My husband and I went on our first date at the French Cafe. I suppose I chose that spot for all the usual reasons that Omahans chose it for more than 40 years: It seemed romantic. Impressive. Fancy. Cultured. And I was an Omaha girl who wanted to impress an out-of-town boy. A long time passed between that first date and our second date (another story for another blog post) but years later, after we had fallen in love and settled together in a one-bedroom apartment on 13th Street, my husband insisted we go back to the French Cafe on a Saturday night.
We had already gone to dinner and had a drink. I’m fine with going home, I said.
He insisted again. I didn’t get it.
He asked for the same table we’d occupied on our first date. I still didn’t get it.
Then, hands trembling, he pulled a Borsheim’s box out of his pocket and asked.
It was as romantic as it sounds.
That’s us about an hour after our wedding, at the same table .
I felt sad, but maybe not surprised, when I learned yesterday that the French Cafe had closed. I know I’m far from the only person in Omaha who got engaged there, or who has lovely, romantic memories of the place. I remember going there as a little girl and being enchanted by the huge black-and-white photographs on the west wall. I stayed enchanted with them every time I went there, even the last time, for a drink a few weeks ago, when we were nearly the only people in the place. I wondered then what would happen to the French Cafe. I realized then that the city had largely deserted it.
The restaurant in 1980.
I can’t say I went there a lot. I think many Omahans can say the same thing. And even though the restaurant has floundered these past few years, making lots of changes and trying frantically to find itself, I don’t think I ever thought it would be gone.
The French Cafe kick started the Old Market. The Old Market: The first place I drove my red Pontiac Sunbird when I got my driver’s license. An escape that I’ve always returned to, even when we moved out of that one-bedroom apartment on 13th Street. A place where I first felt like I could be myself. A part of the city where I still eat many meals and drink countless glasses of wine with friends. The best part of Omaha. So for that, if nothing else, I will always remember, and appreciate the French Cafe.
It helped to make my Omaha what it is.
Vintage photo courtesy of the Omaha World-Herald. Wedding photos by my friend and OWH photographer Matt Miller.
I look really dorky drinking that champagne, like I’ve never actually lifted a glass to my mouth before.
A lovely tribute to this vital piece of Omaha’s cultural history.
you should look into buying “your” table. jj and i had our first date at rosenblatt and after they closed he bought two blue stadium seats.
Wow this post made me happy and sad at the same time. good writing, scribbler.