Pinot, Bretzels, and Cathedrals

Last week I was invited out by the girls for a night out: dinner, drinks and chatter, sans les enfants.

I had been cautioned that these nights out sometimes get a little expensive, so I was in two minds as whether to go or not.  Also, the last girls night out had resulted in way too many bottles of awful German Pinot Gris, and I was weary of another hung-over French class, so while I was trying to find a way to say “no thanks, but keep me in mind for the next girls night”, I was also really sad that I would not have an opportunity to eat out.

Eating out is one of my favourite activities, and like I said when I wrote about Vapiano a few months ago, finances do not stretch so far as to eat out often.  Neither are the restaurants really accomodating to children.

However, while I have accepted these constraints nous vie au Francaise, I do have to endure watching as Anton gets to go out to dinner occasionally with work colleagues, to really classy restaurants, and I skulk around for ages when this happens, purely out of jealousy.

Last week when TR mailed us to invite us out, I initially said no thanks, and I indulged a little white lie, stating that Anton was giving training, and I had to be available in the event of, say, the world falling apart.

But then Anton called and reminded me that he was due to take the trainees out for dinner soon, and as we had “Ticket Restaurant” available, that I must take the opportunity to go out with the girls.

Just a quick line on “Ticket Restaurant”: As lunch time is such an important part of the day (school lunch time is 2 hours long, and some small shops actually shut their doors)  French business’s ensure their staff afford this meal, and supply the means to this by providing subsidised meal tickets.  Half the value of each ticket is deducted off Anton’s salary, and the company pay the other half.  The value of Antons’ ticket is 9€, but not all tickets have the same value.  The value is enough to buy a balanced lunch meal, but you are not restricted to buying lunch.  We can use them to buy groceries (but not alcohol), or to eat out at most restaurants for family meals.  We receive 18 tickets every month, and if Anton works overtime (on public holidays), he is given  extra tickets for compensation.  (I am going to put in here very quickly:  thanks my darling love, that you prepare your own lunch every day, that you don’t actually USE these tickets for lunch, because they really are helpful when it comes to food budgets and dining out.♥).

So then, with pay day around the corner, and about 40€ available to me in tickets, I said yes to a night out with the gals.

Girls and hubby fed, girls bathed, a touch of make up smashed onto the face, a waft of Hugo Boss, a few white lies to Beth in order to assure a tantrum free departure, secret socks and high heels, I limped down-town. (Okay, I strutted down-town, but limped back after dinner, shoe-less, after developing a blister en route. These feet are not accustomed to high heeled shoes.  I have discovered the trick to wearing fancy shoes out, is to head out wearing ‘pumps’, and change into your 3″‘s when you climb off your bike.)

Clearly the girls know Vino Strada, because they were able to give me familar directions to get there, so I was quite interested to know why it was TR’s choice.  If you don’t have a favourite restaurant, you will still have a reason for choosing  somewhere to eat.

As I walked in, I knew why I will return there if I have an opportunity.  Where most French restaurants utilise 2-seater tables joined together to make up bigger tables if necessary, Vino Strada makes use of rather tall, pub-style tables- tall, heavy wooden types.  The chairs are equally tall, and it provides a professional, but laid back environment to eat.

Generally, French restaurants are not huge, and Vino Strada is no different.  It can seat about 20 guests out on the pavement, and the pavement is not on a big road, so you won’t have to deal with roaring cars whizzing by.   You push through the wooden front door, and are greeted by the very French curtain.  Alot of the restaurants here have that curtain- a barricade in the winter to prevent the warmth inside the restaurant from escaping, or the winter freeze from entering.  Beyond the curtain  were about 6 tall tables in varying sizes, and about 5 shorter square tables. Along the length of one wall was the bar counter, behind which casual staff milled, making coffees, slicing great Alsacienne legs of ham on a very smart looking slicer.  In the wall behind  the coffee machine, and casually dressed staff stood bottles of wine-it reminded me of Browns Restaurant in Rivonia.
The kitchen must have been upstairs, because from our table, we had a full view of the stair case, down which the chef would wander occasionally.  He was very unimposing and impressive, and even the serving staff themselves were older than your average student waiter.  They exuded a respectful confidence,  didn’t hover unnecessarily, but were always available when you needed them.

