ajgnet

lastly, it seems like i was a little too prepared for valentine's day this year. and by this i mean that i made some phone calls today and, obviously, everything is booked. so i'm gonna be cooking, and i'd really like some nice gourmet aged balsamic. does anyone have any recommendations of shops in paris that would sell this?

that's really interesting, and thanks for the feedback. if i'm ever lucky enough to try this dish again, i will definitely take your advice. i was so mezmorized by the feuillete there could have been a fire and i would not have noticed. though, i did find it hard to smell anything from the salad since the scent of the tarte was so strong. what you're saying makes sense though. thanks for the recommendation about the lobster and new potatoes ... this chef has my full and complete attention right now; i hope to stop back around then. i was sort of surprised about the sequencing as well; but that was the doing of my waiter, who was not pascal. he actually recommended that order. he did not object to all the desserts on the menu ... it was such a doable number! i was surprised to hear about pacaud using sous vide as well. while i'm pretty sure my waiter had confirmed this, i'm suspecting more and more that this was an error. i think it was just ever so lightly smoked.

it's hard to say if this is my best meal ever. but it's also hard for me to pinpoint one specific meal as my best. although generally, i find myself happiest in japan with slices of raw fish. simple, fresh, clean, delicious. i'm pretty sure i could live off kuruma ebi ("car" shrimp i think in english?), white rice, and green tea. i will say that this has been the most memorable meal i've had so far in paris, and i've been glowing about it ever since. i've never been to calandre, or anywhere in italy in fact, but i would never even compare this with french laundry or guy savoy. this meal was in a league of its own.

cue the commentary from our waiter at TFL: "You are an inspiration to us all..." ← my mother had dinner with me a few weeks ago ... "i've never seen somebody eat like this" she kept saying.

haha i don't think they did; or, at least they did a really good job concealing it. it was like two months later. i would have been startled if they were like, "you again ..." next up is going to be gérard mulot i think, right after le cinq. ← Ajgnet.Very well written review,very personal .You seem to be a true gourmet. Incidentally ,did you find the food quite rich?also what makes L'ambroisie different from any other 3 star restaurant.? Did you reserve under the same name as previousely? if that's the case they knew who you were.Also what did you drink and what's next.? ← thanks! the only course i found rich was the feuilleté; mostly, because of the foie gras and the truffled butter reduction underneath the pastry. i enjoyed the richness of the course; mostly because the other courses seemed light in comparision. i think it's hard to draw differences between service at the 3-star restaurants -- generally from my experience, the service has been excellent across the board. what made my experience at l'ambroisie was chef pacaud's daringness with the feuilleté. a teacher in third grade once told me you know a good invention when, after hearing it, you think "why didn't i think of that?" this was one of those things. until i had eaten this, i never even imagined truffles served in this way. the pastry was like a scent pocket, intensifying the truffle aroma as it baked. it was almost obnxious! he's one creative man. the quality of ingredients was also really high. not only was there a lot of truffle; there was a lot of very good truffle. everything from the mâche to vanilla bean in my ice cream was of impeccable quality. i had 3 dishes here that really impressed me (jerusalem artichokes and truffle, the feuilleté, and the brittany lobster) which might actually make this the most rewarding meal i've had here so far. i didn't drink at this meal. generally, i rarely drink with dinner. it's kind of weird; but i'm not that interested in wine with my food. i'd rather have it before or after, or just by itself. the next two places are le cinq (ate there a week ago) and le pré catelan. stay tuned !!

Oh yeah, so I stopped by Ladurée shortly after my return, to notice these beautiful round frangipane filled tartes. I immediately backtracked as I saw these wonderful looking things in the window. Eh, I could be a little late for my date. I stopped in to pick one up. The conversation went something like: "they're called galette des rois ... of course; and this is for how many people?" "one person." "... no, how many people?" "one person?" (switch to english) "how many people is this for?" "this is for one person." albeit they were a little confused, i was not, and neither was my stomach for that matter! i ran home, the delicate tarte held protectively in both hands, and postponed my plans for an hour later. this was like a giant croissant with frangipane filling. the buttery crust flaked with each slice, and my teeth just sunk through the frangipane. the flavor was not only full of almond; but vanilla as well. really a nice treat. a small ceramic piece is left somewhere in the cake. and tradition has it that whoever finds this piece in his slice will have good luck for the coming year. it seems that this was my lucky day!

haha i don't think they did; or, at least they did a really good job concealing it. it was like two months later. i would have been startled if they were like, "you again ..." next up is going to be gérard mulot i think, right after le cinq.

actually, no! the service was very attentive and surprisingly flexible. there was no tasting menu; but after explaining how there were a few dishes that caught my eye, i was provided with half portions with everything except the feuilleté. the other table next to mine was full of fish-free vegetarians (thank god they weren't at my table) and i was astonished at how the restaurant tried really hard to please them. i wouldn't say that the service was so warm and friendly as places like alain ducasse; but it was very professional.

I had a really fantastic meal here mid-January. You can check out my full eGullet review here. But basically, the feuilleté de truffe fraîche “bel humeur.” was one of the most impressive presentations of black truffle i've ever seen.

