Ever attentive, you naturally recall each and every detail of our tale regarding the celebrated House of Comens. You have already devoured our Entrées. And now, here you are, ready to savour our Plats principaux.
Thus, I have no need at all to remind you that you partake in the very pinnacle of restauration in Canada's capital city. You know too that the name of our establishment is, in part, a play on words, referring to the chief constituent of our clientele: members of the federal political class, domiciled in Ottawa, who come here to accomplish their own goals, lofty or otherwise. This in turn is facilitated by the provision of the finest cuisine, perhaps the best in all of North America, an extensive cellar, and a highly conducive environment, one free of degenerate distractions.
Yet, as you are equally well aware – as the Bard might have put it, but didn't – all is not well in our House. There are some quite significant areas of friction, particularly between myself, Paul Passchen, whose brilliant conception this all was, but who now is made a mere general factotum, and the present owner, Évette Martin, estranged daughter and heir of my old friend, Ian Comens, for whom the place is named.
Others – notable among them are our Chef de Cuisine, Jean-Christophe Saint-Estèphe, and our Garde des Vins et des Alcools, Béatrice Ngom – add their own contributions to this ongoing feud, some positive, some perhaps not so. Meanwhile, malignant external actors seem intent on further complicating all of our lives, not to mention their hindering of our principal purpose.
Somehow – actually, I have no doubt that it is principally due to my own perspicacity and agility– mental, not physical, obviously – we endure.
But at what cost?
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