Two fancy meals

My husband and I both occasionally pick up classes at the French Alliance here in Philly, mainly to sit in a room the size of a closet and try our little hearts out to butcher the language with slightly cleaner cuts than we had managed the week before. This has led to a few friendships, and more than a few acquaintances, some of whom appear to be prominent (and wealthy) city socialites - people who jet off to their apartment in Paris "for the weekend" and attend galas and fundraisers in ballgowns. I'll never quite understand the connection people automatically make between France and haut culture (a connection that, I'll admit, I sometimes make too), but learning French, no matter how late in life, is apparently a must in high society. One thing that we've both noted about this sophisticated lot is that they compare chef stories and restaurant experiences like teenagers compare song collections on their i-pods - whoever can call up the little gem that nobody else knows definitely triumphs as the true connoisseur, a position envied by all.

H and I never find ourselves in the running. He has at least managed to pick up a few important chef's names here and there, but I'm hopeless. It's not that we haven't been to nice places in town, for birthdays and anniversaries and such - it's just that they've amounted to a handful of cache when you really need a mountain to play the game.

We've been trying lately, though. Last weekend, we were invited out by a woman, nice enough to put faith in our manners, however simple they might be, to an Italian restaurant everybody's apparently been raving about - "It has a real following..." her friend told us over wine and handmade bread. H and I had the pheasant. It was bony. I was hungry again an hour after we ate, and wished I had gotten dessert. It just didn't meet my expectations of fancy dining.

Our attempts to culture ourselves with good cuisine didn't stop there, though - this week happened to be Restaurant Week, a little celebration of all food Center City that some corporation or other sponsors twice a year, when you can sample a real, live, fancy-schmancy 3-course meal for a mere $35 dollars, a steal of a deal in some restaurants. Choosing the restaurant is an art in itself - some places are a bit dismissive of restaurant week eaters and end up giving you the cheapest bits of the menu while turning up their noses at you for going the bargain route. On the other hand, you don't want to choose a restaurant that's too cheap - the point of Restaurant Week is to experience something a little beyond your normal price range. Very delicate. I have to say, though, we made the perfect choice, and it's all thanks to our Alliance friends. Apparently, Bistro St. Tropez has been the talk of the French Alliance for awhile now, and we had a delightful meal of FOUR courses (they threw in an extra, just to be nice). They were overly polite, doting and generous, and we stuffed ourselves silly with mushroom curry soup, scallops in a cream sauce, bleu cheese encrusted salmon with pistachios and duck on a bed of lentils and raspberry chutney. The glow of the neon, blinking palm tree somehow managed to enhance the ambiance, and the 4th floor view of the Schuylkill River, was perfect. It might not be a mountain of cache, but it's another chip, I suppose, on our little pile. Even if it was during Restaurant Week.