Written in the Stars
The Journey of Dominique Crenn
It had been a ton of years since we went out on a date for our Anniversary. I was weirdly nervous even though we’ve been married over a decade. I even wore a new dress (and an old thrifted velvet jacket that in retrospect still had enough residual shoulder pad residue to make me look like a linebacker) and he said I looked nice.
The night wasn’t cold by general United States standards but for us in Southern California, it was brisk. Uncharacteristically we had ‘swung by the mall’ to get stocking stuffers for the kids (I don’t like malls and didn’t really know they still existed). I had the sad after effects of fluorescent lights and reverb hot topic vibes from my youth. Youths…am I right? The night had a stiffness like right before you either get nice and warm and happy and cozy, or right before you get the flu.
As soon as we walked in and sat at the bar to wait for our reservation, I knew it was the former feeling. I was already melting. Stepping through the front door it was only a few feet to the first seat at the horse shoe bar that took up the majority of the small room. Golden light, honey, warm, amber, was everywhere and there was a general bustle that was neither frenzied nor hurried, but practiced and comfortable. Everyone knew exactly what they were doing. Some of the girls wore scarfs tied in their pony tails.
A large 8 track sat on shelves to the left and played a carefully curated selection of tunes. About 30 feet away, was the steam and sizzle of the open kitchen. Everyone worked in a perfect dance visible to all. Periodically they would should in unison “OUI” after the head chef called out an order.
I was hooked. Entranced. When I walked to use the bathroom, every host, hostess, and server deftly backed to the edge of the narrow walkway to clear the way. It was not awkward, just lovely (and very helpful since I tend to not realize I need to use the restroom until the last minute).
Our small rectangle table sat outside and I had a twinge of coldness anxiety until I sat down. Perfectly arranged heaters, string lights, and soft music piped outside - heaven. Like sinking into whatever your comfort place is.
At this restaurant, you pick your four courses from a choice of four in each section. Apparently I like “earthy” things (go figure, I’m trying to get away from tan, taupe, and off white in my wardrobe because it honestly doesn’t even look good on me). Yes, I will have the wine pairing please. Yes, we will start with the oyster something or other to clear our pallets. We kept giggling when they walked away because we felt like imposters. Honestly, I had no idea what they were talking about most of the time. I was especially serious during the wine explanations. At one point when they said ‘skin contact’ when talking about the wine making process I almost cracked. But, I liked that wine the best.
We walked together through an actual food adventure (I rolled my eyes internally at the waiter when he likened it to an adventure…but it was). There were honeycombs and tastes that made me feel like I was on a Scottish cliff overlooking an ocean. Gentle breezes and purple flowers. Subtle. And truffles. We traveled. And somehow, during that dinner, we talked more than we have for a really long time.
I tend to ask highly personal and invasive questions of strangers (like our waiter) when I’m really comfortable. “How do you keep these napkins clean when they’re offwhite?” “Who makes your plates and bowls (turns out it’s the same small company that make my favorite coffee mug). “Who does your playlist?” (An actual company in New York - although it’s mostly reshuffled Pandora selections). After several more questions I got the waiter loosened up and he let me know they would be closing early to celebrate keeping their Michelin star that was awarded to them last year. The whole evening was tinged with that celebratory jingle. Anticipation. Excitement.
As I stood facing the door to leave, the lingering pleasure of the evening held me just a moment longer before the door swung open to stale cool air and the sound of a tire on damp asphalt squeezing the dirt of the road down just a bit deeper. I wasn’t happy to leave, but I wasn’t sad either. Of course adventures like that can’t last forever. It felt like I had just returned from a highly enjoyable vacation.
This lesson, Written in the Stars, is about the Michelin star process and one woman’s journey to become the first woman in the United States with a three star restaurant. It was born from that date.
