The Queen of Gran

The Queen of Gran was a nice little place... Right, let me start again. Felix's restaurant was a cozy, pretty upscale place with fresh meats, ripe fruits and vegetables and pretty decent card of wines, if I may say so. The prices were reasonable enough that an occasional student intend on impressing a young lady or lord of her or his choice would find them agreeable without a wealthy patron to back the expenses. The two doormen, of course, looked competent enough for their job; while they made sure also that there was no doubt of their equally competent background in the military.

It was located in the northern part of King's Boulevard, the wide and often congested linking the Imperial Market and the Temple Quarter. The location was good enough to attract the top tier clientele - wealthy nobles, artisans, bankers and traders, while ensuring the less desirable types usually quit before making trouble far from the poorer neighbourhoods of capital or slums outside the city walls.

The four storage building housed three tiers of dining halls and private rooms, and also a club aptly named Kings of Gran on the last floor. While there were quite a few more splendid buildings and mansions along the city's major throughway, there was something about this yellow limestone house with blue and white rooftop that made it seem elegant. The fact that it was splendidly decorated with Gran-style tables and chairs, and held quite a few of well-received works of contemporary paintings and sculpture, ensured that it did not lose much of appeal, when inside.

The other thing that made the restaurant so successful is that had a quiet reputation of being 'reputably scandalous' as at least one of the capital's newspapers claimed, challenging the imperial authority with its name and highbrowed moralists with its discreet private rooms. The management, of course, was not condoning any illicit affairs and required patrons to sign a waiver in case of a lawsuit against the establishment; however, the truth is that an occasional outing of clandestine meetings spread an air of exclusivity and daredevilishness around the place.

Is there a point about me babbling so much about one upscale club and restaurant? Probably, there wouldn't be in normal circumstances, unless I was writing a book about Queen's View and its many attractions. These were, unfortunately, not the normal times, where you could read a newspaper, and the most important story would be about plight of the poor, or how two renowned and tenured professors spat at each other at the Opera. No, these were those interesting times that one comes to dread.

Beside, despite all the venom from other proprietors and accusations of improper naming, Gran was unknown to anyone, but a few people, an acronym for initial of its owners and noble patrons, the people that have invested money (by the way of buying this building and bribes issued to the health inspectors), influence (to gain a liquor license by intimidation rather than outright thuggery) and time (to filter out trustworthy chef, staff and reputable suppliers) - Messrs. de Glanville, de Ruyter, Albrecht and Nolan. 

Is there a point to all of this, you'd ask? Oh, yes, there is, for I'm one of those masters of the house, and my name is Meert de Glanville.