L'Ambroisie 9, Place des Vosges Photos available here. The first time I arrived at L’Ambroisie I was told that I wouldn’t be eating there that night. Apparently, the maître d’hôtel called earlier that day to confirm my table. After getting dressed up and arriving, I was turned away. There were no missed calls on my phone, nor any messages. I was disappointed, to say the least. But I made a reservation to return at the next available date, nearly two months later. Certainly, there was a sullen taste in my mouth from being turned away last time; but this flavor was quickly reversed when I finally had the chance to sample what I believe are some of the most well-executed dishes I’ve ever experienced. As I walked into the dining room, I was immediately turned off by the room’s apparent chill that came from the cold marble flooring and vaulted ceilings. But as I sat down and probed the space around me, things began to warm up. I realized that unlike Les Ambassadeurs, this was not necessarily cold so much as it was kept understated. There were no gold ornaments nor heavy crystals to this space. In fact in this room, there were only five tables which kept the feeling intimate. Only on my way out did I find out there was indeed a second dining room, which seemed to be the more impressive of the two; but was not nearly so intimate. The other room was more ornate with parquet floors and a grand chandelier. The decorative elements on my table, a simple pink rose and white candle, maintained a level of elegance while keeping a strong focus on the food and the other person. The meal started with my waiter holding a plate full of gougères in front of me until I took one, while the remaining plate of two were placed on the table. This subtle coercion, a testament to the pastry’s time sensitivity, worked; otherwise, I would have been sure to take a picture first. And what a nice treat this was: relatively hollow on the inside with a thin layer of warm fragrant crust, not at all oily; but rich with the warm flavor of cheese. I was reminded that gougères do not have to be a dull requirement of haute French cuisine; rather, when as impressive as the ones I’d just tasted, can be really jump start a palate, setting a foundation of savory to be contrasted with a sweet glass of champagne. I curiously awaited the next step. Next came the amuse bouche, lightly smoked salmon cooked sous vide, potato strings, and a dill mousse. Two things struck me immediately about the salmon: the slightest hint of smoke, and it’s buttery texture. The salmon was so lightly smoked that the woody flavor added a subtle hint of complexity rather than dominating the flavor, something I feared at first as my eyes viewed the setting of this dish with disappointment. Nothing to be disappointed about here. The texture was lean and supple, so much so that it seemed to melt into the plate. Although the dill mousse was lighter, the flavor of this dish became redundant after a few bites. For me, this was too reminiscant of bagels and smoked salmon without enough of a significant difference to warrent serving it. The strips of crispy potato did help to break up the textural monotony; but the dish was overwhelmed by the one dimensional flavor of the cold and sour cream. Things turned around significantly in the next course, a velouté de topinambours et noix de saint-jacques, émulsion de truffe. Sitting in a velouté of Jerusalem Artichokes were three round scallops topped with black truffle. Oh god, how things turned around. There was no tableside truffle shaving here, a sure sign of L’Ambroisie’s confidence. But while there was no truffle show, the fragrance of these heat-activated thin black sheets was outstanding. A first bite revealed the complexity of this dish. The velouté was left grainy, a reminder that artichokes were involved. But more importantly, this texture led right up to the softness of the scallop, supporting its smoothness rather than contrasting against it. As I filled my spoon with the velouté, I noted how it took several seconds for the thick velouté to fill the empty space. The artichoke scallop component, an impressive marriage of earth and sea, frankly made me wonder why chef Savoy’s soupe d'artichaut à la truffe noire gets so much attention. This was much stronger. Nearly all of my senses were immersed in this dish. Did it really have to end? Next up was not only the highlight of the night; but also a course I am unlikely to ever forget: feuilleté de truffe fraîche “bel humeur.” As the waiter approached me carrying what seemed like rather large but simple pastry, I began to second guess my ordering decision. It was humbly placed in front of me, a golden brown puff pastry on a bed of puréed truffle. The dominant smell was of moist bread, a scent similar to walking by a bakery early morning. But what made this scent different was a gentle hint of truffle: I knew it was there; but it smelled as if it was hidden. And it was. I picked up my knife, and sliced the pastry in half to uncover a hidden treasure. With the first slice, a puff of steam was released revealing the hidden scent: so that’s where the fragrance of truffle was escaping from. The smell was so pleasantly strong and intense, for a brief moment, the entire dining room smelled of my dish. Perhaps that’s why this dish is titled “beautiful mood,” I certainly was in one. As I parted the now split pastry, I shook my head in astonishment. Was this for real? Inside this pastry were two layers of black truffle, each as thick as a generous hamburger patty. I’d never seen truffle in this quantity before. I laughed out loud. Separating these layers of truffle was a layer of creamy foie gras, adding a meat component to this earthy dish. I could not wait any longer, and took the first bite. What immediately struck me was how I was able to actually feel the texture of the truffle. When truffle is shaved, its contributions are in the form of scent and flavor. Here, on the other hand, a third component was added: texture. I was shocked to feel this firm but surprisingly delicate ingredient fracture in my mouth with each bite. The truffle maintained its dryness, a necessity to enjoy its natural texture. The dish’s moisture was balanced by the milky foie and the truffle oil purée beneath, the excess of which was absorbed by the light pastry. What a fantastic dish. It was only after finishing this that I noticed a small mâche salad to my right topped with a light crème à la thousand island dressing. Hello there. Was that more black truffle on top? Frankly at this point, if it wasn’t so thick as a Pierre Hermé macaron, I wasn’t interested. I think the salad was more of an afterthought, or perhaps a social scapegoat to justify having eaten at least something green throughout this culinary adventure. Nevertheless, I finished it. It should be noted that this was some wonderfully fresh mâche; something I would have eaten on its own without truffles or dressing. Though, the pleasure from this course was vastly skewed toward the truffle pastry, the sheer audacity of serving a truffle in this quantity left me in awe, and in a position where I will likely remember this course every subsequent time I see a truffle. I took a brief trip to the bathroom, glanced in the mirror and smiled to reveal my black teeth. I had officially become a truffle vampire. I spent a lot of time thinking about this dish. Pretty much nonstop for the next week. While it was certainly the ingredients that made this dish special, it also seemed to be technically flawless. The moisture rife pastry could have stood up on its own, and I would certainly wait in nearly any line to have one so hot and fresh as this. It also seems difficult to me to have baked two ingredients of completely different texture: truffle and foie gras, together in a single pocket of pastry without sacrificing one of the ingredient’s textures for the other. Somehow, they both just came out as if cooked independently. Even the truffle purée was a nice addition to the mixture, seeping into the soft pastry adding an earthy salt. As I finished up this course, I noticed the table next to mine just cutting into theirs. I first heard the chuckle of astonishment, which was quickly followed by the scent of black truffle. For another moment in time, the dining room belonged to them. Following this pinnacle was another wonderful course, a fricassée de homard sauce civet, purée Saint-Germain, a large lobster tail served over a bed of gently smashed Saint-Germain peas. The sweet red wine with the salty pea purée was a combination I’d not experienced before, and would be a welcome dinner guest at any future point in time. Delicious. My only complaint was that the lobster was slightly overcooked, a texture that would have been even more inviting to absorb the red wine reduction had it been slightly softer. The purée also made for a nice bridge between the lobster and reduction, soaking up the sauce while clenching tightly to the lobster. The three of these together made for quite a few nice bites. Finishing the savories, a scoop of pear ice cream was served before dessert. The graininess of the pair was obfuscated by the creamy texture of the glace, teasing my mouth with the flavor of pear; but never quite tasting it. I would have liked something stronger. This was disappointing and I expected something either more creative, or with a purer flavor. This was also texturally bland as there was nothing to break up the monotony of the cold crème. For dessert, there were quite a few appealing choices. Since I had done my exercise for the day by walking to the restaurant, I chose all of them. I was slightly surprised, and perhaps a little embarassed, that all the desserts were brought out at the same time. There was hardly any room on the table! But more importantly, it made me concerned about time sensitivity of the dishes. I triaged the plates, and started with the most critical: ananas “victoria” rôti, crème glacée au lait de noix de coco, a cluster of pineapple sided with ice cream, mango vanilla reduction, almond tuiles, and garnished with a few raisins and a pepperment leaf. This was an appreciated appetizer for the dessert tasting. Nothing exquisite, just a light dessert with bright tropical flavors. Next was undoubtably the highlight of the dessert course, tarte fine sablée au chocolat, glace à la vanille, an ultra-light chocolate tarte with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. This was, without a question, the lightest slice of chocolate cake I’ve ever had. The slice had the airyness of a souflée; without any runny or creamy textures on the interior. But while it was light, it was still substantive and was not overwhelmed by the vanilla ice cream. The flavor bordered on bitter, taking much of its sweetness from the vanilla glace. This was fantastic. The final dessert was a little less memorable, palet de chocolat lacté aux marrons glacés, sauce moka. A chocolate mousse surrounded with dark chocolate squares, with a mocha sauce and a candied chestnut. I was reminded of how much I dislike candied chestnuts, their dry pastiness gets redundant and boring after the first bite. These chestnuts were no different, although they appeared to be flawless. While the sauce was of mocha, the coffee flavor was so light that it did not bother me. In fact, the flavor of chocolate was at the same level of intensity allowing the coffee, chocolate, and crème flavors to meld together nicely. I found the dish texturally boring and the whole chocolate exterior somewhat annoying — it always takes extra time to chew chocolate at a cold temperature, and it so it always lingers unnecessarily long in the mouth. I probably wouldn’t order this dish again. Last was a small plate of mignardises: almond tuiles, granny smith macarons, cannellé, pieces of chocolate with hazelnut, and wedge-sized apple tartes. Of the collection, the tuiles stood out as fantastic: a fragile web of pastry and almond. The flavor of the tuiles had an essence of nearly-burnt caramel adding another element of complexity. I also really enjoyed the macarons; despite not having a traditional ganache center, the tartness of the apple confiture was pleasing. The cannellés were kind of dense, almost like geletin; I didn’t enjoy them that much. The chocolate at this point was superfluous and seemed kind of taxing on my palate: half of one was more than enough. Lastly, the wedge-sized apple tartes could have used a little sprinkle of fleur de sel, I think; other than that, they were very sweet. And just like that, it was over. A special meal with two dishes that stood out so strongly, the velouté de topinambours et noix de saint-jacques and feuilleté de truffe fraîche “bel humeur,” I will not forget them anytime soon. I’m glad I was able to return despite some confusion the first time; in my mind, it was certainly worth the trouble. Were I to return only able to order one course, it would undoubtably be the feuilleté, and that is what I would highly recommend that other visitors here try. I only hope it impacts you so profoundly as it did me.

Did you make it? Hope it was worth the wait. ← hi -- just got back into the swing of things after winter break. and in fact, l'ambroisie was one of the first meals of 2008 in paris for me. in a nutshell, i was blown away. i'm getting my pictures together now, hang in there!

Hi -- I'm spending tomorrow night in London and am looking for a special place to take a few friends. It doesn't have to be "traditional," although that would be nice. Not looking for street food, a place where we could take a drink or two would be ideal. Anyone have any particularly memorable experiences recently? If you had just one night to do Indian in London, where would you go? Thanks for your help with this.

I agree with you and had a similarly lackluster experience: cold food, one-dimensional uninspirational flavors ... frankly, it was boring. I think the pictures speak for themselves; but note the hardened sauces from plates sitting around in the kitchen. It seems like the restaurant, as well as the menu, are in need of a renovation.

