MobyP
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Posts posted by MobyP
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It seems we let this slip quietly away - but has anyone been to Robuchon yet?
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Just to speak up for S n' S,
I had my wedding in Moro, and they couldn't have been nicer. The food was wonderful - everyone went crazy over it. The staff, warm.
But this was a little while ago...
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I came across this review in the Independent (3 May - Tracey Macleod) of Hélène Darroze's place in paris - recently awarded its second star.
For those New Yorkers out there, Ms. Darroze was recently featured in the NYTimes food section.
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Siena Us
I'm agreeing with you.
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It seems to me that - after much experimentation - pasta cooked in unsalted water will leach the salt from the sauce or condiment, ruining any careful seasoning you had going.
Try it.
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Yes yes yes -
I suddenly remembered - there's a phenomenal cook who used to be Alice Water's right hand man - wrote some of the cookbooks and also in the kitchens - he moved to Paris a year or so ago, and has a dinner club on Sunday nights.
His name's David Tanis - the club is called Chien Lunatiques:
I believe it only runs on Sunday nights (when almost everything else is closed). He's a monster cook. I do think you have to reserve. I missed it this last trip, but I want to try for the next one.
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Great post Moby. Can you say (i) . . . (ahem fast readers don't go to heaven) (ii) whether Gagnaire offers a prix-fixe lunch?
The cost of my lunch (as you probably saw) was roughly what it would take to feed a football team, plus management, and groundskeepers, and some of the local supporters, if you took them to the local café, and possibly to the cinema afterwards.
This was for two sets of reasons. First, the menu is very large, and very extensive (and each individual item has a very large number next to it). My French is middling. I was a bit intimidated. And I didn't want to sit there, having ordered three dishes, and see a cavalcade of amazing looking food pass me by.
Second, I was on my own, and the only way I wasn't going to feel ridiculous was if I ordered the full tasting menu. I wanted everything. This turned out to be a whopping 15 or 16 courses, but what a journey it was.
As for prix-fixe - I think that comes down to self control. As I said, the cost printed next to some of the courses - we're talking BIG numbers.
Lauren - I was there on a Tuesday lunch, and the place was full. I would say book before you leave, if you can. They and Ducasse were very insistent on having a Paris phone number though, so have that ready.
Have fun - and let us know everything!
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Gremolata with tangerine instead of lemon,
with a sauce made with caramel, chambord, veal demi, a nug of butter and garnished with nice raspberries
Spencer -
what's chambord? The Larousse says something about a method for braising whole fish in red wine. What's the secret?
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I'd just eat them while standing around in the kitchen. Maybe also nibble on one while working at the computer.
But if I had to cook for guests I'd probably pull the meat off and use it to stuff some ravioli. Really overstuffed, fat ravioli. I'd take some of that veal stock and make a bordelaise and maybe get some of that in there. And then I'd saute a ton of wild mushrooms and pour them all over the ravioli until no more ravioli were visible. And then I'd eat it all before the guests arrived.
Are you sure we ain't related?
Great suggestions - thanks.
And if we're going the gourmet route - I have some foie gras in the freezer that I portioned earlier - maybe I should sear off some large dice, and use it as garnish for the ravioli?
(Oh man, I have to beat my head with a frying pan - I can feel the coronary already.)
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Since I had a supply of duck and goose fat in the fridge, I confit'd up some lamb shanks the other day - now I'm unsure how to use them.
I was thinking, possibly, serve it over crispy gnocchi, maybe with some caramalised butternut squash (a Tra Vigne dish I had, using Duck confit), but I'm not sure about what to use for a sauce. Plenty of chicken and veal glace in the freezer.
Any suggestions?
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Roussillon in London (SW1) currently is making Ducasse's Baba au Rhum paired with a glass of finely aged rum.
Thanks. I'm in London for the long haul, so I'll look it up.
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One has to wonder if one of the sauces used in a dish might have begun life as a stock into which someone innocently threw a few mushroom parings although the restaurant might not usually put mushrooms in that broth.
