I got a buzz from the surroundings: a long zinc bar; a brilliant spectrum of seltzer bottles above it; a diverse mix of smiling, chattering diners at tables positioned close to one another, but not ridiculously so.
Above the chattering of diners, my only unfulfilled wish during a very satisfying stay is that the history-soaked walls could talk too.
On the other terrace lunch is being served by crisp-shirted waiters, the clatter and chatter of well-heeled diners drifting through the bright air.
Dropping by diners and family-run stores, they chattered playfully, and any apprehension they felt was buried deep.
A guttural ferry whistle heralds the arrival of tourists, squeals of laughter from toddlers drift over from Children's Beach and the relaxed chatter and clinking glasses of fellow diners usher in the weekend.
So, last week, when I found an audiotape marked "Trotter," I couldn't help but wonder if Obama's diner chat was somewhere in there among the candidates' chatter.
Oh, it's punctuated by the occasional happy hum of a diner chewing pork or guzzling the fat-flecked broth, or even by the faint chatter of the chef's radio, but it's the slurps that take center stage, long and loud and enthusiastic, showing appreciation for the chef's métier even as they cool the noodles down to edible temperature.
Diners are plied with salt cod, marinated figs, beef brisket ravioli, stuffed calamari and, if you trust the chatter, the best tiramisu anyone has ever eaten in the history of tiramisu.
In a more formal restaurant, all that chatter might be unwelcome; but here, sitting beneath oversize greenery and a plaque of cavorting putti, even solitary diners might imagine themselves part of the lively community.
