Great Expectations

What if you only got to see the menu after the meal? For my swanky readers out there, this may not sound like big news, but to me it was a strange way to dine. I had this experience recently in Paris. It was probably for the best, because once I saw the descriptions of what we had unabashedly crowned the best meal of our entire lives, I was pretty sure I would not have ordered any of it. Leave it to the French to decide for you what your meal will be and what wine you will have with each course. (“Zees eez zee best wine you may take wiz zees.” Translation: You will have this wine with this course and there are no exceptions. You are in France and we invented both cuisine and wine, so bon apetit!”) And, truthfully, they really do get it right. A bottle of champagne was brought to the table immediately and we “approved” (as if it could be bad!), and I looked around to get an idea of what I might like to order. It was going to be tough to decide between the grilled goat cheese looking thingy or the something fried thingy. (To my delighted surprise I would get to taste both, but I digress.) The waiter placed a tiny aperitif in front of us, which I assumed was the French version of the salsa and chips on the table (okay, except way classier) and I continued to await the menu. But, the sommelier arrived with a new bottle of wine, a white, and explained what we would be eating next and how this wine complimented each distinct taste in the dish. All of this in French, mind you, and I speak a broken Spanglish at best. I began to realize that I was not the one deciding what I would be eating on my last night in Paris... uhoh, unexpected events and a girl with control issues...can she handle it? In this case, yes! I was in good hands (zee best).

When the meal finally commenced, four hours and 5 bottles of wine later, I can honestly say it far exceeded my expectations. That’s the thing with expectations, they're not what you expect. Whether you are underwhelmed or overwhelmed in a given situation, you are most likely never dead-on with what to expect. Having the menu handed to me at the end of the meal was definitely not expected, yet it enabled me to truly appreciate each morsel for its own true delight, untainted by my expectations (“ewwwww... frog’s legs!”). I expected the Notre Dame to look like a really nice, really big church - exceeded my expectations; I expected the French to be snooty - not so much (except when I mistook the ashtray for a dish for my escargot shells.. silly non-smoking American!); The only thing that I expected to happen exactly the way it did was to gain about 5 pounds. Voilà! Unfortunately I got that one right. Off to the gym, where I expect to hate the treadmill. C’est la vie!