G. Simone-Zionsville, IN

Gee, I hadn't been to Zionsville in at least 5 years. Zionsville, that trying too hard for twee town. The kind that's a little bit cute, a little bit nails on a chalkboard. We were across the town line in Carmel to visit friends and one suggested lunch nearby. Cobblestone streets, rare bookshops, fern bars(really? do they still make "fern bars?" am I old enough to even know what a "fern bar" is? Do I enjoy roasted red pepper and chevre quiche?). It was a cold and empty Monday, empty of traffic, quiet, lit with the kind of preternatural silvered grey that makes you need to be inside. Inside G. Simone's, walking through that door, it's a little shocking, smaller on the inside, everything's a little bit rough, like Bros. Grimm by way of Sonoma. A couple three tables scrounge at the hearth of a kitchen eating up half the space. His astonishingly toothy grin predominant, the tall boy at the grill glances up, gestures welcomingly with his spatula; take a seat. The waitress(and also, possibly cook/proprietor?) iterated this, sans spatula, then offered there was plenty more seating downstairs. We had the place to ourselves, traipsed carefully down the buckled steps to the basement and discovered a picturebook of what's cozy; mismatched chairs and settees, and couches and low granite tables, and a bar in back, and sheer fabrics filtering all sorts of lamps. The funny thing is how rickety and off-kilter and possibly trying-too-hard like the rest of Zionsville it was, but it worked, maybe for just this lunch...somehow it all tied together, or we tied it all together my partner and I with a friend lounging in club chairs just a little too big for me at a granite table with granite lazy susan just a little too low. A "bistro mix" on the stereo which I might find execrable in another context, here, reminded me of a trip to Eureka Springs, AR when I was twelve(my grandparents had recently moved to Fort Stockton for a short stay and my father took me on a visit from Houston). Eureka Springs which has a lot in common with Zionsville, tho' in memory a trifle prettier, those hills ascending into Octobers' trees, grizzled men selling icebergian slag glass from heaps at the side of the road, the giant Jesus looming over it all, and this one cafe' I thought was oh so cosmopolitan playing Sade as we ate quiche(I'm pretty sure it had to be quiche). G. Simone had this "bistro mix" as the waitress called it of chanson and dear god!? is that Julia fucking Fordham!? I haven't listened to her in at least 15 years. (again, those who know my tastes in music might be a trifle shocked that I'd recognize Julia fucking Fordham...if they themselves recognized Julia fucking Fordham). And then the mix'd skip...again and again...prompting our lovely dining companion to remark that she didn't realize people still listened to cd's. Ha! Ha! At which stutter and wobble our waitress would clomp down the steep, worn stairs, apologize and smack the box. I dug it.

They were out of the cider I wanted so I went with a Hitatchino white ale. Always thought it'd be cute to get the Hitatchino owl tattooed on my neck. Or, a string of them as tears. Had the vegan vegetable soup,
rice-based, that was unexpected, under seasoned, get over it. Actually, a light(nonexistent) hand with the salt ruled the day. Kinda made me consider if they were kowtowing to a certain demographics' wants(a group I'm intimately acquainted with as a cook...those for whom tap water is too salty). I had the "truffle burger" medium rare---perfect medium rare, btw. On "brioche"...an obviously homemade biscuit-like concoction bearing resemblance to brioche in attempt at shape only(and charming for all that, really). With fontina and caramelized onions(perfect onions...I'm a caramelized onions snob, I can't abide gnarly, funky, nigh burnt, overcooked slop, these were managed perfectly, a lush, almost slathering, of deliquescing sweetness). No truffle flavor whatsoever. The menu listed truffle oil and god knows how pungent that fake shit can be. So, no truffle flavor whatsoever, equals...oops, forgot the truffle oil! Which, considering the quality of the burger might've been a blessing.

My partner and our lovely dining companion had similar issues.

It was so easy to overlook it all though. Somewhere else where it was crowded and noisy(and the cd kept skipping) with no charm and distracted waitstaff I would've been gritting my teeth.

Here, even with a bespoke, poor, dry carrot cake-like thing to end the meal. All we could say was...mmm...gingery...I like ginger! And sip our coffees and praise the hostess not so much for the meal, but whole that was greater. There was a glamour invoked in that circle, sedate, warming, relaxing. And sometimes(esp. after a long workweek) that's all one needs.

G. Simone

112B S. Main St.
Zionsville, IN
46077

(317) 873-5577