Exactly. My thought was the jelly on the foie gras - like a reduced old style aspic (with calve's or pig's feet for the gelatin in the bones), and Ooops, the odd mushroom skin à la Escoffier, with some madeira perhaps to make it fruity etc. Call it sangria jelly. It wouldn't take much.
And Fat Guy (when's your site going back up - that's how I got here to begin with) - to be, perhaps, unfair, I don't think we were the classiest table in the room. My suit was borrowed (though my wife's pretty stylish). I don't believe a smart MC would worry about us being regulars. Still, some Nobless Oblige in the right direction never hurt anyone. The truth is, it is exactly tables like ours that should be protected by management, because we can afford it all the less. We take greater risks, spend a higher portion of our (in)disposable income.
I think the man was asking us back so he could be generous. I'm just worried it's too late.
The problem with having an allergy is that, having taken all the trouble required to let the staff know about it - sometimes in a different language - you start to feel persecuted if it still happens. The symptoms are pretty specific. Oh well.
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“Turbot without Genius is better than Genius without Turbot.” Alain Ducasse.
On Monday, my wife and I had dinner at Ducasse at the Plaza Athénée. (Lest people mistake me for someone who can afford this on a regular basis, I should say that the funds for this Ducasse/Gagnaire excursion came after we moved house from California to London, and had something left over from selling the car. Obviously we weighed up all of the options; which came down to paying off the future mortgage, or having the lamb chops at Ducasse. Well, I have to be honest. It wasn’t even close – and I am writing this from under a park bench with a tarpaulin thrown overhead, although I’m pretty sure it’s leaking, and I think last night we were robbed, and I can’t feel my feet...) Anyway – to place this story in its rightful perspective, I must insert the phrase: “my wife is allergic to mushrooms.” This is not so much a punchline, as it is a tragedy the likes of which would’ve made Sophocles kick his sofa through the window for not having thought of it sooner. On the one hand we have Oedipus and his mother. On the other, my wife and the white truffle of heaven, forever slipping from her grasp. You see what I’m saying? Oedipus was a whining mother’s boy.
What this means is that for any restaurant we go into, I have to hold down the waiter, while my wife beats him with a bat like Al Capone, shouting: “No mushrooms! No Truffles! No Porcini! No Truffle oil! Capite?” Now understandably, some people take offence at this. But this is the three stars and reputation of Ducasse that we were dealing with – so not a bit of it. Had Ducasse been there himself, I’m sure he would have joined in.
Now, where the food is concerned, obviously we are dealing with a master. But has anyone seen the decor? It looks like some revisionist historical hallucination – think the French revolution run by Jean-Paul Gaultier. It’s not that it’s bad bad, just extremely odd odd. A post-modern comment on luxury. First of all, think of a ballroom where Dumas would’ve happily placed a timorous, panting aristocratic protagonista. Then add Crystal chandeliers swathed in silver/golden chain-mail-looking sheaths. Where there would have hung a 10 foot tall painting of the King (were we in those times), hangs two 15 foot slightly-bleached photographs of extremely pale, unhappy looking, gawping teenagers (a comment on the old peasants of Paris, pressing up against the palace gates, crying for bread? And of course, the point becomes that you have to ignore these photographs, as if you were Marie-Antoinette, in order to get through the meal. Which is, thinking about it now, absolutely hilarious.)
Anyway, we were seated. The man with the beautiful trolley of champagne came by, and did his duty. As did the water person with their tommy-gun selection. The young man came with a couple of beautiful butter dishes (conveniently holding said sculpted condiment). The waiter came and my wife beat him with her mushroom bat until he looked bored, took our order, and went away.
And so – to the meal. First –
- a pre-amuse: a perfect little sandwich of creamed spinach between two disks of puff pastry – about the size of a quarter (or 10 pence piece in the uk). I know this doesn’t sound that interesting; but if you ever find yourself on your death bed, with a selection creamed spinach and puff-pastry amuse to choose from, this would make your final moments extremely happy ones – if slightly shorter than you’d hoped for, due to the amount of butter involved.