L'Atelier de Joël Robuchon, Tokyo 東京都港区六本木6-10-3 Photos available here. Once I learned that L’Atelier Tokyo was the original, my suspicions of Japanese influence on the concept of this restaurant were officially confirmed. At first I wondered if the preparations would be adopted to better match the Japanese palate; but, then I realized that here in Tokyo, these dishes were at home. With its floor to ceiling windows and bright workshop lighting passing over the second floor of the shiny new Roppongi Hills shopping center, L’Atelier glows as a culinary oasis beckoning hungry mall diners to venture in. Unfortunately, reservations are required. But fortuantely, L’Atelier has an adjacent bakery where disheartened customers without reservations can take home macarons, french breads, confiture, and a newly found smile. At least that’s what I did my first time. But fortune favors the persistent, and the following Christmas I returned with a reservation. While many of the dishes I had already sampled, I was glad that I waited. I expected to be seated amongst other foreigners as I was in Paris; but surprisingly, in all the times I’ve eaten here, I’ve never heard any language spoken other than Japanese. There are a handful of hightop tables adjacent to the bar, all of which seem to be second choice to a front-row seat at the counter, where diners get a first-hand view of the intricate plating each dish involves. Many of the dishes were similar to New York and Paris; but there were a handful of new dishes, all of which I was determined to try. Service started with shavings of cured ham, the source of which was hanging above Paris’s counter but hidden here in Tokyo. Bridging the gap between source and plate is not nearly so important here as it is in Paris; more important is refinement, and hanging pigs in a gourmet restaurant would materlize as crude and uncivilized. But after a few bites, my mind stopped thinking about Japanese cultural nuances and focused on the smokey and salty strips of dried meat that nicely brought out the sweetness of of my Chablis. I do think that salty is the way to begin any meal, as sweet too early can prevent the sweet subtleties of savory courses from naturally progressing. Next came an individual basket of bread, a collection of five different rolls, the freshness of which was startling. Even the miniature baguette, an item whose freshness quickly deteriorates after baking, was rife with moisture. It was a little excessive to give me a basket of ten rolls, particularly because I ate all of them. But no worries; there was still plenty of room left for the evening. The amuse bouche was a shot glass filled with a red pepper velouté topped with a tomato foam. I didn’t care much for this: I found the texture repetitious and unchanging, with the flavor of cooked red pepper, something I despise, dominating every bite. It was interesting how the red pepper’s sweetness was synchronized with that of the tomato’s without any acidity; but ultimately, this was a flavor I just didn’t like. My first dish ever at L’Atelier Tokyo was Le Haricot Coco en fin velouté au fumet de truffe et lard fumé, a bright white bean velouté with smoked lardons and shaved black truffle. Though perhaps a bit crude, the smokiness of pig fat with the earthy aroma of black truffle is a beautiful combination for the nose, one that is both complex and soul-satisfying at the same time. The texture of this soup was creamy with a slight grain from the beans, with the light foamy layer floating on the top acting as a link between the velvety soup and the weightless truffles hovering on top. The foam also kept the texture of the truffles as it held them above the broth, preventing them from going soft. The taste of this dish was the weakest part, though, as the velouté tasted more like milk than anything else — it was undersalted and underflavored. Too bad; this had potential. Another dish I didn’t particularly like was Le filet de boeuf granité avec une pomme purée truffée, which essentially is a fancy name for beef surrounded by soggy breadcrumbs. The texture of this couldn’t help but remind me of fried and breaded beef. It was not a pretty thought. There was no textural coherency between the granité and the steak, and with a swipe of the fork, I was able to scrape off all the offending topping. The breadcrumbs were also astoundingly salty, making this steak really unenjoyable. The truffled potatoes, however, were outstanding as always, the earthy flavor of the truffle adding an earthy fragrance to an ingredient that normally lacks much scent. The potatoes stole the show for this dish, and my plate was sent back rather lopsided. The last dish of those I did not like was Le Saint-Pierre cuit à la marinière aux fines herbes, something I disliked in Paris as well but was curious how different it would taste here. Of all the dishes that varied between L’Atelier locations, this was one that did not. It was nearly identical to le saint-pierre in Paris, and it was equally disappointing. Now that those three dishes are out of the way, the rest of the dishes were very impressive. Le thon onctueux et épice d’un velouté de brocolis was new; I hadn’t seen it on the menu in Paris or New York. This dish had a surprisingly interesting texture, with the bottom of the glass containing a light and airy tuna purée, supporting an even lighter broccoli velouté. These two layers were garnished with smoked tuna and small heads of broccoli. The dish was certainly balanced texturally, but regarding flavor, it seemed a little one-sided: fishy. The salty fish flavor dominated the broccoli, as if I were eating vegetables out of a bowl previously used for a fish course. Though, as I looked around the counter, I saw other diners enjoying this dish, making me wonder if this savory fishy dish was created particularly for the Japanese palate. While it worked here, I’m not sure it would have done well elsewhere, perhaps explaining why it was only on the Tokyo menu. As for the next dish, Le Foie Gras de Canard sauté aux figues et une glace verjuté, this dish was nothing short of beautiful. I certainly know what I think when I see fig and foie gras on the menu: boring. But note that there was no fig compote or other variant of fig, just the pure fruit sautéed so as to preserve their original texture, adding a chewy contrast to the buttery foie. The figs were much more savory than I had expected: no additional sugar was added. This indicated a clear desire to keep the flavors as close to nature as possible, something which worked nicely to differentiate this dish from other fig and foie variants. Ironically, this dish’s originality came from its connection to nature. Delicious. Citrus, particularly grapefruit, and meat is a combination I pretty much never enjoy. I find that the cutting acidity of the fruit sidetracks my palate from the comforting saltiness of the steak. I ordered Le Canard Challandais rôti avec des endives glacées aux sucs d’orange mainly because it was a new item for me; but, also because I was curious to see how chef Robuchon saw these two ingredients working together. Frankly, I started laughing to myself while eating this — the hilarity of how well these three ingredients: the bitter endive, the acidic orange, and the savory steak worked together. It was like a high school chemistry experiment: the endive with orange was too bitter by itself; but somehow, when mixed with the steak, the bitterness became undetectable and, in fact, highlighted the latent sweetness embedded in the rare duck. Not only was this delicious, it was