CheekyChicago

Who says French women don’t get fat? Well, Mireille Guiliano, author of French Women Don’t Get Fat does, but I’d venture to say that, she’s in her own boat. If I were a French woman and I ate the way I did at Mon Ami Gabi the other night – every night of my life – I’d definitely be, what the French call, gros (fat).

But I’ll risk one night of French indulgence to Americanize my weight. It was decided before our meal that my date and I would consume some wine and a chat at the bar before moving into the dining room of this ‘classic French bistro.’ I walked up the steps of the Belden Stratford (as I’ve done many times before) and saw my favorite brunette date waiting for me at the end of the bar (a very strange and uncomfortable situation was also waiting for me at the bar, but it didn’t show up for another 30 minutes and I will not dish details). We caught up over my favorite glass of wine, Graves, only to find out via the super friendly bartender that they would be discontinuing the glass pours of said wine. Major bummer, but c’est la vie.

After two glasses of wine and previously mentioned uncomfortable situation, we made our way to the back of the restaurant to a romantic table for two. If I could use one word to describe the vibe at Mon Ami, it’s comfortable. It’s not fancy, it’s not not-fancy, it’s just comfortable (unlike uncomfortable bar situation – have I mentioned this?). Immediately upon sitting, we were greeted with another glass (!) of Graves and a loaf of fresh, doughy French bread. As I’ve been to Mon Ami many-a time, I’m always excited by the surprise accoutrements that accompany the bread; this evening we enjoyed homemade butter and my new favorite beet spread. French women might say ‘no’ to bread and butter, but these American girls said ‘oui.’

We appetizer-ed ourselves with shrimp cocktail (plump and fresh) and the grilled salmon and spinach salad (with orange, grapefruit segments and a citrus vinaigrette). I normally opt for the latter as an entrée, but splitting the salad afforded it a smaller, more appetizer-worthy dish. As any foodie knows, appetizers are just foreplay in the sensual act of eating; the precursor to the big bang of an entrée. Big bang it we did. After the Seared Sea Scallop dish (with spinach, whipped cauliflower and brown butter) and the very French ‘Gabi Classic’ Roast Chicken and Frites (grandmere style, mushrooms, bacon and pearl onions), you could’ve stuck a fork in us…. We. Were. Done.

We all know that dessert is the substitute for………exercise, so we definitely got our dessert on (who needs……spinning, anyways?). After profiteroles (vanilla ice cream filled pastry with fudge sauce), crème brulée and a warm flourless chocolate cake (with chocolate sauce and whipped cream), I could’ve used a cigarette (and I don’t even smoke!).

Needless to say, this was one well-rounded meal. It had – what the French would call – a certain je ne sais quoi. And if I get fat because of it, I’ll know that I’m a much happier woman than Ms. Mireille Guiliano.