- An emulsion/foam/gazpacho of basil over a brunoise of vegetables and lobster.
I should précis my comments by saying that I had told the waiter I didn’t want any shellfish, including Lobster (Why? Cos I’m an idiot, but that’s another story), but they brought this to me anyway, which has some bearing on a later issue (In his defence, I had said this in English).
The taste was wonderful and creamy. The lobster was tender (and made me glad he’d ignored my request). The foam tasted rich, of basil and good oil, but the seasoning was a bit – shall we say - cutting edge. My wife thought it too salty – I didn’t, but was surprised at the amount.
- Asperges vertes de chez “Blanc”, comté/vin jaune/truffe noir
Beautiful large asparagus, with series of three sauces – one dark with truffle, one green – asparagus purée, I think - both criss-crossing the plate, looking very attractive. And finally a white wine sabayon, served by the waiter.
In my opinion the waiter over-sauced the plate with the sabayon, ruining the visual effect of the saucier with the other liquids. Also, tasting the sabayon on its own, I found it overly-bitter. In the dark sauce, I tasted and smelled no truffle, which disappointed me, as that was the reason I had ordered the dish. Nevertheless, there was a great ‘meatiness’ to it – like you find in a glace or balsamic reduction. All three sauces mixed together I found a little confused. The overall effect tasted good, and the asparagus was perfect, but I’m not sure it was what the chef was aiming for.
- Foie gras de canard des landes glacé d’une sangria
A torchon of foie gras, covered by a thin layer of jelly made from sangria.
This was my wife’s starter, and really solid. The foie gras was gentle, and welcoming (if you can believe that from a piece of liver). The sangria jelly – I presume made with gelatin rather than meat glace – was really marvellous – fruity, and vivid – and went with the foie gras like a sauterne. Very clever.
- Bar de ligne, marinière au jus de persil, morilles
Sea bass, beneath a foamy sauce of parsley, with small croutons and morelle mushrooms.
This, for me, was the triumph. It was like staring at a the roiling ocean from 10,000 feet; foam tipped waves, white crests (forgive my slightly over-romantic delusions), and an archipelago of morelles, each capped with a butter soaked wafer-thin crouton. Hungry yet? It looked like it took a team of 5 three hours to put together. I’ve never been a huge fan of fish, but this was truly astonishing. I couldn’t tell you how they cooked it – but I suspect they showed it the furnace of the open oven, like prisoners were shown the instruments of their torture, and let fear of pain do the rest. I bet they had to chase that fish around the kitchen for three hours with a meat cleaver before it agreed to surrender – but boy did it taste good. The parsley foam was incredibly buttery – and all the better for it. The morelles, almost fragile and delicious. The small wafers would’ve given a coronary to a choir boy. Ah, yes, Ducasse....
- Turbot de bretagne à plat Argenteuil
You’ll have to forgive my lack of details here – I was a bit swept up in my Bar de Ligne. I believe part of the garnish was a tapenade (but my memory could be playing tricks). The taste was magnificent. Other than a change in colour, the fish showed no evidence of having been cooked – by which I mean caramelised edges, or flecks – it was simply perfect in texture, and translucent, and it made me realise what all of the fuss was about.
Unfortunately, now it all started to go wrong. After they had cleared our plates, my wife started to feel increasingly ill. And, of course, deeply upset at feeling ill, because we were here, finally, having travelled to Paris, having achieved a reservation in Ducasse, and spending all of this money etc. The bottom line? She was feeling mushroomed (which, had Freud not wasted all that time with sissy-boy Oedipus, he would’ve seen the true undercurrent of terror spreading through the Viennese salons and opium dens...). I could go into symptomatic details, but allow me to spare you. Now, to be clear, the waiter – and later the chef - assured us that none of the dishes she ordered contained any fungus – be it truffle or mushroom or truffle oil etc. He had also written it very clearly on the ticket (which they found for us). She hadn’t tasted any of my food which did contain mushrooms. So all I can imagine is that somehow there was cross contamination. The management inquired, fairly, if it was something she could have had at lunch, but the symptoms tend to be immediate. As Mr. Vonnegut once wrote: So it goes.