fascinating! I’m pretty sure this can be explained scientifically; but for me, it was magic. Next came my five favorite words: “a gift from the kitchen.” And a special gift it was; normally this was a full course on the menu: La Langoustine en papillote croustillante au basilic, L’Atelier’s version of langoustine tempura. I wondered if La Langoustine would change as, after all, this tempura-like dish was to be served to some tough critics. But confidently, this Robuchon special was identical to that served at the other locations, a testament to this dish’s universal tastiness. The first thing that struck me was the lack of oil in the langoustine’s brik pastry crust. Most of the moisture came from the succulence of the moist crustacean. While the tail was removed from the shell a new dough-based crust was given, adding a delicate crunch that also helped to lock in humidity. Although not technically tempura, this could easily compete against langoustine tempura found in the most famous of Tokyo’s tempura houses. Delicious. Another new dish was Le Paillard de Volaille relevé de citron et tomates confites avec des artichauts à la plancha, a thin slice of grilled chicken breast covered with artichoke, sun dried tomatoes, rocket, parmesan shavings, and black truffle shavings. While there was nothing particularly bad about this dish — except perhaps that the chicken was dry — there was nothing special either. Why was this dish even on the menu? This seemed almost like spa cuisine. The truffle shavings were frankly uncalled for; I couldn’t even taste or smell them. Sitting on top this chicken breast was a giant nest of superfluous ingredients, all of which seemed to tangle together so that I could brush it off to the side, eat the chicken, parmesan, and truffle, and cut my losses. La Saint-Jacques au beurre d’algues acidulés was something that I didn’t enjoy in New York, but enjoyed more here. Unlike in New York, this rendition served two scallops instead of one, and with about two-thirds less butter. This was no butter bath, so to speak. The scallops were also slightly undercooked, something essential, so that the texture remained soft and absorbant rather than firm and chewy. The spicing seemed a bit arbitrary; but this dish was so driven by the flavor of the natural ingredients, so long as the textures weren’t off, it’s hard for this not to be enjoyable. By this point, my sister was in awe at the quantity of food I ate. “I’ve never seen someone eat like this,” she exclaimed. Thankfully Aaron wasn’t with us this night … she might have passed out. But responsibly sensing a hint of fullness, I ordered three additional courses that were slightly lighter. I started with the well-known L’Oursin dans une délicate gelée recouverte d’une onctueuse crème de chou-fleur, a martini glass filled with a sea urchin gelée and covered with a cauliflower crème. The cauliflower crème was bordered with equally sized and perfectly round dots of basil oil. I ate this dish while watching the basil oil being set, drop by drop, under the spotlight in front of me feeling slightly guilty that it took me only a few bites to undo all the pain-staking minutes that went into making all these drops perfectly sized and aligned. But while the presentation was highly styled and certainly artistic, the flavor was simple and fresh, the cool gelée encapuslating the oceanic flavor of the urchin and the crème preventing that flavor from tasting hollow. The urchin was firm and held its shape, despite being in a gelée, a clear indication of its freshness. But while the urchin was firm, the dish overall was texturally monotonous — everything was soft. A slight crunch, as nori typically has when uni sushi is served, would have gone a long way. Nevertheless, this was very flavorful. Next was a dish I’d enjoyed in New York, and was happy to find that it was delicious here as well. La Caille au foie gras caramélisée avec une pomme purée truffée is two pieces of caramelized squab with Robuchon mashed potatoes topped with black truffle shavings. Aside from the incredibly tasty potatoes, which is essentially butter with essence of potato, the squab held its own very nicely. The lightly caramelized skin gave a honey flavor to the succulent meat which seemed to go really nicely with the more salty potatoes. This sensation was heightened by the aroma of trufle. What a nice dish. Noticing that my sister had stopped eating over an hour ago, I declined another look at the menu and decided this would be my last course … well, savory course. Next came Le Homard rôti puis accompagné d’une fricassé de champignons au vin jaune d’Arbois, half a roasted lobster with a wild mushroom fricassé. Delicious; but, boring. The stringy texture of the dry roasted lobster soaked up the yellow wine into its small crevasses, making each salty bite slighty sweeter. Something about this dish seemed a little sloppy to me — perhaps the fact that there were three different sauces mixing, but not complimenting, each other. I appreciated this dish as I love lobster; but ultimately, this is not something I would order again. Time to cleanse my palate, or to warm up for dessert, depending on your point of view. I was handed a small shot glass with raspberries and blueberries suspended in a lime gelée and topped with a lime and basil ice cream. I really like basil when it’s turned sweet: it has a fresh flavor not too far off from mint. The acidity of the lime was a little too strong, however, making my tongue cringe in bitterness preventing it from feeling refreshed from the basil. My first dessert was a Pomme en feuillantine croustillante avec une glace d’une pomme au four, several thin layers of pastry sandwiching poached apple and crème fraîche, with a side of apple ice cream accented with dried apple chips. This dessert was wonderful. The sweetness of the apple was tempered by hints of salt and the milky crème. It was texturally balanced as well, as each bite of soft apple, crème, or ice cream, had crispy pastry and dried slices of apple. The apple inside the pastry layers was also lukewarm, and as we all know, warm apple and ice cream is quite delicious. Mmm. But last of the desserts was also my favorite, an updated rendition of my favorite dessert Le Sucre, which for some reason has been taken off all the L’Atelier menus. This dessert was Les Fruits Rouges en soupe avec une gelée de framboise et une fin tube de glace mascarpone, a thin crispy sugar cylinder filled with mascarpone ice cream, served on a bed of strawberries and red currants with a raspberry gelée. With the first crack of the tube, tiny crispy bits of sugar were released into the soft ice cream, making this dish not only beautiful and delicious; but balanced as well. The natural sweetness of the fruit was brought out by the slightly sweet gelée, yet made more rich and subtle by the creaminess from the mascarpone ice cream. Very delicious. I was happy to see that the Tokyo branch of my favorite international restaurant brand had remained impressive from location to location. Though this may have been the original location, it seems like most of the inventive dishes were still happening in Paris and from there, trickling their way onto the international menus. Yet the consistently delicious fare at L’Atelier knows no geographical bounds – one can expect a well-executed meal at any location worldwide. I look forward to returning the next time I’m in Tokyo since it seems like the handful of dishes that make this location unique can all be tasted in one seating are original and, from my experience, certainly worth trying.

