It is because we have such cold, grey winters that the arrival of warm weather is made all the sweeter. Strolls in parks, verdant trees and flowers, and the return of outdoor dining.
It is the memories of summer meals that stand out more than winter feasts, time spent with friends lounging under the shade of sycamores and slices of sunshine on the face while enjoying starters and wine.

But what makes a restaurant garden good?

On the one hand, there’s the place with the warmth of the sun, shade of some sort (trees are preferable), a street or a pavement or a path that allows for watching the people pass by (if nothing else, it’s a fashion show of sorts), with no birds hovering overhead, dusted chairs and tables, where you can hear your thoughts and, yes, even in summer when attitudes are more easy-going, good service. An added benefit is wireless internet, which allows for eating lunch, and then sitting down to work while nursing that afternoon beer.

On the other hand, there’s the place where conversation is near drowned out by car hoooters blowing and/or by music blasting, where vehicular fumes could double as the chef’s secret ingredient, where the only shade comes from a dingy umbrella or a few shrubs whose containers double as trash bins, where beggars pass through regularly, where you hesitate to wear  white for fear of leaving looking like you had been leaning against a dirty car, and a direct view (and smell) of a day’s worth of steaming rubbish. The idyll lessens, to say the least.

Recently, we were at lunch at a popular restaurant in the centre of old Sofia. Beautifully warm, we sat outside. As outfitted, the setting was fine – there were enough umbrellas to shade all the tables, the nearby street was not too noisy with traffic, save the occasional tram, and the view allowed watching of passers-by on the pavement, the shops across the street, and a small garden.

A (girl)friend and I joined a male friend of ours. The waitress gave us dirty looks and tended to disappear for long periods of time. Our friend said that she had been pleasant and attentive enough until we two females arrived. But that has nothing to do with the fact that we were eating outside. The real annoyance came when we were propositioned by three (four, if you count the chicho that followed a few tables behind the little boy) separate beggars – a girl who became very angry and started cussing out the manager when he tried to shoo her away, a young gypsy boy and his not-physically handicapped chicho and then a deaf girl trying to sell little thingamajigs.

After having done his duty the first time, the manager disappeared somewhere, and our expressions of disgruntlement went ignored.
On the other hand, again recently, at a different outdoor dining area, the only person who asked us for money was a baba selling home-grown flowers. And the waitress was polite.

I love being outside, and love that Bulgaria has so many options for this, from bar-restaurants that spring up in the parks come the blooming of the first forsythia, to the mom and pop bistros on the corners, to the more elegant restaurants that try as hard as possible to pretend that the world outside their property does not exist.
But I do not understand all the cars. Or, I understand all the cars, but do not understand why people insist on driving them, and how it is possible (not to mention the health risks) to dine next to a busy road.

Another gripe: At other places, the tables are either all too big (do the two of us really need to sit at a table for eight? It makes us feel like loners or space-hogs) or they are all too small, and the waitress gets mad when we try to move them.

Some places that stand out positively, for one reason or another:

* Makedonska Kruchma in Dobrinishte. The restaurant itself is fine – reliably decent traditional Bulgarian food, fun décor, live music and sufficiently capable service. The garden, though, is delightful. Huge enough to hold a wedding dinner, with wooden tables and benches and chairs, separated from the world by a low split-log fence, and greenery. You sit over grass; around you are fruit trees and flowering bushes. The roads are calm, the air is fresh, and in the background stands Pirin Mountain.

* Dobro, in Zaimov Park. The setting is ideal – on a patio (options for covered or uncovered seating areas), surrounded by stately sycamores, the verandah set high enough up that it’s almost like you’re dining in a tree house, far removed from the road. The service is good, and the food is of stable quality.

* Toba&Co in Sofia. OK, so I know that it’s not a restaurant, but it is the perfect outdoor setting for a morning coffee, an afternoon drink or a late-night gab fest with friends. What better place is there to sit among the greenery, away from the streets but not from the people, and ponder the minds that created the curious statues back during communism?

* Motto in Sofia. Oh, the joys of sitting in the backyard, with a grassy lawn and big, old trees shading from the rays of the sun. It’s almost like summertime at Grandma’s – if Grandma were a New York socialite.

* And finally, Siniyat Luv (The Blue Lion) in Balchik. Maybe it’s the slight sloping of the pavement. Maybe it’s the quaint somewhat-triangular shape outdoor dining area. Maybe it’s the horrid MM beer that they serve. Maybe it’s the feeling of stepping back in time, to when life was left hectic, or it’s the trees, or it’s watching the people walk past, or maybe it’s knowing that the person serving you is also the person who opened the place years ago. Whatever it is, I love it.