At the same time as this was happening, the meat course arrived. Ah, wonderful. My wife’s in tears, and would you just look at those olive-encrusted lamb chops? Those glistening sweetbreads? What could I do? I took her outside to sit down and get some air, and said we should go. She refused, saying I should go back in and finish the meal (what a trouper she is). I said no. She said yes. We haggled. She negotiated me down to at least trying the two meat-courses. And lest you all think me cruel and unusual, I was absolutely prepared to get into a cab. As it was, I marched double-time back to the table, where they brought me the two courses (which they had kindly kept warm for us). And with a fork in each hand, gave a display of speed eating and piggery that I think has probably been lacking from the 3-star restaurant scene for a few hundred years.
Anyway – despite this – my unfair and rough impressions:
Ris de veau doré à la florentine, morilles
calf sweetbreads with jus and morelles
These were beautiful, delicate, and to my thinking, classically prepared (as opposed to the Gagnaire preparation I was to have the next day). The jus was balanced, with all the flavour, but without the clawing taste of over done veal stock (of course – there ain’t no ‘duh’ in Ducasse, dummy). Although I think they were floured, they weren’t crispy – but I had the plate waiting for 10 minutes while I was outside (my point being, I don’t know if they were crispy to begin with).
Agneau “biberon” du Limousin, Côtes et filet, jus à l’olive
Tiny lamb chops, encrusted with olives.
I’m not an expert on Provencal cooking, but it strikes me that at its best it must have some of these elements. These were big, powerful flavours for a 3-star establishment to be dealing in – rather than subtle whisperings you sometimes find big name chefs playing with. The lamb was perfect. Really. If your son was to run off with a sheep, you’d want it to be this one.
Anyway, due to my quick exit, I missed the famous Baba au rhum, and the other desert we had ordered. And the petite fours.
Two days later, I put on my serious husband voice, and called the restaurant to complain and find out what might have happened. The Director de Salle, Dennis Courtiade, went off and spoke to everyone involved. He seemed genuinely concerned, and did his best to reassure us that there had been no mushrooms. Also, they hoped we would be able to return, so they could make it up to us. Unfortunately for me, and perhaps for them, they may have lost the trust of my wife, and I’m not sure I’ll get her back again.
The bill, with two glasses of champagne, 1 glass of sauterne, 2 of red wine, and 2 bottles of water, came to 495 Euros. We had to order the desserts in advance, although obviously I didn’t get to try them. Certainly, I don’t believe our bill was lessened due to my wife’s distress, which would have been appreciated. Of course, this distress was doubled when, the next day, she couldn’t come with me to Gagnaire because she felt too ill.
So it goes.
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I was just talking to my mother on the phone and wondered aloud whether I or she would have loved the meal you had at Gagnaire as much as you did. I really don't know, and would never know unless I tried those dishes there.
Pan -
thanks. And yes. I left there like a ten year old who had just seen the most amazing magic show, but I think that's also - to some degree - how I entered (if that makes any sense).
Also, I wonder if my experience would've been different if my wife had joined me - I think we feed off and are complicit in the emotions of those we dine with, and if she hadn't enjoyed herself, maybe my own enjoyment would have been affected.
The comments about Gagnaire have made me think about that book. You know - everyone has their own version - it's the one on the bedside table that you've been promising yourself you'd get around to reading one day. Well - for me it was the Iliad by Homer. I must've fallen asleep by page 27 half a dozen times. Then one day I picked it up, and it was the best thing I'd ever read. All of which is to say - sometimes we are just ready for these things. And other times, we're asleep by page 27.
It doesn't help that - from what I've read elsewhere - some people think Gagnaire's food is inconsistent. I just felt incredibly lucky.