Thanks! Most of the smaller dishes were around 20E, and the larger dishes 35E. There were some exceptions, like L'Oeuf which was 80E. Desserts were around 15E.

L'Atelier de Joël Robuchon, Paris 5, Rue de Montalembert Photos available here After becoming enamored with L’Atelier, New York, I knew it was only a matter of time before visiting Joël Robuchon’s Paris location. At first I was concerned that the menus would be too similar. And they were similar; but as it turns out, L’Atelier had quite a few different dishes and, of the dishes that were repeats, there were slight modifications. One of the courses I sampled during my last visit, La Langoustine, is currently my favorite dish in Paris. But while there were extreme highs, there were also quite a few lows, making my overall experience here positive; but, not quite so impressive as chef Suga’s work in New York. Unlike in New York, L’Atelier Paris has no table seating: only two different rooms each with a large counter surrounding an open-air kitchen shared between each room. It’s actually a relatively small dining space and, were there tables, seating would be very limited. The atmosphere is dark with focused spot-lights, each illuminating the hanging charcuterie, the brightly colored vegetables, and of course, the food in front of diners. Like a workshop indeed, the halogen spots ensure that every detail of the intricately decorated food is highlighted, turning the food into art on display with each and every bite. I started my most recent visit with my favorite dish from the New York menu, La Châtaigne en velouté léger au fumet de céleri et lard fumé, a light chestnut velouté with smoked lardons, essence of celery, and a slab of seared foie gras. Aside from the shredded lettuce, which had no place in this dish other than for color variety, this was strikingly similar to La Châtaigne in New York, only with a more smoky flavor from the crisp bacon. I found the smokiness to be a little too strong, which distracted from the nuttiness of the soup and the richness of the foie. The texture was beautiful, the creamy velouté complementing the buttery foie gras, with the seared edges of the liver adding a crispy edge for textural differentiation. The consistency of the soup was kept thin for a velouté, which allowed for the foie to better stand out. The slightly foamed surface only heightened the texture of the velouté by increasing the viscosity without making the broth heavier. I still prefer the New York version due to its decreased smokiness; but, this was excellent. Next up was a second favorite from New York, L’Oeuf de poule friand au caviar Osciètre d’Iran, a chicken egg topped with strips of phyllo dough, a dollop of osetra caviar, placed on top of a smoked salmon crème with garnishes of dill. With the first cut, the warm yolk oozed out moistening the phyllo and mixing beautifully with the crème to create a gamut of golden delight. The phyllo was a little oily; but this was forgotten once eaten in conjunction with the yolk and crème, two elements that cut down on the greasiness. The brine of the caviar also helped, adding an oceanic salt to this otherwise saltless dish. This dish was balanced in nearly every way, from the coolness of the caviar against the warm yolk, to the crunchy phyllo against the salmon crème. There were, however, three courses that didn’t particularly interest me. The first was Le Crabe Royale aux fines tamalles de raves épicées, which was way too heavy on the crème making it seem like a picnic-style crab salad with mayonnaise. The sliced radish crown added a crisp and clean bite to the creamy crab salad; but this wasn’t enough to remove the cold gummy mouthfeel. Aside from a single visible chunk of crab with red and white stripes, it was difficult to visually discern the exact components of the salad — everything mixed together in sort of a white glop. I wouldn’t get this dish again; it was the low point of my experiences here. A second disappointing dish, though a bit more interesting than the crab salad, was La Morue fraîche en imprimé d’herbes aux sucs de légumes et basilic, cod-fish with a vegetable extraction and fresh basil. My biggest problem with this dish was the gelatinous texture of the soup which absorbed the textures of the vegetables into a dull sappy potage. The consistency of the broth was also thick enough that it could not complement the fish’s texture, thus adding no additional moisture. I did, however, like the thin strip of pasta hanging loosely over the fish as a second skin, locking in the moisture of the filet and adding a playful surface chew on the first bite. Last on the no-go list was something I actually sent back to the kitchen, a hard and lifeless rack of suckling pig, Le Cochon de Lait en côtelettes à la marjolaine avec jeunes oignons au jus. The texture of this meat was firm and dry, two things I did not expect to encounter. Perhaps if this was my first course for the night I wouldn’t have sent it back; but, since it followed La Langoustine, my favorite dish of the evening, I was utterly disappointed. Aside from the delicious dollop of Joël Robuchon butter-mashed potatoes, which were mouthwateringly satisfying, the raw green vegetables were misplaced, creating too striking of a textural contrast. I would have liked to see some more young onion jus, and perhaps a more rare cut of meat next time. But the kitchen gladly took this back, and offered me a replacement, for which I chose a second tasting of La Langoustine, the luscious crustacean filled ravioli which, as of now, is my favorite dish in Paris. Alas, La Langoustine en ravioli truffé à l’étuvée de chou vert, two large langoustine tails enveloped in a thin strip of ravioli and sauced with a truffle crème. The juicy and soft texture of the langoustine melded with the resilient sheet of pasta, creating a chewiness that soon gave way to the rightfully undercooked shellfish center. The velvety crème filled every crevice of the lightly stringy langoustine, coating each bite with the earthy essence of truffle. The truffle crème locked in the moisture of the ravioli, which in turn kept the langoustine moist and supple. This was a sensational dish, so much so, that I ordered a second in exchange for the lackluster suckling pig that followed it. Mmm. After seeing my ecstatic facial expressions from devouring tasting the ravioli, the waiter went to speak with the kitchen and came back with an off-menu surprise: potato gnocchi with black truffle shavings, parmesan, and radish leaves. Not sure where the radish leaves fit in here; but, this was a very pleasant follow-up to the langoustine ravioli. The mild flavor of the gnocchi made them the perfect vehicle for the earthy, aromatic truffles. The thin parmesan shavings added the salt for this dish, gently melting over the gnocchi while leaving the truffle in tact. The first time I visited L’Atelier Paris, I went with my mother and sister, two people who have very different tastes and preferences when it comes to food. Fortunately for me, however, it forced me to try dishes I would have otherwise never ordered. Take Les Spaghettis à notre façon, for example; a small bowl of spaghetti with a home made marinara sauce and whole olives. I never would have ordered this; but my sister, a pasta fanatic, put this as most desired dish for the evening. Another benefit of having a little sister is to take advantage of her little appetite, another socially acceptable excuse to try to get closer to the nirvana-like state that most call, being full. Les Spaghettis was fairly straight forward, though perhaps under-salted: a handful of spaghetti prepared the way god intended al dente. Though not exactly a French dish, and perhaps the preparation was not so complex as some of the other items on the menu, this was a refreshing break from the heavy crème-laden sauces of French cuisine, albeit there was quite a bit of oil in the sauce. My mother also ordered something I would look past, La Sardine en filet, façon escabèche aux épices, small spiced sardines to be eaten, bones and all. These five whole fish were served with a side of an herbal mayonaise, reminiscent of summertime fried fish and tartar sauce. The saltiness of the small fish were tempered by the thick mayonaise. There was nothing out of the ordinary about this dish; but given the choice, I would have liked to see a preparation more exemplary of Joël Robuchon and his technique. This dish seemed very ordinary. To be truthful, I’m not sure why it was even on the menu. My mother also ordered Le Foie Gras frais de canard cuit au torchon, foie gras pâté briefly torched on the surface to add a smoky essence while preserving the natural foie flavor. This was served with toasted brioche, a vehicle for taming the buttery richness of the liver. This was a lot of liver; I couldn’t believe it was served with a single brioche — a ratio that implies a mound of foie should be applied to each fragment of bread. Unyielding to culinary pressure, I asked for 2 more slices so I could have some my mother would enjoy the textural contrast more. That being said, I did not like the flavor of this foie pâté — the smokiness completely distracted from the flavor of the liver, as did the spiciness of the pepper sprinkled on top. Now for my course, which stole the show that evening, La Morille sur un lit de macaronis au foie gras, sot-l’y-laisse et jus de volaille, morel mushrooms, fowl, and foie gras seated on a bed of macaroni and sauced with fowl jus. Oh god. Well to begin, look at the incredible diversity of all-star ingredients combined in a very original way. Morels and foie gras? Mmm. Foie gras and fowl? Mmm. Fowl and morels? Mmm. Macaroni and fowl jus? I think it’s clear that these ingredients just work wonderfully together, particularly with texture: the buttery foie against the firm fowl, the slightly crispy morels accentuating the al dente macaroni. The volaille jus was the only salted element on the plate, adding a creamy finish making every bite simply explode with flavor. And with all that, the presentation was beautiful. The last course that evening for me was Le Saint-Pierre en filet avec ses vévettes mitonnées aux piments doux et chorizo, whole scallops served with sweet pepper and chorizo. This dish was somewhat confusing as I could not tell whether it was a salad, in which case the chorizo and rationing of scallops seemed off, or if it was a more hearty dish, in which case the raw greens held it back. The scallops were also slightly overcooked, which left them dry and flavorless, particularly since there was no saucing. I found myself pushing the rocket to the side, as well as the chorizo, eating only the scallops. This was a little disappointing. The first time I visited L’Atelier my family requested to skip dessert, so I had to make up for it the second time with three. The first was Le Caramel glacé au Nougat et Poire fondante, caramel and nougat gelato with a black pepper fondante. The fondante, in particular, sounded interesting to me. Fortunately, the taste of pepper was unidentifiable; if it weren’t for the menu telling me, I would have never guessed pepper. The texture of the gelato was slightly sticky so that as it began to melt, it held its shape. It wasn’t very sweet, and a little more sugar would have gone a long way. The second of the three desserts was a new addition to the menu, Le Multivitaminé ganache au chocolat jivara, a Jivara chocolate ganache covered with verbena leaf crème and red fruits. Perhaps in French, multivitamin means high caloric intake; because I certainly could not see the nutritional value in this. This seemed more like a thick chocolate pudding, garnished with red and brown chocolate circles. The flavor was muted, not identifiably chocolate nor anything else for that matter. It left my palate disappointed, and my iron count low. And last, Le pot de crème vanille et chocolat, two pot de crème served with a chocolate biscuit, caramel mousse, and a thin caramel crown. The vanilla and chocolate pot de crèmes were pretty boring; both of which, like Le Multivitaminé, had muted flavors. These were also texturally boring with nothing to break up the monotony of the pudding consistency. The biscuit, on the other hand, was the best part of this dish, as it was more interesting. Sitting atop the slightly salty chocolate biscuit was a sweet vanilla crème, the flavors of which, when combined with the crispy caramel roof, left my mouth tingling. It was also pretty to look at, much more so than two opaque white cups. It was interesting for me to see how this “chain” would turn out in a different country, particularly when it comes to finding the balance between Joël Robuchon’s international technique and the local culinary team’s own style. Ultimately, there were two extreme highs, la langoustine and la morille and two excellent dishes, la châtaigne and l’oeuf, the rest fell slightly north of average. All of the desserts that I tried were disappointing. What was interesting was that all the dishes I felt were the strongest were listed on the tasting menu, suggesting that the restaurant is well-aware of its culinary strong points and the other dishes exist to please the wide array of diner palates, such as those of my mother and sister. I appreciate that very much, as finding the balance between a chef’s vision and a diner’s taste is an ever-going challenge in humility and creativity for any chef. I look forward to returning when the menu changes this spring.

I'm game.

I'd rather answer this qustion after the dinner; just to be safe. Because the person I spoke with seemed extra friendly on the phone ... but perhaps I am being paranoid.

