Emotion bistrot

Unpublished article - Loris S. Musumeci

I spend my life in bistros. Since they closed, my habits have changed, as they have for so many others. No more coffee with a glass of water «and a croissant too, please» - because I'm greedy; no more whole afternoons writing, reading, studying and chatting over mint teas or binch; no more evenings spent letting closing time slip by over a glass of white wine. But life went on for almost two months outside these places I love.

The bistro has moved home. In its happier, real-life version, with friends stopping by my table to recharge their batteries. Have a bite to eat, a drink. They made me a proud restaurateur. In its duller, virtual version with the so-called «apéro-zoom». Drinking alone in front of a camera while giving the illusion of being in company. I've tried it. Sometimes nice, the experience was most often sad. Drinking to drink alone might as well be done in front of your thoughts, your books or a good film, rather than in front of a camera, which breaks the direct and spontaneous relationship with others.

Read also: At Le Café, a thirst for society

And on May 11, the bistros reopened. On May 11, the obvious became clear: you could - I could! - live without bistros. Just as we could live without many other habits, like buying clothes for the sheer pleasure of buying them, buying books knowing full well that we won't be reading them for another ten or... thirty years, strolling through shops of all kinds, squinting at items we can't afford, and consequently dreaming of a future of wealth and success. Daydreams aren't bad, except when they become alienating. You can live without travel too. But just because you can do without it doesn't necessarily mean you're better off. Life without bistros is possible, good for the wallet, but not necessarily better.

The bistro, our culture

Because the bistro, from café to brasserie, from resto’ to gastro’, is a culture. In this case, ours. A social culture of encounters. Getting to know a new conquest, an employer, a colleague or a comrade allows us to tame each other on neutral ground. In a place conducive to relaxation and well-being. With a common platform: the table. The same table we find in a home to bring a family together, in a meeting room to collaborate, in a school to read, write and learn, in a cult to celebrate a sacrifice. The bistro is above all the table, even in its taller, narrower version, the counter.

And the bistro is all about what's on the table. From the twenty-buck menu du jour - which is still available, fortunately - to the cup or glass, on foot but without walking, dishes and beverages that add flavour to the day. Coffee that stirs the taste buds and gives the heart a little boost. Tea, which warms and soothes. Sodas, reminiscent of the joys of childhood. Beer quenches thirst. Wine, which intoxicates and inspires; gives a passion for flavors; glides over the tongue to plunge into the blood, making it sweeter and more fragrant.

Loneliness and company

The bistro, in solitude, is openness to chance encounters with «regulars» who welcome us into the family with a «cheers!» The bistro, in solitude, is work, like writing an article about bistros. Early invention of the’open space. Leisure, in the face of that now endangered species we call a newspaper, with articles that open our eyes to the world, with crosswords - if the other guy hasn't already scribbled all the squares - opening our eyes to the words that make up the world. Leisure time, in front of an old-fashioned brick, crumbly on three sides, called a book. The same book you carry from landscape to landscape, station to station, bistro to bistro. The book that, in the end, I only have time to read in the bistro; distractions at home are always as numerous as they are stupid.

The bistro, in company, is the new meeting, the reunion or simply the perpetual extension of a friendship. Friendship is concrete, in actions and symbols. Symbols can be a place. A public bench, a park or a bistro. To each his own. As you can see, my thing is bistros. So the places where friendship flourishes are bistros. Endless discussions, laughter, projects, discoveries, confidences, complicity in the flirting of a charming waitress or a group of girlfriends, rather cute, even if this aspect suits me a little less. Well, we do what we can.

Since May 11th, by returning to the bistros, we've rediscovered all the riches of life. All those riches concentrated in a Western savoir-vivre. Even in a savoir-well-living. At a time of bad taste, false happiness and real dullness, the reopening of bistros is bringing about a revival that shows there's no price to pay for the art of lighting up a fag and drinking a toast. That there's no price on reliving an emotion that gives me butterflies in the stomach: the bistro emotion.

Write to the author: loris.musumeci@leregardlibre.com

Photo credit: Tables for Ladies, Edward Hopper, 1930 © Metropolitan Museum of Arts