Romantic table. My daughter used this expression, a few days ago, when she saw this photo. The top is a heavy plaque of white marble with traces of gray. The support is black forged iron and steel.
In a previous post, I mentioned a friend who's trying to sell his former restaurant in Pont-en-Royans. [Click here to see this post.] His name is Eric. After diluvian rainfall, Eric's former restaurant is a wreck, but there are still enough resources left to serve me up a green Chartreuse liquor (on the rocks) whenever I drop in. I love to sit on the upper balcony of Eric's dilapidated place, of a late afternoon, and contemplate the hanging houses. Periodically, a tiny flock of ducks flies down from the Vercors to their habitat on the Bourne at Pont-en-Royans. They swoop past Eric's place in a gracious curve, like jet fighters at an air show. They give me the impression that they know I admire their aeronautics. They're surely doing their act for me and my dog Sophia.
My romantic table is in fact a gift from Eric, who's getting rid of his former restaurant equipment. The lawn in front of Gamone is henceforth adorned with two such lovely white marble romantic tables.