Taillevent 15 rue Lamennais Photos available here I visited Paris for the first time when I was thirteen with my family. My father made a reservation at what was one of the most well-known restaurants in the world: Taillevent. Perhaps it is a bit strange that I still remember exactly what I ordered, and what everyone else at the table ordered, those many years ago. As usual, even back then, I wanted the tasting menu; but, I was (and still am) the only one in the family with an endless appetite and so appetizer and main course it was. Thankfully we got dessert, which was the highlight of that meal for me, for it was the first time I tried fraises des bois. I was so disappointed (and laughed at) when I asked for them at Pathmark upon returning home. I still have the menu from my first experience at Taillevent, as I was completely blown away by the technique, quality of ingredients, and deft presentation of every dish — it was my first exposure to this type of elaborate preparation. And so it was interesting for me to return, nearly a decade later, to re-evaluate my memories. And unfortunately, things do change. The first time I ate here, I left with memories of eating in a large ornate dining room with a high ceiling and chandeilers; this time, however, the dining room was much more modest with wood paneling, comfortable sink-in couches, and faux windows with frosted glass curtains. I found the latter more comfortable. Then I realized, that there are indeed three different dining rooms. I was also thrown back into the memory of an elderly captain making conversation with each table one at a time, and never two consecutively, as that would seem insincere. He would magically make arrival woes due to traffic, the rain, or a pre-dinner shower rush — whatever the reason for pre-arrival stress (everyone has one) — seemingly disappear. The gentleman did this by deftfully engaging a table’s interests (the Argentine woman at the table next to mine was a photographer) and by relating to the diners. Once this mutual comfort was established through new found trust based on having something in common, he would proceed with the menu and an apéritif. This man was very comforting through his grandfatherly essence and made everyone feel at ease before beginning to eat, as if we were all transported back in time to a place where overeating was acceptable, an extra glass of champagne was ok, and the only thing of importance was to enjoy the evening with exceptional cuisine and the company of those who matter. This sense of comfort was amplified by the oversized tables and chairs which encouraged sprawling out and slouching, two things that pair well with a tasting menu. This was a very comfortable meal, indeed; my only complaint, was the food. The evening started with golden gougères lightly seasoned with nutmeg which seem to have been sitting around for a minute or two longer than necessary because, on arrival, they were only lukewarm and beginning to get soggy. Nevertheless, the slight saltiness paired nicely with a glass of champagne. I did wonder what the nutmeg added to this, aside from what seemed like unnecessary differentiation of a classic introduction. The bread came next with a fairly thick crust that made two rolls more than sufficient for the evening. The amuse bouche was a foamed mushroom and artichoke cream soup with a dollop of crème fraîche and sprinkles of charred mushroom. The essence of artichoke was fairly strong and appreciated; but, eating this dish was like dredging the thames: it was impossible to predict what was going to come up with each spoonful. The first spoonful uncovered yellow pepper, the second red pepper, and the third mushroom. Somewhat amusing, I suppose — but peppers? A litle random, I think. The tableside dollop of crème fraîche does wonders when eaten promptly after service, as it adds temperature and textural contrast, as well as a nice milky flavor to make the already rich cream even richer. Official service started with parfait de foie gras de canard avec une marmelade de coing, a foie gras “parfait” with quince marmelade. Perhaps in some dialects of French, parfait means having the texture of cutting through a thick cube of frozen ice cream. In other words, this parfait was dense and hard. Ironically, it was served with a small slice of toasted bread. The ratio of parfait to bread was way off, and the richness of this dish and its textural monotony became tiresome after the third bite. If I had to guess, I would say this dish had several thousand calories. Aside from the textural issues, this would have been better off in a portion of about a third or fourth of its actual size. The quince marmelade was sweet, balancing off the salty foie and the thin layer of cucumber gelée that rest on top. The first warm course of the evening was a royale de homard breton aux châtaignes, a butter poached brittany lobster tail with wild mushrooms and whole chestnuts. The first thing that struck me about this dish was the drying and hardening of the sauce around the interior rim. This could have been the result of an intentional thickening of the sauce, making it more cake-like than sauce-like. But regardless of its intent, it seemed to have been sitting aside a bit too long and absorbed much of the moisture from the lobster instead of complimenting it. The chestnuts were also left whole, making for a startling textural contrast with the lobster. As for flavor, the dominant flavor of the dish was that of mushroom, one that distracted from the lobster rather than complimented it. The lobster was also slightly overcooked, which when combined with the caked sauce, only increased the dryness. Aside from the technical gripes, the dish seemed relatively uninspired and plain. The next course was the highlight savory of the evening, coquilles saint-jacques, dorées avec cresson de fontaine, two lightly seared scallops served over turnip purée in a vegetable consumé with strips of watercress. Scallops have so much potential when they’re slightly north of cooked, and this potential was fully realized as these scallops were delicious, the slightly salty oceanic taste of the shellfish melding with the sweet earthy turnip purée. The vegetable consumé also contributed to the earthy flavor and mixed particularly nicely with the turnip purée and watercress. While this was the highlight dish of the night, the dominant flavor of this dish was the scallop, leading me to question exactly how much the accompanents excentuated that flavor. While it is important for chefs to step back and let nature speak for itself, that doesn’t mean that the entire flavor spectrum of a chef’s dish should be attributed to the ingredient’s natural essence, particularly when the chef didn’t step back. In other words, I would have probably enjoyed this dish just as much if it were a plate simply of two seared scallops — the accoutrements seemed superfluous. The final savory course for the night was selle d’agneau rôti au piment d’Espelette avec côte et feuilles de blette à la sarriette, two medallions of roasted lamb served with lightly salted swiss chard. The meat had a beautiful pink color, the result of my response to “how do you like your meat,” a question I’ve rarely been asked in Michelin starred authoritarian French restaurants. But this question was much appreciated, as a good chef is one who is willing to make minor tweaks to meet personal diner preferences — I’m not saying ketchup should be put on the table; but, if my sister is easily squeamish by blood, perhaps medium is a fair balance. So in that sense, the veal was tailored to my tastes. Unfortunately, nearly everything else on the plate was uninspired and, frankly, boring. Roasted potatoes? Stewed vegetables? Perhaps those would be nice sides at many other places; but for a restaurant with a reputation such as Taillevent, I had much higher expectations. Things got really interesting with the next course, which I enjoyed very much, Roquefort glacé avec pruneau au Banyule. When I saw this on the menu, I immediately became curious to see how the Roquefort blue cheese ice cream would turn out, particularly because most other renditions of cheese-based ice creams were of fromage blanc, a neutral-flavored cheese that can easily be turned sweet or savory. The texture was of cream cheese; but somehow much less dense and more airy. The flavor was indisputably salty, as if by some hand of magic the texture of blue cheese had been converted into a light gelato. This was delicious, particularly when mixed with the sweetness of the prune and red wine. This dish was an interesting play on textures, and was particularly well-balanced: the prune would have been cloying on its own, and the cheese would have gotten boring on its own; but together, they were wonderful. The first official dessert was a chocolate craquant with chestnuts, a light chocolate cake enveloped in a lace of dark chocolate and crowned with a whole chestnut and gold leafing. The cake was moist and somewhat wet, and it was this texture combined with the lightness of the chocolate flavor that made sometimes forget this was indeed a chocolate cake. It was also texturally uninteresting given the significant portion. My pallate began to fatigue after the third or fourth bite. Also, the flavor of chestnut was unnoticable. Yes, I saw the whole nut on top; but that only created a textural dissonance. I would have liked a stronger chocolate flavor, something crispy, and perhaps some salt, as salt and chocolate are a beautiful combination. Next was a fantaisie aux fruits exotiques, a round cake using cubes of fruit and caramel as bricks and mortar, topped with an almond pastry and mango sorbet. Definitely a lighter dessert, appreciably following the somewhat heavier (although still light) chocolate craquant. The sweetness of the mango sorbet dominated this dish making it impossible to differentiate between the different fruits. There was also no contrast, letting the sweetness of the fruits, sorbet, and sugared pastry run off without bounds. The cold temperature of the sorbet also didn’t help to bring out the natural flavors of the fruit. While this was tasty, I would have enjoyed it more as an intermezzo. The petits fours were last, a small plate of 5: a lemon macaron, an earl-grey scented chocolate, an almond tuile, a miniature chocolate fondant topped with chocolate mouse, and a blackberry tarte. None of these were particularly memorable; though the scent of the earl grey chocolate was fairly interesting. After finishing this small plate, admittedly, I hoped that more food would be coming. I was also brought both of the desserts and the petits fours at once, making me question if I was approaching a second seating time, since this was an earlier dinner. Not quite being full, to the waiter’s disbelief, I ordered two more plates of petits fours. It was indeed interesting to see how this restaurant has changed over the past ten years, and how my memory of this restaurant compared with my more current experiences. Either the restaurant has changed for the worse, or my palate has become more sophisticated. Likely, it’s a combination of the two; but, this time around, my experience was lackluster. I will say that I felt incredibly comfortable throughout the entire meal, and thought that this might be a nice place to have lunch or an early dinner on someone else’s tab due to the comfortable seating, dining rooms, and personal service. But since there are so many other fantastic restaurants in this city, it would be tough to repeat this one.

Yes! I now have a second reservation at L'Ambroisie for late January. Fingers crossed that everything works out this time. But I can promise you, I was not at all argumentative. It takes a lot to anger me, and I certainly wasn't going to be irritated by a restaurant that I can return to in the near future. I was also very careful to be as flexible as possible, particularly since I'd been meaning to try this menu for awhile. I was just a little startled, I suppose. But no worries -- fingers crossed for January!

I was sulking a little after missing out on L'Ambroisie ... then I remembered that Pierre Hermé released its 4 new holiday flavored macarons last Tuesday: crème au vinaigre balsamique, chocolat et foie gras, églantine with figue et foie gras and truffe noire. Truffe blanche et noisette is also considered a holiday release; but this has been around since October 2nd and I mentioned it in my previous discussion. All five of these, are what I believe are Pierre Hermé's best flavors; not only for their inventiveness and originality; but, because they are texturally more gentle: less dense, lighter, more airy, and frankly more interesting. While I don't think it's worth eight euros for the aged balsamic macaron or the black truffle; the wild rose, fig, and foie gras macaron practically ties with my current favorite, Ladureé's Réglisse ... I ate 9 of them !! More details to come; but for anyone who's going to be in Paris for the next few weeks -- please try the églantine, figue et foie gras macaron ... it's very impressive.

I was supposed to eat at L'Ambroisie tonight; but after arriving, it seemed that I would not be eating there. The maître d’étage claimed he called earlier to confirm my table. While there were no missed calls on my phone, nor any messages, I'll give him the benefit of the doubt. I was a little disappointed; but, aside from losing a bit of time preparing for dinner, it wasn't a big deal given I live in the city and can return at anytime. But for some reason, the maître d' reacted with a tone that startled me and made me feel really uncomfortable. He started getting kind of aggressive; I'm really not sure why. It was very, very odd. When I asked if I could possibly reschedule, I was told the restaurant was booked "pour toujours" (forever). It seems even god would be out of luck with this one. There was also a mysterious elderly woman assisting the maître d' who kept glancing up at me and down at my striked out name on the diners list, shaking her head in disapproval, as if I had forsaken the evening's chi with misunderstanding. Who she was, I'll probably never know ... but the experience was so strange! This was a complete role-reversal situation -- I should have been the angry one! I do hope to defy eternity and return at some point; but for tonight, I walked to St. Germain to grab a panini and a nutella-banana crepe, a sugar crepe, a waffle, a baguette, and two almond croissants before heading to bed.

