Page 47 of Damaged Mogul
“As Marie Antoinette would say,let them eat cake. I love that expression. It’s so joyous.”
That comment angered the French and caused the Queen’s death by guillotine. I don’t correct Mikki. She said cake. I’m there.
Lacing her arms with mine, she drags me to the over-the-top elegant café.
The space is spectacular.
The décor at the hotel is quite modern, but the elegant tea salon is a perfect blend of modern and a touch ofje ne sais quoithat hints at olde-worlde charm.
As we trail across the room, Mikki nods here and there at patrons who wave as she strolls past tables.
She’s a formidable hostess.
Instead of sitting at one of the unoccupied tables, she keeps walking all the way to a private area located at the back of the restaurant.
We come to stand in front of a table set with an extravagant flair, including tiered cake stands, floral mismatchedtea cups, cloth napkins, and a crisp white tablecloth that reaches the floor.
Nice.
“This is where upper management eats,” she says.
I nod.
My eyes lift to the large candelabra chandeliers dripping with crystals dangling from the ceiling.
If I could whistle, I would.
I meet her gaze. “You don’t do things halfway.”
“At the Pompadour? Never. Not to mention, afternoon tea is an experience. You can’t enjoy it sitting at your desk, stuffing your face, while poring over spreadsheets.”
“I agree.”
Right on cue the song changes toC’est si Bon.
I point to the ceiling. “It’s a kitschy song, but a classic.”
The sound of the accordion gives a Parisian atmosphere and complements the songbird’s vocals.
“I agree, but it sets the mood, and guests love the oldies,” Michaela says. “The newer French songs don’t have the same cachet.”
I bob my head to the guitar solo.
“Oh, it’s a bilingual version,” I say when the female singer sings the next verse.
“Mais, bien sûr.” Mikki winks. “Let’s sit.”
Translation:But of course.
Before I have time to blink, a parade of waiters fuss at our table, setting plates of desserts for a delightful afternoon snack. With irreproachable care, they serve tea and serve us a beautiful assortment of bite-size options.
With a solemn bow, they scurry off.
My mouth waters as I take in the display of scrumptious desserts set on beautiful ornate Limoges style porcelain plates.
“Madeleine cakes,tartes au citron, tarte Tatin, gâteauopéra, Saint Honoré, and Paris-Brest,” I say. “You’re even serving baguette and chocolate squares.” This is one of the most quintessential after-school treats for kids in France.
“I discovered how delicious that combo is the first time I visited France.”
