Here is my review of Bacchus in St. Martin (in Hope Estate outside of Grand Case- it is only open for lunch)
Marie Antoinette does Lunch
Here, Oh Best Beloved is the story of how Marie Antoinette, her head still securely fastened to her neck, had lunch today. Her place of choice: Bacchus, a fabulous restaurant, cum wine cave, cum provisioner of delicacies, delightful to both the mouth and eye. At 1:00 sharp, dressed in her finest white shorts, pretty yellow (fairly revealing) yellow cotton tunic shirt, hair up (but still curling charmingly around her face) and decked out in some tasteful jewelry, she sauntered into Bacchus with her regal Mami in tow. They were respectfully ushered to a table where they were immediately served a special, complimentary elixir comprised of champagne, a dash of jerez and a basil infusion. Yummy! I mean, delightful. Menus proffered, they perused the offerings with great enthusiasm and anticipation. Should Marie choose the scallops seared to perfection and topped with fois gras? No, she worried, they might not be dry packed scallops and that would offend her fussy palate. Should she select the filet mignon with morels imported from Paris? No, her Mami opted for that and besides she thought it best to stay away from mother cow- at least for the day. How about the house made raviolis stuffed with fois gras topped with shaved truffles, also directly imported from France. “No,” she said, wrinkling her nose, “I just had lobster pasta last night and how much pasta can I eat?” Instead, she settled on sharing an assiette of antipasti (escargot, blini with caviar, white asparagus, fresh anchovies, olives, iberico ham with melon and all manner of delicacies) followed by pig’s trotter stuffed with fois gras (the bones conveniently removed) served on a bed of wild mushrooms with beautiful pillows of potatoes that strangely resembled tater tots but whose taste bore no resemblance to an item Marie would never permit pass her lips. The Mami’s meal was accompanied by a glass of rose champagne, but Marie opted for a glass of excellent Bordeaux. The meal was so stupendous that Marie ate it all. When the waiter, after inquiring solicitously if all had met their expectations (“Oh yes,” they cried in unison) had cleared away their plates, he quickly returned with a tray of pastries. Now up until that point Marie had convinced herself she could not eat another bite, but at the sight of those delectable morsels she quickly changed her mind. Her eyes lit upon a charmingly presented raspberry mousse confection. “An excellent choice, your Majesty,” assured the waiter. “Two spoons,” if you don’t mind, I will share this with my Mami.” “Your wish is my command,” intoned the waiter, “coffee after?” “Why, of course,” agreed Marie, “How else to end such a sumptuous meal?” With that the waiter respectfully left the two ladies to twiddle their thumbs for no more than a few minutes and returned with the dessert and even an extra confection, on the house! After blissfully devouring what Marie’s Mami declared to be one of the yummiest desserts ever, coffee was served and the meal was complete by 3:12 in the afternoon: a mere 2 hours and 12 minutes from when they sat down. The check was placed on the table, a credit card swiftly whipped out of Marie’s bag and accepted and the bill was settled. I won’t tell you Oh Best Beloved, how much this cost because you might choke. But what I can reveal is the answer to the mystery that has haunted historians for hundred of years. When Marie Antoinette was brought to the scaffold, her head placed on the block waiting for the guillotine to fall, a small smile crossed her face and it seemed to the crowd that she licked her lips. And here, Oh My Best Beloved, is what she was thinking: she was remembering that meal at Bacchus!