Ladurée 21 rue Bonapart Photos available here. When it comes to tea, England and Japan regularly garner much of the world’s international attention. But to France’s credit, that doesn’t mean that tea cannot be enjoyed in Paris. Perhaps due to its role as a trading hub for Europe, or possibly because of its close proximity to England, Paris does indeed have a handful of tea salons, the most famous of which being Ladurée, which has been around for over 150 years. There is certainly a bit of pretense within the sit-down dining room full of mother-daughter tea parties and power business lunches, which is why I would recommend getting things to go. But that being said, the real specialty of this tea establishment is the Ladurée macaron, a heavenly pastry for which I have fallen head over heels. I stood in a brief line at the St. Germain Ladurée amongst my hungry international peers, each waiting to bring home a box of happiness in the form of petites miniature cookies. There was a very impressive selection of macarons, over seventeen flavors, in fact. In addition to the macarons were rows of colorful tartes and tempting butter-striped pastries. Decisions, decisions. Thankfully, there were several people in front of me and I had time to mentally choose a few of my favorite treats before being served. There was no tasting menu, or any other socially acceptable excuse for satisfying my hunger, so I decided to create my own tasting: two of every macaron, three tartes, a millefeuille, two croissants, and a cannelé. Indeed, I kept it light this time. I decided to take the long way home, carrying my bag in both arms, fearing that the crowds of people on the main street would threaten the textural safety of my delicate delights. I started with the rose macaron, two rose-colored halves of meringue contrasting against the pure white middle layer. The ganache had an ultra-light texture of whipped cream, making this the lightest macaron I’ve ever lifted. Despite this cookie’s floral flavor, there was no soapiness whatsoever – only a delicate flavor of the scent of rose. Sweet, indeed; but the airiness of the ganache prevented any cloying repercussions. This cookie brought a smile to my face after the first bite, the bright white ganache of the second bite smirking right back at me. What a pleasant way to begin. Next was the staple pistache, a flavor that rests just in-between one-time inventiveness and daily satisfaction: I’m always in the mood for pistachio macarons. The color was just amid green and brown, hinting at natural pistachio color rather than the commercialized bright green notion of what that color should be. This cookie was only slightly heavier than the rose, perhaps due to the presence of small chips of actual pistachio nut. The ganache was still fluffy, a word that does not seem to exist in the world of Pierre Hermé. The flavor was strikingly similar to the ground pistachio nut, with a small hint of dulce de leche on the aftertaste. There was also a slight mention of salt, which made sure the sweetness would stay within reign. I could eat a lot of these. Since my first two cookies were stunning, I wanted to follow it up with a flavor I have always hated, just for comparison. It came down to coffee and licorice, the latter of which winning because of its jet-black color and golden-green filling. Sit down for a second, please; because what I’m about to suggest might sound alarming. Ladurée’s licorice macaron is the single most delectable macaron I have ever tasted. I know how it sounds. “But licorice ?!” I was a bit startled myself; so much so, in fact, that I later returned and tried a large box of only licorice macarons for confirmation. Confirmed. This flavor is special is because it tastes more like chestnut or almond than liquorish, while still maintaining the winter cool fresh aftertaste of licorice. The cookie also smells like licorice. A strange discovery indeed; but, this was hands down delicious. A must for trying, in my book. It seemed that intuition had been failing me, and I decided to randomly pick the next flavor: pain d’épice. This seasonal gingerbread macaron indeed smells like gingerbread cookies, quickly bringing to mind holiday imagery of turkeys, gravy, cranberry sauce, apple pie, pumpkin, chestnuts, egg nog, stuffing, sweet potatoes pine trees and snow. Unlike gingerbread cookies, however, this macaron left a tingling trail of spiciness, a clue that real ginger was in fact involved. This cookie was not too sweet at all, a characteristic I find pretty frequently in other gingerbread macarons. Also, for some reason, this was the softest of the macarons: I had to use two hands to take it out of the box as the meringue halves were sliding around – a clear sign of extreme freshness. Praliné was next, and by the specks of brown in the tan colored cookie, I knew this was going to be good. And it was, having a slightly grainy texture – another reminder of the use of actual pralines. The creme center was slightly dense, like a chantilly; but, by no means heavy. It was a little pasty, in fact. For some reason, after finishing this cookie, the only taste left in my mouth was that of fresh pralines — as if I had just taken a handful of the raw nuts and eaten them. Nice. Next up was citron, a brilliant lemon colored yellow that made me wonder what would happen if I took out my blacklight. The coloring was a little exaggerated, and certainly artificial; but the bright flavor of this treat quickly put appearances aside. The flavor was actually a bit sour; but the airyness of the ganache with the sweetness of the meringue made it less offensive. I probably wouldn’t order this macaron by itself; but, it served well as a palate cleanser midway between this extensive cookie tasting. Continuing with the theme of fruit, framboise was the next victim. The ganache was more like rasberry preserve as in, certainly not airy. The rasberry seeds were left in which made for occasional bursts of texture as well as flavor. I thought this macaron was a little too sweet, the flavor being overwhelmed by the jelly-like consistency of the center. I’ve never seen a cream-based rasberry ganache; but that might be a nice alternative — particularly to make the inside texture lighter and less cloying. That being said, the freshness of this macaron caused it to literally fall apart as I began eating it, the top and bottom halves sliding around between my thumb and index fingers with a single bite for each bite. Cassis was next, a fruit that, in France, is oddly ubiquitous alongside strawberries and raspberries. The color was a provocative purple, one that clearly stood out among the rest of the colors while not appearing artificial. The flavor was very tart. This was pretty similar to the framboise in that the filling was just too cloying from its preserve-consistency. The flavor was a little too sour and acidic for me, similar to eating a handful of raw cranberries. I soon realized that it was time to take a break from fruit, and I headed in the opposite direction: chocolate. Ladurée offers two flavors of chocolate, chocolat and chocolat amer (bitter chocolate). I started with chocolat — a macaron that seemed as if someone had secretly snuck a chocolate brownie inbetween my layers of meringue … too dense! It was a workout even to lift it up, certainly the heaviest of the selection. The flavor was nicely balanced: a blend of sweet cocoa with a touch of salt, a combination that goes very nicely, I thought. Following the chocolat was chocolat amer, the bitter chocolate version. At first, it was a little challenging to identify the exact differences between these two flavors; but, by the third macaron, they became apparant. The bitter chocolate macaron was much lighter with the ganache having a texture a bit thicker than heavily whipped cream. This macaron was also noticably less sweet, which would be expected. I’m not sure that I would order any of the chocolate macarons on their own again, mostly because I’m not chocolate-crazed; but if I had to choose between the two … bitter chocolate would be it. It won both texturally, and in terms of flavor. Fruits rouges was next, a blend of red fruits that was strangely similar to framboise without the seeds with what tasted like a splash of shirly temple (grenadine). If macarons had siblings, this would be the little sister of framboise — most of the flavor with the slight textural difference of being seedless. This was also not sour at all, and was much brighter than the framboise. The texture was jelly-based; but there was such a thin spread, and since there was no tartness, it did not become cloying. Vanille. Wow. This was, frankly, incredible. Before eating this light cream-colored treat, the first thing that struck me about it were the hundreds of tiny black specks of vanilla beans throughout. That’s always a good sign as it indicates the full vanilla flavor will matriculate, rather than tease. The ganache center was a little heavier than some of the other vanilla macarons I’ve tasted, with a texture somewhat similar to room temperature butter. But this was not at all a bad thing because it provided a sturdy vehicle to carry the rich flavors. The only flaw I can come up with was that some might find this a little too sweet — I did not. Delicious. I eagerly await the day I enjoy coffee flavored desserts and pastries; because, this certainly was not it. This cafe macaron, indeed tasted like coffee and indeed, I did not like it. The flavor reminded me of the bottom of a poorly stirred cappuccino with sugar — very sweet, almost barable; but still, coffee. The texture was pleasant though, a spongy grey-brown cream with a slight graininess. The macaron smelled like the real thing — in fact, it scented my entire box of macarons with the smell of coffee beans. At the end of the day, I’m sure there will be people who enjoy this. It just wasn’t for me. Something about salt and caramel goes together really nicely, and this was certainly the case with my next macaron, caramel au beurre salé, a beautiful marriage of the sweetness of sugar and butter tempered, and made more complex, by the addition of