September 2010, New Orleans

A dozen of us dined in Dante's Kitchen.

Red, red walls, crimson red, as warm and welcoming as the black-bearded waiter.

And I'm a sucker for any place that has original art on the walls, especially when they're as appealing as the pair of prints opposite me - collagraph or etching (I didn't get close enough to examine), intaglio inked in pale umber square with folded corner, relief-inked scarlet string.

And the sazerac was as warmly coloured as the walls, as sweet as the welcome, with a contrasting motif of a sliver of lemon peel.

The food - the food silenced us all momentarily, before we traded morsels to taste, from white oblong plates; all agreed that the Mexican corn bread was to die for.

But of course it was the company that was the highlight - we'd all planned and dreamed and hoped for this occasion; Teresa had found the restaurant, booked the transport and wore her promised animal print, and a warm and wonderful night was had by all.

Story by:

Sandra Davies

submitted at 3:21pm

5 April 2011

Sandra Davies's web:

sandra-linesofcommunication.blogspot.com