Thursday Night at Zinque

I had the best conversation I've had in a while last night.  With a French bartender.  He's from St. Tropez, but he lived in London for 17 years before moving here 2 years ago.  He's been married for 18 months to an English woman.  She had a really great PR job in London but then one day, sick of the gray skies, he said "eh, let's move," (as you do when you're a French guy), and now she carves stone in a studio off of Abbot Kinney.

She begged him to move to San Francisco.  They love the Mission.  Love the city.  Love love love would-move-there-but-for-the-weather love.  I said, me too.  Me too.

He told me they don't like LA like they like San Francisco.  That people here are so "superficial" [insert puckered lips and Euro hand gesture indicating fake boobs here].  They don't have kids, and his wife doesn't like how all the women her age strut around in their Lululemon pants with their expensive strollers and their platinum-princess-cut yellow-diamond rings.  He snatched a votive candle off the bar and waved it around between his middle finger and ring finger for effect.  I wanted to high-five him but I'm pretty sure the French don't do that.

He recommends the Salmon and the pate.

We'll be back.