Almost done writing my blog on my recent lunch at The French Laundry. I should have it posted by tomorrow afternoon. In the meantime, here’s a little taste:
“I was a nervous wreck the morning of our reservation. I had butterflies in my stomach. My palms were profusely sweating. I felt like I did on the morning of my wedding. I was ready over an hour before our scheduled 12:30 P.M. reservation. I was dressed in a suit and tie (the required dress for dining at The French Laundry).
We arrived 20 minutes before our reservation. I was snapping pictures of the exterior of the restaurant. The French Laundry is housed in an unassuming wood and brick building on the corner of Washington Street and what appeared to be an alley in the small town of Yountville. We walked around to the entrance, which was a dark blue door. We entered and were cordially greeted by a woman and a man. I gave my name and reservation time to the man. He checked the computer and asked if we would not mind waiting for a few minutes in the salon. I obliged and my wife and I took a seat on a couch. We waited no more than five minutes before we were whisked away into a downstairs dining room next to a fireplace.”