Best of Boston

Shame on us Americans, keeping lunch penned up in cubicles and break rooms, starved of any real pleasure. The midday meal is entitled to some dignity, as French import La Voile reminds us. Tourists are scarce among the café: linen-topped tables, shooed away by the un-dumbed-down dishes (veal terrine flavored with muscat, sophisticated salads topped with foie gras and smoked duck) and un-marked-down prices, while the languid service sends rushy-rushy diners scurrying elsewhere. The rest of us are left lounging on the patio in peace, enjoying a glass of Sancerre rouge and the realization that things made slowly and with care demand to be eaten the same way.