There's a search on in Washington for a new place in which to see and be seen. The Sans Souci, the pinnacle of "highfalutiness,"is tumbling as a restaurant favorite. They have lost their
maitre d'.
'What reason is there to go to a restaurant whose maitre d' has departed? None! The food reportedly has been lousy for years. Without Paul, nothing is assured. What kind of entrance can you make when, upon entering, you are seated under the emergency exit?
Talk of the toppling has been swirling around Washington. Last week, Washington Post columnist Richard Cohen devoted his column to it. It seems Art Buchwald, the syndicated columnist and one of Sans Souci's most noted patrons, is beside himself. Without Sans Saud, where is he going to go to order the usual?
Cohen decided to help Buchwald out in his search for a new noontime hangout. Together they set out to sample Washington lunch spots. 'What qualities does the new "in" spot need in order to make it "in"? A maitre d' who recognizes you upon your arrival, makes sure your entrance is noted by all the other patrons, and seats you ringside.
'When I read Richard Cohen's account, immediately I knew I had something to offer. I have never been to Sans Saud (the only place I go to see and be seen is the Giant Food Store), but I can imagine what it is like. Considering that, I wondered why couldn't my kitchen become the next watering hole and feed bag for the Elite? I could offer them everything that Sans Souci does, plus things that they couldn't ever possibly duplicate.
Before contacting Mr. Cohen, I decided I should plan out the motif of my restaurant to make sure it would qualify. Being the maitre d' would be no problem. I generally recognize the people who come in my front door. Nor would seating or "the usual" present any difficulties. All would be seated at the best table because there is only one in my kitchen, and the bill of fare would
be peanut butter and jelly or a bologna sandwich.
The extras would be luncheon entertainment with records spun by Maureen who, joined by Colleen, dances to the music. An opportunity to hold a newborn baby - or to listen to one cry if you don't - would be another bonus. Making my restaurant even more exclusive would be its limited operation. Late openings on Monday would be necessary because I have to drive Colleen's carpool, and the place will be closed on Wednesday because I'm maitre d' of the
milk and ice cream at Patrick's school cafeteria.
After establishing these criteria, I began to drum up business. I called Richard Cohen and presented him the opportunity to be my first customer. How could he turn down an invitation to be a pioneer at what was sure to become the trendy new lunch spot? We set a Thursday date, but Thursday came and so did an ice storm. We postponed until Tuesday, which turned out to be the day after the biggest Washington snowstorm in 50 years. We postponed again.
This time my illustrious guest had a hopelessly snowed-in car, so I added another fringe benefit to lunching in my kitchen limousine service (the limousine being a Ford Maverick, chauffeured by me and liveried by four little redheads). Upon picking up Mr. Cohen I launched into one of the literary dialogues I was offering at my new salon. For a special touch, Colleen joined the conversation by announcing that she felt funny and proceeded to burp rather dramatically allover herself, Maureen, and the car.
Upon arriving home, the resident artists gave the tour of the kitchen's art work of finger paintings and homemade Valentines, our patron held the baby, Patrick played records, and Maureen and Colleen danced as I assembled the p, b, & j's for the younger customers and, in honor of my grand opening, a spinach salad for the more calorie conscious.
The grand opening day happened to coincide with the baby's doctor appointment. After lunch, my lucky guest participated in some invigorating post luncheon entertainment dressing four children in boots, mittens and coats to go outdoors. That done, we loaded them into the car, which wouldn't start After numerous attempts, we gave up.
The six of us - me carrying the baby and the now-bewildered columnist carrying Maureen trudged through the snow to my neighbor's, who generously offered me the use of her car. After piling in once again we set off, dodging snow banks. We arrived at the doctor's office only to find a filled parking lot.
keys and hastily departed to a taxicab, which delivered him to - by comparison - the tranquil and sane Washington Post newsroom.
Epilogue
Allowing him a few recovery days, I queried Richard Cohen: "Could my kitchen make a go of it?"
"It has certain advantages," he replied. "It's safe - the only under-the-table activity would be kids looking for crayons. I like it even if the background music is unnerving."
With this glowing review I'm open for reservations.
March 8, 1979
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