The Writer's Life: Film & Book Reviews, Observations, and Stories
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Larimer Street

Because there is a convention in town, I had trouble finding a spot to eat last night. It was like being in Paris. Larimer Street, which has overarching lights that sparkle like a fairyland, has several good restaurants, including a trattoria, a Mediterranean-themed restaurant, a high-end Mexican restaurant, a French bistro, and an enoteca. I didn’t even bother at the trattoria which had people milling down the steps and into the sidewalk. The hostess at the Mexican restaurant said they were full (although every time I passed they had several tables open). At the Mediterranean restaurant, the hostess said I could sit at the bar when a group of women left. After waiting several minutes, I noticed that one of the seats had a purse and scarf sitting on top of it and enquired about it. The hostess asked the bartender if the seat were open and he said he didn’t know. The hostess then told me I could ask the woman if the seat were open. I wondered why this was my job, but no longer cared. At the French bistro I was told by the hostess that the restaurant was full, although I could see that the tables in the atrium were open except one, but she said she’d check. She came back and said I was permitted to sit there. After several minutes, during which the waiter walked by and ignored me, I simply got up and left without fanfare. At the wine-tasting place I was shown a spot at the end of the bar. A few minutes later the bartender tossed two menus in front of me, but didn’t say a word. I had finally had enough.

From the enoteca I walked several blocks to the theater district where there is a coffee shop that has sandwiches. For dinner, I had a stale egg salad sandwich, which I eased down my throat with a half bottle of very nice Saint-Émilion. It was delicious, as good as anything I could have had on Larimer Street.