character:

Canon Fronsac is the Schubert of Bordeaux—that is to say a Romantic, in the truest 19th century Viennese bohemian composer sense of the word. Rich, full, lively and undeterably cheerful, he is the struggling coffeehouse songwriter, turning out some of the brightest, most joyful, and most memorable melodies ever written, all for a small group of musician friends to play amongst themselves. Yet given time (say, five to ten years or so), we hear another side to Schubert—an extravagantly experimental authenticity, and a deeper, at times shockingly dark level of complexity. There are sonatas. There are quartets. There are failed operas. And there are symphonies, among the greatest ever composed, left hauntingly unfinished. Which then, is the true Schubert (which the true Canon Fronsac)? Why, both, of course. Troubled genius by day, conducting a silent battle against personal demons across pages of brutally loosed symphonic emotion; the merry song-smith by night, greeting his many musical friends with another convivial sing-a-long lieder. A true Romantic, he is laughter in the darkness.

tastes like:

In youth, Schubert’s Ungarische Melodie. In maturity, his Unfinished Eighth.

pairs nicely with:

Café Weimar pre-Volksoper, Café Weimar post-Volksoper, and any comic opera sung in German, in between; Rum & Tobacco Smoked Salmon, Potted Escargots Bourguignons, and Sugar Pumpkin Gnocchi with Oxtail Stuffed Baby Squid; holiday reservations for a family of twelve or more, oversized restaurant dinning rooms where more than one large family holiday dinner is in progress, and ‘The Trout’ Quintet (the fourth movement, in particular) played above all; Sirloin Au Poivre, Wiener Schnitzel “à la Holstein,” and Calf’s Liver with Brown Sugar Bacon; Nächtliches Bankett by Wolfgang Heimbach, more or less the entire Brugel gallery at the Kunsthistorisch, and the world’s most comfortable museum benches, at the same; quiet winter afternoons, a comfortable coffeehouse, classical pianists able to warm a room with music, and the welcoming and wholly untranslatable feeling that is true Viennese Gemütlichkeit.