When we were done with our dinner, sitting back and admiring the twinkling of lights against the dark street, I realized the one disappointing irony of an otherwise delightful place. It wasn't that the food was less adventurous than I expected from a restaurant with "adventure" in its name; in fact, I liked it better for its gentle, comforting simplicity.
It wasn't that the "traveler's lounge" likely catered to more hobbit-lovers and armchair adventurers than actual travelers. That's the way with a lot of places, I think. The people they're built for are rarely the ones who show up night after night, the ones looking to feel like the people for whom a place was built. How often do you see John Elway hanging out around a downtown sports bar? And how often do you see some beer-drunk yahoo at that same bar wearing Elway's jersey?
Cook's tour: Sherpa's serves up adventures in eating.
And it wasn't even that the waiters and cooks serving these people were the ones who'd really been somewhere -- who'd come down from the roof of the world to walk among the lowlanders and make them momo and tea.
No, the irony was that in this place where memories brought back from 20,000 feet decorated the walls and books about the high country filled all the shelves, the one thing you couldn't see from Sherpa's windows was the spine of mountains in whose shadow Sherpa's sat.