Calvin Trillin is one of my humor gods, on food and politics (Uncivil Liberties, The Tummy Trilogy). One thing he would bemoan as a foodie and traveller through the US was being in some hick medium-sized town in the middle of the country, and wanting to explore the local specialties, barbeque or fried chicken or something more exotic, while the town boosters, ashamed of such localisms, would try to drag him to what he calls Casa de la Maisson House, Continental Cuisine, complete with White Sauce on everything. They would say "we have a surprisingly good French restaurant here" and he would refrain from saying "no you don't".
Well, either Bloomington is an exception (not that Bloomington is a typical Midwestern town) or real French food is unbelievably good. Or maybe just more reliably good, since the local place does have its strikeouts. Herewith is my report of the second Le Petit Sunday Brunch outing ($9.25, $1.50 for coffee):
First they brought these little straight pastries which I assumed were Return of the Salmon Rangoon, but turned out to be good, being little cheese croissanty things, full of buttered pastry and cheese. Then we had French Toast like last time, still good (possibly because, like the Turkuaz baklava, it's saturated in syrup), soft and fruity. With the french toast was bread pudding, which we apparently received in lieu of bread (since we got that, we didn't get bread, lest we fill up.) Next time I think I'll ask for the bread, I like it more than the pudding. Finally soup, a tomato vegetable and maybe seafood soup, also really good; I tried to savor it slowly.
Of the main courses the top was the chicken, large boneless pieces in an onion soupy broth; I felt it was a fine successor to the soup. The turnips surprised me -- I didn't know you could prepare root vegetables in that almost pasta-like way, folded slices of translucency -- but didn't grab me, and the beef -- lots of bones with attached strips of meat, possibly ribs but I'm not good at identifying cuts -- was good but not up to the chicken, and too oily for one of us. Though she got the extra piece of chicken (assuming she took two in the first place as I did, which I realize later I don't actually know), so I guess utility balances out; I have the remaining beef in the fridge. "Oh my god this is a lot of food" was a repeated observation, though I would note that given the boniness, there wasn't that much actual dead cow.
For dessert we had a heavenly creme brulee, soft and creamy and with a browned top with what seemed like sugar crystals. Their coffee and cream -- fat line visible on the walls of the cream pitcher -- was still excellent. And we're told they can adapt to vegetarians.
I nap now.