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I feel like the kid who just showed up to the party, three hours late, and wonders why there's a guy standing naked in the middle of the room, covered in duck fat.
Where is that party precisely?
right here
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I feel like the kid who just showed up to the party, three hours late, and wonders why there's a guy standing naked in the middle of the room, covered in duck fat. I'm just worried the other guests will think me terribly passé for asking.
Thank you, everyone, for the welcome - and Sandra for the other discussions.
There seems to be a fundemental question running through the previous discussions with regard Gagnaire which I find interesting, which is: who is Gagnaire cooking for? I think it is very clear that Ducasse, where I had dinner the night before, is trying to provide you with that 3 star experience. The food, the wine - even the bill (not that Gagnaire didn’t take food out of my unborn children’s mouths, but still, it was so good...).
Some music is there to entertain. Some theatre too. Some painting, as well. But then there’s the stuff you remove your hat for. You understand it’s not going to be about you, or what you know or thought you knew. It’s going to be about a man or woman who has travelled a certain path, and wants to show you something. And I’m not saying there’s any lack of reverance in the people who come here – quite the opposite. But sometimes the line isn’t clear. My meal was less than spectacular at Ducasse, not because the food wasn’t at an extremely high level, but rather because I thought the meal failed ultimately on the level that Ducasse himself was proposing. “My food is about this.... the experience I want you to have is this... etc.”
Equally, I don’t think my wife would’ve had the same experience at Gagnaire that I had. I don’t think she would have found the roquefort tart served with the asparagus ‘funny,’ as I did. Or dived as quickly into the tuna jelly, because it just seemed so bizarre (and it was delicious). The reward in this meal, for me, came from walking off cliff-edges without seeing anything that would offer any support, and then – voila – look, I’m flying! If I had been timid at Gagnaire, I would've had a difficult time choosing anything. As it is, the major flaw in the meal, as I see it, was my timidity over the roast oysters.
But, in the end, the tongue is the tongue. My wife is a pickier eater than I, and I am pickier than others (although personally I think we’re all picky over something – just some of us you can’t take to the “Festival of Yak Meat and interpretive Dance”).
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Pierre Gagnaire
On Tuesday, the 29th of April, I had the best meal of my life at the restaurant of Pierre Gagnaire. It was one of those transcendental experiences with new flavours, textures, combinations, and most importantly, emotions, that I have read or heard about from others, but never experienced. To put this in some context, I have eaten at the French Laundry, Ducasse, Gordon Ramsey, Chez Panisse, but this experience eclipsed them all. Don’t misunderstand me – I do not believe this to be a competition. It is just that epiphanies on this scale are so rare. So often we come across a dish perhaps, or a couple of courses, and think: “yes – that’s what I’ll remember” – for instance, a plate of perfect butter beans at Panisse, or a cauliflower panna cotta at Laundry, or a pumpkin soup at Gordon Ramsey (and many more). It is not necessarily that these things are the best the restaurants have to offer – rather they create a resonance – bells start ringing somewhere. We smile inwardly, or outwardly. We share it with those we love, or keep it to ourselves. The difference with Gagnaire was that these “single best” courses kept coming, and coming, until I thought I was going mad. Damnit, If I hadn’t been so full, and had my ‘bella figura’ and machismo to consider, I probably would’ve been sobbing and laughing simultaneously.
The service was immaculate. Formal and generous, without being stuffy. Theatrical and entertaining, without being pretentious. Stylish, without being conceited. I was dining on my own – although I had booked with my wife, she was ill and couldn’t come – and felt completely comfortable for what turned out to be a more-than three hour meal. My French is quite poor, but the staff all tried their best with English. Interestingly, I had asked for a lunch reservation, and they said I could come “between 12 – 1.30”. This doesn’t mean, as I thought, that that was my window. No, rather I could show up at my convenience between those hours, which I thought was really admirable. Dining at this level can be an intimidating experience; and this – like an amuse bouche to start the meal – was a small act of generosity which made a difference.