salt. The inside was sticky, similar to dulce de leche, which means that this must be eaten at room temperature or the inside will be too hard. Perhaps I would have liked a little more of a burnt caramel flavor; but I was impressed that this was not cloying. I was intrigued by what seemed to be a vanilla macaron without the vanilla beans from above; but, contained a light green filling. It smelled a bit of citrus; but certainly not lemon or orange. After giving up on the flavor game, I glanced at the cheat sheet and discovered it to be Fleur d’Oranger, or orange blossom, the product of orange tree leaves producing something very similar to a citrus-scented rosewater. The texture of this ganache was like a light custard — light; but not quite whipped. There was no acidity or sourness at all, and while I wouldn’t necessarily say this had a bright flavor, it was sweet — almost like candied orange rind. It was interesting to try this flavor; but, I’m not too sure I’d go for it a second time … though I certainly would not complain. Rouge Diva was certainly interesting, a mix of red fruits and gingerbread with the scent of chocolate. To me, this seemed to be trying to do too much at once, particularly because I thought the chocolate scent polluted the warm flavor of gingerbread with the candied sweetness of the fruit. The texture of the ganache was too dense and a bit pasty, which I suspect was due to the presence of chocolate. There was also a slightly carbonated flavor — hard to pinpoint the source, though I’m tempted to blame all things bad about this macaron on the chocolate. And that sums up the macarons; oh wait, we have two hybrid macaron-tarte varities. Having been thoroughly impressed by what I believe to be Pierre Hermé’s most expressive creation, the Ispahan, I had high expectations here at Ladurée. But while Ladurée’s Ispahan was a worthy competitor, it did not stand up to its competition down the street at Pierre Hermé. Aside from the subtle differences, such the lack of a sugar dew droplet and the wonderfully fragrant scent of rose, Ladurée’s creation hid the presence of lychee with an overwhelming amount of sugar in the creme center. The macaron component was also a little dry, likely a factor of the tarte having been produced the day before. The presence of rose was also somewhat a secret, something I would have liked to be more conspicuous. Definitely a beautiful creation; it just lacked a bit of luster. Next up was the Charlotte poire et figue, a pear custard tarte topped with slices of fresh fig. I admit, I selected this because of the presence of figs; but was ultimately disappointed. First, the figs lacked sweetness of any kind. While this might have been due to their off-seasonality, I would have liked to see them a little sweeter — a bit of sugar would have gone a long way. As for the rest of this creation, the texture got boring very quickly — it was a monotonous custard from top to bottom with a soft sponge base. Something crispy, perhaps a light tuile, would have been a nice contrast. I also found the flavor too light on the sugar, which became particularly evident since the figs were not candied. After eating this, I took another look at the title which reminded me that this contained pears. Aside from the light green color, where were they? I completely forgot they were included. I was starting to get a little full, so I took a brief break to get a glass of water and a wedge of bleu d’auvergne. When I came back, the thought of fresh fruit seemed really appealing, directing my stomach towards the macaron pommes caramel, a caramel macaron with slices of baked apple. Unlike the caramel au beurre salé macaron, the flavor of this caramel had a burnt essence, adding a beautiful dimension of flavor to the sweetness of the caramel. The combination of apple and caramel reminded me of a candied apple, with two pieces of macaron so my fingers wouldn’t get all sticky. As a textural contrast, hardened caramel was placed on top adding a crispyness to each bite. This was nicely balanced, both in terms of flavor and texture. While I thought this was the best of the tartes, my only complaint might be the excessive size of the apple slices — the water component of the fruit absorbed a lot of the concentrated flavor of the caramel and meringue. While this did prevent the flavor from being cloying, I would have prefered that the task of temperment be left only to the salt — half-sized or third-sized slices of apple would have done this well. Last for the miniature tartes was the St. Honoré, a light puff pastry made heavy with caramel and topped with chantilly. Unfortunately, this has an incredibly short shelf-life. By the time I ate it, about 30 minutes later, the pastry had already started to become soggy. The caramel acted as a water-proofing seal against the chantilly; but the pâte à choux was attacked by the inconsistency of the caramel — some parts were runny, others were crispy. This would normally suggest improper storage; but considering I walked home in the cold and ate it immediately after, it likely wasn’t a problem on my end. I was pleasantly surprised when I bit into one of the three small pastry spheres restingon top, each of which was filled with vanilla custard. There was a slight salt and burnt caramel essence, making this flavor nicely balanced; but, I found its textural faults too distracting. I’d like to try this again, at some point. Oh yes, the millefeuille praliné. Aside from the obvious macarons, I think it warrents a special trip to try layered cake. Salt, burnt caramel, spongy nut-flavored creme, crispy sheets of pastry — this treat had it all. It was so light and delicate! Thin sheets of chocolate were replaced with praline, a much better alternative. I very, very briefly thought about sharing this with my host family; but, turned that idea down after realizing it would be impossible to divide. Too bad. Despite being at room temperature, the cool creme filling made this pastry feel even lighter than its already apparent weightlessness. Little crisps of caramel, salt, and hardened pastry were scattered throughout — keeping my interest with every bite. Awesome. Strangely labeled a cannelé, this was more like a cinnamon bun with raisins then a caramelized bread pudding. But names aside, this would be a pleasantly moist and tasty way to begin a day with a cup of coffee. The cinnamon flavor was strong, and complimented the sweetness of the raisins and sugar. Despite being loosely rolled which, increases the surface area and exposure to air, this pastry was not dry, at all. I didn’t find this to be anything particularly special, perhaps because it was overcast by the strength of Ladurée’s other delicies. Next up was a startlingly large butter croissant with which the butter stripes became apparent after the significant expansion in the oven. I’m not sure why this croissant was so large; I’m pretty sure it had double the calories nutritional contents of other croissants. While it wasn’t greasy or oily, the inside was very dry making it difficult for me to place it on a level playing field for comparison. The highlight of the croissants, however, was the pain au chocolate amande, which is the most impressive chocolate almond croissant I’ve ever tasted. To start, the almond filling contained morsels of almond, making for a really nice texture. The chocolate was an ultra-thin strip adding a touch of bitterness to the almond without being distracting or dominating. Together, these two fillings tasted very fresh. The croissant itself was light, and despite having a thin strip of filling, I was still able to pull out pieces of the center with my two fingers — something I have never been able to do with any other chocolate almond croissant. It’s safe to say that I will be waking up early one morning, with the ambitious hope of trying one of these hot. It is now clear to me that Ladurée has the best macarons in the world. Aside from an impressive selection of flavors, most of the cookies are texturally perfect obeying the perfect ratio of ganache to meringue. And while Ladurée did have some experimental flavors, such as pain d’épice and rouge diva, they still remained true to the simple flavors such as pistache, vanille, and chocolat. After sampling both places, I learned of the rumor that when Pierre Hermé left Ladurée he took with him his recipe for Ispahan, which confirmed my strong opinion that Pierre Hermé is clearly the leader when it comes to this tarte. However, in terms of macarons, it was perhaps a good thing as everything Pierre Hermé does wrong with its petits gâteaux Ladurée does right. I think that Pierre Hermé gets the macaron attention that it does because of the innovativeness of its flavors — which are certainly innovative — they’re just held down by the heaviness and excessive cloying quality of their ganache. That being said, I would take the texturally perfect but simple elegance of Ladurée’s vanilla or licorice macaron to any of Pierre Hermé’s creative flavors, at any time. And in addition to the macarons, let’s not forget about the millefeuille and chocolate almond croissant which were also spectacular — the millefeuille having a flaky yet creamy texture with a beautiful flavor contrast of salt, praline, and caramel, while the chocolate almond croissant tasted so fresh, genuine, and true-to-description that I was actually taken aback. For anyone on a macaron mecca to Paris, this is an absolute must-stop and, despite prejudices, try the licorice please, and don’t neglect the millefeuille. And for those who pooh-pooh Ladurée’s macarons in favor of the shiny new ones of Pierre Hermé these people are crazy I see where this opinion comes from, and I respect it — good luck with that, I’ll be down the street.

And my laptop has died ... surprising that there are no apple stores in Paris! Then again, I suppose apples are more of an American fruit. Anyone have any recommendations of where I can get this guy fixed?

My laptop died so it's been kind of hard to get online ... internet cafes only! I have a few more restaurants left ... I'm hoping to get everything wrapped up by New Year's !