Eating out? Eating in?

My ex-husband hated eating out. We may have done it five times in the seven years we were married (doesn't include work related meals in restaurants). I am not accusing him, but all five restaurants burned down within a year. When I suggested eating out, he would say it wouldn't be fair to the restaurant.

Eating out after the divorce was more lunches at work when I didn't take sandwiches. I was watching pennies.

 

As a single mom I shared an apartment with a friend. She watched pennies too. Once, we really, really, really wanted a pizza from a certain restaurant. We really didn't have the money. We went on a search of pockets and couch cushions and found enough for a pizza, but not enough for a bottle of Coke. 

We put my daughter in her car seat (nothing like those of today) and off we went. We ordered the pizza to go and put the box in the back seat. When we went to retrieve my daughter and the pizza, her foot was in the pizza. 

I looked at my roommate. She looked at me. Half of me wanted to cry, the other half laugh.

Back inside we cut around the footprint and ate the pizza anyway.

For decades since, eating out is a common occurrence. Restaurants can be anything from a hole-in-the-wall to a five-star extravaganza. I still find all a treat. If I know in advance, I will look forward to it all day.

Rick and I alternate lunch making. Often my husband will say, "I'm going to cook at Flowers" or Gambetta or or or any of the many other village restaurants . Sometimes I do the same, but he does it so often, waiters will ask "So Rick, it's your day to cook?" Truth alert: When he does cook, it's good very good.

Today, Rick decided to "cook" at the beach. There's a long row of restaurants facing the sea and other rows.

The couple of open restaurants we did pass had typical beach food. We wanted a real meal. 

Things were looking grim.

We did know of a restaurant that was open at the port, but on the way we passed an open brasserie. From those eating on the terrace and the slate menu outside, we were saved.

It was great. I had gambas, Rick had boulet picolet (a local meatball). For dessert I had my favorite Ile Flottante. 

What fun. I love that eating out can happen any day. Or we can eat in. I no longer look for change in pockets and under cushions for a small pizza, the first in and for months.  

The memories are good. Each represents a stage of my life...a life filled with good food from pizza to gambas. And days like today are just fun.