I\u2019ve never much liked queues. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
I worked for years as a checkout supervisor at a supermarket, and something instinctive still kicks in when I sense the slightest hint of a line starting to form. Surely they\u2019ve had their day, anyway. With the advent of the written word, let alone the telephone and all technological advances thereafter, there\u2019s basically no actual need to queue for just about anything.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sometimes, though, a queue is unavoidable. Like the Sunday evening in March when I found myself outside Restaurant L\u2019Entrec\u00f4te in downtown Bordeaux. The place is open for lunch and dinner seven days a week, and they do not take reservations. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
There\u2019s always, always a queue here, though there\u2019s something reassuring about this one. It\u2019s run with almost military precision. And it moves.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
There are polite, if not exactly friendly, greetings when you finally reach the end of the queue and pass each door, stairway or threshold; there are three floors, so you do meet a few people along the way. Hello, go upstairs please. Good evening, through there please.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Inside, it\u2019s all black and yellow and tartan, like a Scottish wasp. It\u2019s hot, and there\u2019s a cooking-fat note in the air. But it\u2019s not dirty or greasy. Tables are turned over quickly; yellow paper tablecloths and napkins with a bull on them keep the place looking like a cross between a Parisian bistro and a child\u2019s birthday party.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
If you\u2019re one of those people who struggles to make their mind up in restaurants, you\u2019ll like it here \u2013 as long as you eat meat. This is a set menu with an emphasis on \u201cset\u201d. You are in a steak restaurant. Steak singular. Your one option is how you\u2019d like it cooked, and \u201cwell done\u201d is not an accepted answer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The wine list is short. The house wines are perfectly serviceable fare, though you can also push the boat out for something a little more ambitious: a dry white from Ch\u00e2teau Thieuley in Entre-Deux-Mers, maybe; or a smart red Bordeaux from Ch\u00e2teau Marjosse, home estate of Pierre Lurton of Ch\u00e2teaux Cheval Blanc and d\u2019Yquem. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
The wineglasses are small, round and stubby. These are not the sort of glasses wine people like to drink from. That doesn\u2019t matter, though; don\u2019t come here to sit and savour a glass for an hour or to contemplate aromas. Come here to drink wine with your steak, free of any particular cares, airs or graces.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Your order has probably not hit the kitchen before you\u2019re treated to a bowl of bread and a plate of salad. You didn\u2019t order a salad, and they won\u2019t have mentioned a salad at the time of ordering unless you specifically asked. But a salad you shall have, and it\u2019s the same every time: lettuce, walnuts and a mustardy, vinegary dressing. There must be a team on salad duty around the clock. I\u2019m no fan of walnuts, and if I was whipping up a salad at home, bog-standard lettuce would be towards the bottom of my wish-list. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Here, though, it works. You could almost have a second plate, if only you had the time. Things move fast. The moment the last knife and fork hits the plate, somebody is over to clear up \u2013 and to tell you off for putting your cutlery on the plate, you heathen. Here, like in many restaurants in France, you keep the same knife and fork throughout your meal. I\u2019ve never been quite sure why.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
No time to find out, though. Because before you know it, it\u2019s time for the main event. This is steak frites of the most reliable, homely and irresistible kind. Generous portions of everything. Thinly sliced steak, drowning in a garlicky, buttery mustard sauce (a secret held closely with the family, apparently; think a Caf\u00e9 de Paris sauce and you\u2019re not far off). Your communal serving dish is kept warm by candlelight. If you know what you\u2019re in for here, I don\u2019t think it\u2019s possible to be disappointed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
They give you so many fries that you\u2019d swear they were going out of fashion. And just when you think you\u2019ve had your fill, an insistent serveuse<\/em> is along with another helping of roasting-hot chips. Resistance is futile. Any pangs of hunger you may have had are now just a distant memory from when you were in a queue outside.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And that\u2019s almost your lot. <\/p>\n\n\n\n It\u2019s France, so obviously there\u2019s cheese, if you want it. And surprisingly, there\u2019s also a relatively long dessert menu. I wonder why. Maybe they\u2019re bluffing, and it\u2019s just for show \u2013 a calculated risk that nobody could possibly have room for dessert after all that beef, potato and, ehm, lettuce. <\/p>\n\n\n\n I\u2019m not big on desserts at the best of times, and on the several occasions when I\u2019ve managed to successfully clear my plate at this fine, beefy establishment, I\u2019m not necessarily in the mood. But there is some fancy-sounding stuff to be had if you\u2019re that way inclined, and, on the face of it at least, there is a degree of free will involved.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I don\u2019t live in Bordeaux anymore and I don\u2019t get back as often as I\u2019d like to.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Eight years ago, I met my now wife on the steps of the opera house, not a hundred metres from this restaurant. There would have already been a healthy queue forming as we said hello for the first time. I couldn\u2019t have known back then how things would develop. No clue that we\u2019d move to London together, or that there\u2019d be a global pandemic. No notion of the jobs I would have, the places I\u2019d go or the people I\u2019d meet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Not much has changed there: I have no idea what the future holds, really. <\/p>\n\n\n\n There are lots of unknowns, from the everyday to the existential. Much in between. Some things I can influence or have some say over; others are entirely out of my, our, anyone\u2019s hands. Maybe everything will work out. Maybe it won\u2019t. <\/p>\n\n\n\n I might never even set foot in Bordeaux again. Or maybe we\u2019ll move back there and never leave.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And if I do get back there, I might not ever eat at L\u2019Entrec\u00f4te again. I don\u2019t like queues, after all, and I know Bordeaux well enough to know there are a million other places to get a good meal. Many of them will even let you decide what you eat. <\/p>\n\n\n\n But for whatever reason, I\u2019m drawn to that bright black-and-yellow fa\u00e7ade, the gawdy signage \u2013 and that queue. Rigid but always in motion; timeless. Different people in different configurations, from all walks of life; always reliably the same. It\u2019ll be the same tonight as it was on that Sunday in March as it was the first time I went there nearly a decade ago and every other time since.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I have no idea who is going there tonight, who they\u2019re going with, where they\u2019ve come from, where they\u2019re going. But I know what they\u2019ll be having.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" I\u2019ve never much liked queues. I worked for years as a checkout supervisor at a supermarket, and something instinctive still kicks in when I sense the slightest hint of a line starting to form. Surely they\u2019ve had their day, anyway. With the advent of the written word, let alone the telephone and all technological advances…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":1034,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1033","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/charliegeoghegan.wine\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/06\/ENTRE-2.jpg?fit=2000%2C1097&ssl=1","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/charliegeoghegan.wine\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1033","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/charliegeoghegan.wine\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/charliegeoghegan.wine\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/charliegeoghegan.wine\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/charliegeoghegan.wine\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1033"}],"version-history":[{"count":12,"href":"https:\/\/charliegeoghegan.wine\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1033\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1046,"href":"https:\/\/charliegeoghegan.wine\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1033\/revisions\/1046"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/charliegeoghegan.wine\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/1034"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/charliegeoghegan.wine\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1033"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/charliegeoghegan.wine\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1033"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/charliegeoghegan.wine\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1033"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
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