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We accessed the restaurant through its own elevator. My mom and I were at a really elegant restaurant to celebrate a special day. It's inside a store sometimes referred to as "Needless Markup." We entered a room with thirty foot ceilings. Dozens of palm leaf fans twirled above us. The oceanside wall was open to the elements. We overlooked a vast park and the sea beyond it. Sitting on the balcony, we heard bells clanging on the streetcars below. Silver knives and forks sat waiting to be used. I felt like I was in another time.
I dressed up the best I could in my Chinese satin jacket. They brought us popovers with guava butter and demitasses of fresh consume. I ordered fresh pea soup with creme fraiche and chives. For lunch I ate Divers scallops on pureed hearts of palm. I ordered fresh berries with a pot of flower petal tea for desert. My mom ate a "Composed Salad" and passion fruit cheesecake topped with a giant butterfly made of pastry. This place appeared to be the unofficial headquarters for patrician blonde women. A little blonde girl in a tutu twirled in her chair at the table next to us. For some reason my mom insisted that many of the Asian customers were tourists, although I doubted that. Pairs of models strolled the aisle showing clothes. If they saw an interested party, they twirled in unison.
This is a place that says: this is the promised land. It seems to have the same relationship to the other places I go that Fairyland does. Nevertheless, I could get used to living that way. I could eat the best food cooked by an artist. I could get used to being treated with extreme deference. I could glide into in a room with thirty foot ceilings and drink soup from a silver spoon.
