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Dec. 16th, 2003 10:23 pm"I wanted those waters to be blue. And they were not. They were the nighttime waters, and how I suffered then, straining to remember the seas that a young man's untutored senses had taken for granted, that an undisciplined memory had let slip away for eternity."
-- Louis (Anne Rice), Interview with the Vampire
I drove up the barrier islands of the Gulf of Mexico, to try a restaurant I had passed in Indian Rocks Beach. Chateau Madrid, it is called, a mixing of European culture in a single appellation that may be perverse even for American melting-pot standards. Here is how you get there from Treasure Island, Florida, on a Tuesday night: You drive north on Gulf boulevard, passing 600,000 hotels offering rooms for adults only, families welcome, Canadians welcome, Wir sprechen Deutsch (though, oddly no blatantly French advertisements even with the blanket "Canadian" come-hithers). You pass a single miniature golf course, then two others named Smugglers Cove done in pirate motif ("Feed live gators while you golf!").
Chateau Madrid is a pretty place on the outside, a little dingy on the inside which might make it a bit more authentic when it comes to European restauranteuring. There is a nice, almost required picture of Don Quixote at the bar; an etching more realistic than, but obviously inspired by, the Picasso.
It was a slow night. The martini was not up to the standards that such a prime location might require. The duck had a lovely sauce, but was overcooked. There were no, to my dismay, cervezas de España, merely the generic stock of Corona, Heineken, Coors, Mic, Bud, and Grolsch. The ambiance was...lacking.
I have only lived here for a month now, as of today. I have started a search for a replacement for my hangout in Atlanta, a wonderful bar/restaurant called Food 101. Good food, good ambiance, good clientele. This was my first attempt in Tampa Bay, and I swung and missed.
I drove south toward home, windows open in the 70 (21) degree weather watching the black-clouded sky above the inky waters of the Gulf. Unlike Louis, the character with which I identify most in Gothic fiction, I love the sea at night. But then, I'll take it just fine in the daytime as well. At least I have the choice -- I might be bitter, too, if I were denied the blue-green shimmer of the sea on a cloudless day.
I need to get in back in the Florida mode of living in a resort. The years I lived in south Florida, the years I lived in Orlando...I need to recapture that patience. I'm searching for like-aged ambiance in the height of snow-bird season, right on the beach. I wouldn't trade where I'm living for anything, but I'm thinking for my next place, I might need to go more urban, less resort.
In the meantime, I picked the next potential spot to try. A review may be forthcoming in the next few days.
-- Louis (Anne Rice), Interview with the Vampire
I drove up the barrier islands of the Gulf of Mexico, to try a restaurant I had passed in Indian Rocks Beach. Chateau Madrid, it is called, a mixing of European culture in a single appellation that may be perverse even for American melting-pot standards. Here is how you get there from Treasure Island, Florida, on a Tuesday night: You drive north on Gulf boulevard, passing 600,000 hotels offering rooms for adults only, families welcome, Canadians welcome, Wir sprechen Deutsch (though, oddly no blatantly French advertisements even with the blanket "Canadian" come-hithers). You pass a single miniature golf course, then two others named Smugglers Cove done in pirate motif ("Feed live gators while you golf!").
Chateau Madrid is a pretty place on the outside, a little dingy on the inside which might make it a bit more authentic when it comes to European restauranteuring. There is a nice, almost required picture of Don Quixote at the bar; an etching more realistic than, but obviously inspired by, the Picasso.
It was a slow night. The martini was not up to the standards that such a prime location might require. The duck had a lovely sauce, but was overcooked. There were no, to my dismay, cervezas de España, merely the generic stock of Corona, Heineken, Coors, Mic, Bud, and Grolsch. The ambiance was...lacking.
I have only lived here for a month now, as of today. I have started a search for a replacement for my hangout in Atlanta, a wonderful bar/restaurant called Food 101. Good food, good ambiance, good clientele. This was my first attempt in Tampa Bay, and I swung and missed.
I drove south toward home, windows open in the 70 (21) degree weather watching the black-clouded sky above the inky waters of the Gulf. Unlike Louis, the character with which I identify most in Gothic fiction, I love the sea at night. But then, I'll take it just fine in the daytime as well. At least I have the choice -- I might be bitter, too, if I were denied the blue-green shimmer of the sea on a cloudless day.
I need to get in back in the Florida mode of living in a resort. The years I lived in south Florida, the years I lived in Orlando...I need to recapture that patience. I'm searching for like-aged ambiance in the height of snow-bird season, right on the beach. I wouldn't trade where I'm living for anything, but I'm thinking for my next place, I might need to go more urban, less resort.
In the meantime, I picked the next potential spot to try. A review may be forthcoming in the next few days.
