Midnight in Brussels by Rebecca Randolph Buckley Read Free Book Online

indeed like a huge family party, whether or not you knew the people sitting next to you.
    The Woolgrowers, another popular Basque restaurant and bar that Richard frequented, normally served lunch as well as dinner, but it didn’t have the same setup as the Pyrenees. Dinner at Woolgrowers was served at separate tables like any restaurant, at any hour, not just two seatings. But it still served family-style in tureens, bowls, and on platters.
    Richard held Amanda’s hand as they entered the Pyrenees bar. He commented as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, “Bakersfield is known as the Basque gourmet capital of the U.S., Amanda. Just a little tidbit of information for you, in case you didn’t know.”
    “I didn’t know, but then how would I? I know nothing about the Basque people or Bakersfield.” She smiled at him.
    He returned the smile and added, “Well, the Basque emigrated from the Pyrenees region near the Bay of Biscayne of Southern France and Northern Spain. They settled here in the San Joaquin Valley as sheepherders and ranch hands, and it didn’t take them long to open up traditional Basque restaurants like this one. California has the highest population of Basques than any other state, as a matter of fact, and it has a major wool-growing industry because of the Basque people.”
    The daughter of the proprietor came from around the crowded bar to greet them. “So good to see you, Richard. Just two, this afternoon?”
    “That’s right. Did we make it in time for the Christmas lunch?”
    “You just made it. Another five minutes and we would have had to turn you away.” She grinned and motioned him to follow her.
    He knew she was teasing him.
    They followed her across the dark bar’s worn wooden-planked floor past the ornately carved bar through a single doorway leading into the backroom which was as large as the bar room. Curtained windows were on the two outside perimeter walls; the kitchen and the bar butted up against the two inside walls.
    There were two long rows of wooden picnic-style tables lined up, end to end, from the front to the far back window wall. Chairs full of diners were already seated at the tables that were covered with white tablecloths. Platters and tureens of food were being placed for the diners to pass from one person to another. Open bottles of wine were plentiful, spaced for the patrons to pour into small glass tumblers, not typical wine glasses - true Basque style.
    This particular meal on every Christmas Eve was a special time, a celebratory annual event. Later on in the evening, Christmas tamales would be served in the bar to the drinking patrons. So it was an event for all at the Pyrenees.
    Normally, meals at the Pyrenees and other Basque restaurants included soup, salad, beans, French fries, wine, and coffee, plus several entrees and side dishes. Entrees offered might include steak, lamb, pork, chicken and seafood dishes. Side dishes would feature sweetbreads, tongue stew, lamb stew, paella, oxtail stew, and many family-owned recipes handed down through the ages. Dessert was usually limited to ice cream, fruit and hard cheese, Gastaeu Basque (a rolled cake with luscious filling) was a favorite, and of course, there would be flan.
    Amanda had never experienced such a friendly dining atmosphere. She was stunned by the camaraderie between people who had never met before and were sitting next to or across from each other and acting as if they were old friends. She waved at Frenchie who blew her a kiss from where she was sitting at the end of the other row of tables. Paula and Drake weren’t there. They’d stayed at home since Paula wasn’t feeling well.
    Richard grinned as he watched Amanda’s reaction to the Basque feeding process. He was sitting across from her, sipping his red wine from the short glass.
    “This is so different, ain’t it?” she asked in a quiet voice as she leaned toward him across the table.
    “You mean the number of people all dining