Avoid Buffets on the Champs Elysees at All Costs!!

Let’s face it, as a travelisto, one should aspire to have an open mind about new experiences and ideas. One of my goals on this sabbatical to Paris was to try to give up the need to be in control. So when a group of Parisian friends invited me to Sunday Brunch, I agreed without knowing the final destination. In my head I was associating the word “brunch” with a lingering afternoon reading the paper and talking at Estia’s Little Kitchen in Sag Harbor or Babette’s in East Hampton. I’m sure my friends must be taking me to the Parisian equivalent? Why did I need to know where we are going ahead of time? These folks were locals and why should I feel the need to Google information about the restaurant ahead of time or “corroborate” their opinions?

Signs of Danger

Sign 1
My first indication that something bad was about to happen flashed on the IM screen of my new Blackberry Bold: “Meet at the Southwest corner of the Champs-Elysees and look for Danish flag”. Okay, this message was the equivalent of telling someone to meet at 45th and Broadway and look for the Marriott Marquis…

“Open-mind…Open-mind”, I started to chant so I wouldn’t grind my back teeth.

Sign 2
Well, at least Spring was in the air. The sun was out and birds were chirping as I quickly identified the Danish Flags and passed through glass sliding doors into a foyer with ballroom carpet, flowers of questionable pedigree, and a hostess in a black polyester uniform. I felt a bit disoriented…this felt very reminiscent of stepping onto a Carnival Cruise ship in 1987. But, the space was very bright and sunny. It almost felt as if I were in an outdoor atrium or courtyard. Settling into the my surrounds a bit more, I noticed bird nests everywhere in various colors of blue and strawberry as pre-cognitive senses started to send more danger signs to my brain…

These weren’t nests! These were coifs! The room was full of geriatric women swarming around something I could not identify in the center of the room.

Sign 3
The reality of this horrible, horrible situation was finally hitting me. Though I was trying my best to keep an open-mind, in an instant I knew in my heart of hearts what was happening….I was at a Buffet!

In France, I get with the program and can eat snails. With enthusiasm, I’ve tried raw beef, and even smiled when I’ve eaten cow’s cheek or sheep’s brain. Was this a French buffet or a Danish Buffet anyway? I guess it didn’t matter the nationality of the buffet…it was still a buffet. And as I passed a pair of dentures floating in the bechamel sauce, I knew Destiny had sent me to such a place to atone for naughty things I must have done in the past.

But, in the end, I made it through that two and a half hour “experience” picking at a stale croissant trying to smile graciously at my hosts. I thought “I gave up control and made it through this challenge” as I surveyed the carnage of soiled white table clothes and red lipstick scars on countless glasses around me.

Secretly, I longed for the New York Times and a proper Sunday afternoon brunch on the East End of Long Island…