Two other points: during the meal, Gagnaire himself came into the dining room to shake everyone’s hand, and thank us for coming. I didn’t catch even a whiff of ego from the man – he seemed genuinely happy to find us there. It was a nice moment. Second, a French businessman who had brought his mother sat opposite me. At the beginning of the meal, he was behaving extremely cool, I thought – very debonair and unconcerned. But as the meal progressed, as plates were placed before them, he and his mother started laughing quietly to themselves – and by the time desert was placed before them, all pretence was out the window, and they were giggling like children.
Below I’ll list the menu. Considering how many courses there were, the portions were generous – slightly more so than the French Laundry, of which in style this meal resembled the most. If the food hadn’t been as good as it was, I don’t think I would’ve been able to finish – and I’m a big eater. There were six deserts alone – and I only remember five of them (for which I apologise – but I was somewhere between delirium and unconsciousness by this point, so you’ll have to forgive me). Also, because I don’t speak French, I can’t translate the menu, only give my recollections. My apologies if I miss something.
- Amuse
Small pastries with: sardine mousse, and anchovy ‘crisps’
salmon roe
tuile ‘cigarettes’
Comment: These were simple but profound. I usually hate salmon roe, but these were a revelation. Gentle rather than brash, and dissolving in the mouth, rather than ‘popping.’ Very sensual.
- Salpicon de tourteau, velouté mousseux de pomme verte; mange-tout et navets croquants.
Crab meat, surrounded by green apple juice, with mange tout, and a wafer of seaweed.
Comment: This was the first surprise, and incredible. Somehow they had removed all the ‘sweetness’ from the apple juice (which would’ve been overbearing next to the crab), leaving only the intense flavour. Instead they used the sweetness from the crab meat itself. This was combined with the slight salty bitterness of sea-weed (at least I think it was seaweed). Unbelievable.
- Royale de foie gras, jus de roquette et coriandre fraiche; jeune courgete aux épices chaudes, lentilles vertes du Puy et artichauts épineux.
Hot foie gras mousse, with arugula and cilantro juice, young grilled courgette, puy lentils, and shaved young artichoke.
Comment: This was deeply, upsettingly good. Hot foie gras mousse?! He cooks his vegetables and lentils boldly – really al dente. It felt like I was being taught something I was glad to learn.
- Merlan-rouget “Birdy”; gelee de thon rouge aux olives taggiasche; gnocchi noirs.
A piece of whiting, and mullet, sautéed and stacked on white beans, and a separate bowl with a slice of blue fin tuna, in a ‘jelly’ of tuna (I think) and pieces of black gnocchi.
Comment: The mullet and whiting were cooked perfectly, and the caramelised soft flesh went beautifully with the soft white beans. Then – all of sudden – this really strange bowl of translucent jelly, beneath which floated a perfect sliver of tuna surrounded by small black gnocchi? It’s like Ornette Coleman showing up for a Fleetwood Mac concert. How did it taste? Incredible. The jelly melted in the heat of your mouth, punctuated by the small gnocchi. And when you took a bite of one, and then the other? I started laughing out loud. What a surprise.
- Tails of crayfish in a light curry emulsion
The menu was oysters, which I haven’t learned to love (Rôti d’huitre “pied-de-cheval” de Prat a Coum, chorizo craquant; presée de poireau à la papaye ; amandes et vernis), so they gave me the above.
Comment: This was the only dish that didn’t knock me down – and my fault to boot for it being a substitution. It didn’t feel like it had a centre to it. I should have had the oysters.
- Asperges vertes Saint Vincent et pitchounes du père Blanc ; infusion d’agrumes au poivre de Malabar. Quenelles de langoustines à la maniguette.
An arrangement of small green asparagus, and one large white one, in a butter/vegetable infusion, with a quenelle of crawfish, and a small ‘tartlet’ of Roquefort (I think).
