Just off the Rue Yvonne-le-Tac, and no less unsettling, is the Fondue Refuge. ‘Fondue’ and ‘Refuge’ are two words not often seen together, and—even independently—a cause for mild concern when used in the name of restaurant….
Down along the wall from us was an American ski bum with his new girlfriend, trying to look swarthy while latched onto a nipple. No adult looks cool sucking on a nipple. Quite the opposite: It can be quite uncomfortable watching your aging friends across the table sucking rapturously on a bottle.
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“This restaurant is something you won’t see in England,” Joe said to my visiting friends, Tom and Helen. He was right.
It was called Café Gratitude. More than just a raw, vegan restaurant, it was a self-
actualization seminar. The staff all had that ethereal, slightly unhinged look of the unconditionally loving, their eyes wide and innocent like herbivores without prior consciousness of their natural predators. Their motto was: ‘Our food and people are a celebration of our aliveness.’...
...The waiter brought over our meals. “You are Flourishing,” he said to Helen and put her plate down.
He turned to Tom. “Are you Elated?”
“No. I’m Accepting.”
“You’re not Elated? Well,” he said to Joe, “you must be Elated.”
“I don’t think so,” Joe said, “I know I’m a side of Generous.”
“Well, who’s Elated?”
“I’m Fulfilled,” I said.
“Yeah, I know you’re Fulfilled,” he snapped.
“And Efferverscent.”
“So you’re not Elated?” he said to Joe. “You’re not Insightful, are you?”
“No,” Joe said, “I think I’m Celebrating.”
“You wanna be Elated?”
“Okay. I’ll be Elated.”
“Whatever. Or I can take it back to the kitchen and I’ll be Elated.”
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