awful being broke. I just hate having to explain myself. And really, doesn’t everyone just want to belong? I set myself up with a Stella Artois, and try to remember that I’ve made these life changes on purpose.

It’s my good friend’s birthday, and five of us ladies are gathered to celebrate her. There is much laughter and many “so what’s going on with you?” s, and a wonderful feeling of community that a handful of unique women can conjure when enjoying each other’s company. I don’t even smell the pomme frites anymore.

In true Bohemian Asheville fashion, there is talk of thrift store shopping, “you got that beautiful sweater shawl for four dollars?” Talk of Yoga, centering the body and chakras. One has a hybrid car. One tells us about a green building project that her husband has organized; another’s husband is making his own flavored simple syrups at home. There is an invitation to go Christmas Eve caroling. How next year we all need to buy tickets to the Christmas jam downtown because they have the best music. And, “Isn’t the organic market downtown wonderful?” Yes! Yes! Yes! These are a lot of the reasons my husband and I are drawn to Asheville.

The lady sitting on my right I’ve never met. Let’s call her Carminda, because it’s weird, pretty, and unreal. Just like she was. As smaller conversations break away at the table, Carminda shares with me a moment of discovery she had several years ago that she and her husband should be divorced. They were standing in a used bookstore and ran into a woman friend. Carminda could see the woman’s aura and it was mingling with her husband’s aura in a way that made it plain that they belonged together. ... ... Okay. I like weird people. I really do. But perhaps that moment crossed the line for me and I longed for some hard edged New York realism. The good news is, I'm a million miles away from Manolo Blahniks, investment bankers, The George Washington Bridge and Rockefeller Center.

According to my companions, the food was fabulous. Of course they offered me tastes of pomme frites and French mussels, but I declined. I hate bringing attention to myself. Two ladies took their leave, one being Carminda. Three of us remained. When the birthday girl ordered the Crème Brûlée sampler, we all took a taste. You know what? It was lousy. All three of us agreed. There were four flavors that were trying so hard to be unique and special, when in fact they were borderline repulsive. The lavender flavor in particular, tasted like a creamy lavender body lotion that one might coat their legs with. A gentle reminder that decadent is not better.