Comment: This had me laughing again – pure food for the brain. The asparagus was pitch perfect, the vegetable broth soft and buttery, the quenelle gently flavoured – everything very classical and unconfrontational – and then I saw this little tartlet sitting innocently on the side of the plate. I tried some, and POW! This had to be the stinkiest cheese I’d ever come close to. It was like a super ripe Roquefort reduced down to Roquefort essence, and then used to make a tiny tartlet. I just ended up laughing again. I’d felt lulled into a sense of safety, and then whacked over the head with the complete works of Wittgenstein. Really, really wonderful, and funny – but not a dish for your grandmother.
- Cuir de veau grillé à l’anguille laquée ; brochette de ris d’agneau enrobées d’une polenta à la pistache.
A skewer of Tête du veau – pan-roasted – with a glaze, and lamb sweetbreads coated in polenta.
Comment: If the above was for the brain, then this was for the soul. It was almost an illusion, seeming to be somewhere between jerk chicken, or chicken satay. The sauce on the téte du veau reminded me of a Thai peanut sauce, with a background of veal glace. And then, on the side, was what resembled a piece of fried plantain. I bite into it, and it turns out to be the most incredible lamb sweetbreads. A dash of crimson crossed the plate, a reduced raspberry vinegar perhaps? This would be a dish to have on death row. Forget the final words, just give me one more bite. Well, I thought this was true, until I had:
- Traditionnel pigeon aux petits pois. Aubergines, fenouil et oignons bebetes au cidre fermier. Une chartreuse froide.
Traditional pigeon with peas. Aubergines, fennel and onions bebetes with farm cider. Chartreuse cold.
Comment: Okay, I was getting a little emotional at this point. It’s possible I was talking to myself. Traditional pigeon? Where is this a tradition? Right here, right now I renounce all claims of citizenship and ask for asylum where-ever they’ve been making pigeon this good. And I know the menu above says aubergine (egg-plant, for Americans), but I’m pretty sure they’re lying. My brain was telling me it was some kind of as-yet-unheard-of foie gras. Maybe engorged pigeon liver. I still don’t believe it. The petites pois were blanched and skinned, leaving the bright green half-peas which again were cooked boldly. The fennel was braised, I think, and delicate. The flesh of the pigeon breast was deep red in the centre. And the effect? It was like the first time you fall in love. It was terrible, tormented bliss. I was a wreck.
- Le fromage
Tête do moins(?) with creme freche, Roquefort, and an aged orange cheese, like Dutch gouda, with eschallot mousse.
Comment: thankfully, you get relief. Back to the brain. And I could have the names wrong. A selection of three ‘composed’ cheese course on one plate – similar to what the French Laundry does (although they only do a single).
- Deserts
Petite fours
Chocolate terrine
White and dark chocolate mousse
Wild strawberries with cucumber mousse
Strawberry sorbet on a reduction of strawberries, and champagne jelly with wild flowers
You think you can keep going? Bang. Six different deserts (five listed above) that they plonk down in front of you at the same time. Three chocolate, and three fruit. Different textures, and ranges of sweetness. On one side, the mousse; on the other, the wild strawberries – almost completely unsweet, and interestingly paired with the cucumber cream.
With the espresso at the end, the final bill came to 235 Euros. I had one glass of champagne, and two bottles of water.
And as I left to walk out into a perfect Parisian spring afternoon, guess who was standing by the door? Gagnaire himself, who shook my hand, and said thank you, and wished me a pleasant day.
Ah, it was the meal of my life.
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I just had the most phenomenal meal of my life at Pierre Gagnaire in Paris. I am, however, new to eGullet ways - would it be of interest to people to hear about it - the menu, my impressions etc?
Ledoyen
in France: Dining
Posted
Lousia
what a great description. Makes me want to hop on the train, and try it for myself.
Being the (or even our) designated expert, would you like to venture a cordon bleu guess as to how they made the stuffing for the ravioli? Did they use a mousse of foie gras to bind the morels, or a salpicon of both? And what was your guess on the components of the jus/sauce?
Also, with the peppers - do you think they removed too much (You mentioned the heat from the one, and the peppery-ness from the cress) or did it all balance out?
And when do you find out about the stage?