We asked about a restaurant. Our landlady directed us down the street a few doors, to a place called Chez Victor. The dining room was empty of people, but I wandered around and found the proprietors having their own meal in the large kitchen. They were happy to seat us near the stone fireplace. They did not, of course, have any of my English nor any of my wife s Spanish, but the menu was decipherable.
French restaurants are everywhere, even Atlanta.
We ordered what was to be one of the best meals something about medallions of beef we had in Europe. French couples and families wandered in, and we were no longer alone as customers. A married couple brought in their little dog, and two women together did the same. The pets were slipped gourmand-quality soups and hors d oeuvres under their tables. The waitress went to a small boom box on the hearth and put in a cassette, and it was a Louis Armstrong jazz album.