As is custom among my friends, I ordered a glass of Cremant as I sat down, as we waited for all the ladies to arrive.  There were to be 7 of us- 6 ‘locals’, and a sister visiting from America.

After ordering a bottle of Alsace Pinot Blanc, we were supplied with huge carafes of water, and the chalkboard menu was pitched onto the table for us to peruse.  We were not supplied with individual menu’s, and you get the idea that menu’s are set daily according to what  is available at the market, and what the chef is inspired to cook.

Of the 7 of us at the table, 3 were mostly fluent in French, the 2 Americans had a vague idea, and I could have figured my way through the menu with my culinary knowledge. Still, regardless of what we knew of the actual translations, we had to rely on the very helpful waitress to provide descriptions of the menu.  And very brisk she was too.

I was sitting next to M, who is a vet, and she turned to me, asking my thoughts  on how well cooked a certain  beef dish was.  I am well aware of my own vet brother who despises rare cooked meat (because he knows too much about harmful bacteria in animals), and I was able to tell her that that particular dish was probably well cooked, as it appeared to have been braised (for 24 hours according to the waitress, as we discovered).  She and I had similar palettes that night, as we both veered away from the risotto that others ordered and eventually decided on a ‘Saumon mariné avec herbés’.  This was based on the fact that we had heard the waitress say that the salmon had been marinated and cooked, and although I have an aversion in general to eating fish, I do enjoy eating salmon if it has been marinated (and cooked) in herbs.

Boy, were we rather silly looking when our pretty plates of food arrived in front of us.

The plate was rectangular, with its’ corners curved upwards.  On the right side of the plate, was your very typical side salad of assorted bitter lettuce- in French, lettuce is actually called ‘salade‘, and this had a delicious sweet, nutty dressing over it, with some sunflower seeds sprinkled over.  And a paper thin slice of carrot.

Next to the salad was a spread of something purple- in the low restaurant lighting, it looked like off-colour beetroot, but it definitely wasn’t.  I was (secretly) happy to announce that it was indeed purple potato! I have to be honest, it was a bizarre taste, and I might get use to it, but M didn’t enjoy it.

Alongside the purple potato was a ‘piquante poivre’, as in a Peppadew, which was filled with goats cheese.  The peppadew wasn’t as hot as we know them to be, but it still was nice to have a taste of something reminded me of home.

The çoupe de grace was the salmon. It was indeed marinated, with a drizzle of oil over 5 pieces of raw salmon.

Yip. M and I looked at each-other with raised eyebrows, and burst out laughing.  T, who knows well enough that I don’t really eat fish, after regaling Richmond Primary boarding school stories, had a very confused look on her face.  For somebody who doesn’t eat fish as a rule, there I was a plate of RAW fish in front of me.

But yes, I have grown up.  After a few years of sushi and cooking fish that is better than your average frozen piece of hake,  I have become adventurous enough to eat certain fish- usually the more gamey variety: tuna, yellow-tail, wild sea bass, and salmon.

And while I am still not about to order sashimi, the marinated raw salmon I ate on Thursday night was very yummy.

We wrapped up at 11ish, the ladies swopped their high heels for pumps and climbed back onto their bicycles.  I hobbled to the tram station, because my ankle was ripped to shreds.  It had been really great to have had the opportunity  to get away from nights on the couch and fighting with children over sleeping in their own beds.

Should you find yourself in Strasbourg, I  would certainly say to pop in at Vino Strada Stub.  It is on Rue du Temple Neuf, and not to be confused with its casual sister, the bar on the boat, on the canal.  Main course meals are between 18€ and 25€, desserts around 7€, but unfortunately could not advise the price range of the wines, as I did not personally see the wine list.

Post Script:
What is protocol when it comes to writing relatively arbitrary posts on restaurants? Am I supposed to insert web-sites, or make more mention of the other meals? Unfortunately, I cannot write more about Vino Strada right now. I realized with dismay late last night that I did not even investigate half of what they offer. There is indeed a terrace up the stairs, and in summer time, they open up colourful umbrellas and put tables up there too. I discovered this aspect when I visited their website, and now this post seems quite mundane. Perhaps I should rather not write up about restaurants in future. xxxm>