French Haute Cuisine: Dead or Alive?

[chefzadi]

you write

"It's all about money and competition, the negation of art. Innovation, originality for originality's sake (art is no longer art when it becomes a strategy; that's easy to understand but obviously it is still very hard to understand for many chefs who try to imitate Ferran Adria or Michel Bras), a good dose of elitism and snottiness, and food that, at high level, ends up looking and tasting the same all over the world, and — yes — the plague of assembly-line cuisine which is not really cuisine at all."

that's it ... you said it all ... "haute-cuisine" today in fact ressemble "art" himself, what you said above apply to art, today art is all about money, all about power and position ... for me even those two names ( Adria and Bras ) are in the same bag, i see once Bras on tv, dressing a plate, trying to look like an artist, i can "picture" him on "place du tertre" with the final plate, it's were the quality of the aesthetic ( only thing that seems to matter when it come's to "art" for mister Bras ) of the final plate look like, a cheap ugly painting for tourists, in fact the custumers of those guys are "tourists" ... deconstruction was interesting in the hand of master, but in Adria hand what it is ? ... a joke ... as good as a cook Adria can be ... and Bras also.

art is "cuisine" today, so cuisine can be art as well, it's fine with me ... everything today seems to be - is - about money ... ou sont les cuisiniers ? my grand mother is dead ... let's find another name.

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Where are the cooks? I'm here in Los Angeles.

[vmilor]

lxt:

Yes, the supplier of cheese to L'Ambroisie is indeed Aleosse. Sorry for the late reply. By the way, the other fine affineur, Bernard Anthony is a good friend with an enigmatic international gourmet who, once a while, contributes to food forums. Last year, I had dinner with this person at Les Ambassadeurs soon after Piege had taken over. Our characterization of Piege is the same as yours but this is another story. At any rate, when it came to the cheese course my friend asked for a taste of the comte--Anthony's. The waiter said that it was from the 2000 vintage. Tasting it, my friend told me that, the cheese was wonderful but it was a tad below 2000 and it was 2001. Guess what? Bernard Anthony was dining with friends in another table and when he came to say hello, my friend asked him about the cheese. Indeed, he had run out of the 2000 and this was 2001! Another thing that made me swallow my tongue is that(this is a Turkish expression--don't know if it makes sense in English), the same day, my friend and Bernard Anthony had a 10+ course marathon lunch at Gagnaire--specially cooked for the affineur--, an invitation I had declined given the dinner cooked by Piege, and that, despite my skepticism my friend was able to embark on a new marathon just 3 hours after the first had finished and was even able to taste my squab to confirm his judgment that the skin had looked too brown and perhaps it was overcooked.

I am telling this juicy story to ask forgiveness for not addressing your more basic inquiry about a comparison between ex Robuchon and Pacaud. This will require some sorting out of old documents and Jamin menus+a travel down memory lane when, a very young(!) international student in mid 80s Paris was going solo to Jamin without necktie once a week and ordering the 140 FF lunch menu($14 given the exchange rate)and discovering that, living an isolated life in Paris burying yourself to the archives in Fondation National and rue de Martignac(French Planning Commission), may not be too ascetic after all given the weekly friday lunch routine and the sheer pleasure of anticipating it. Too bad these days came to an end.

[lxt]

vmilor, you made me laugh: “to swallow my tongue” is a Russian expression as well, and it could be used in the same context. It’s hard to know who borrowed this idiom from whom, which might’ve taken place during the Russian-Ottoman war in the 18th century for all we know. I believe, however, that the usual context in which this expression can be used in English is in reference to an epileptic attack, which requires a measure of sticking a ruler inside a sick person’s throat to prevent him from …”swallowing his tongue.”

It is certainly impressive that your friend was able to distinguish peculiarities with Comté. Did he mention what he considered to be the difference between the two, other than making a general statement? I assume that since your friend’s palate is trained so acutely and his knowledgebase is so broad, he must live somewhere in Europe or Paris itself, as I don’t believe that two or three times a year of a short visit is enough to master such degree of proficiency…Or perhaps he simply tasted both cheeses within a short period of time, unless he is capable of keeping in his head a library of tastes, a rare talent at this level of detail. Is it possible that this “enigmatic international gourmet” would share his experience at Gagnaire with us? Was his meal consistent? Did he think that this special meal differed from what was available for the general public from the creativity/consistency/performance point, or that the meal was simply prepared with extra care?

On a more serious note, the fact that the service staff failed to provide correct information on cheese at Les Ambassadeurs should be noted. However, I’m willing to cut them some slack. It certainly takes time to train new staff, and considering that you visited the restaurant right after Piege took over, as you said, this aspect can change over time. There was a certain dissonance in the dishes’ presentation, however, not only due to their condiments being served separately from the main ingredients establishing an overall remoteness, but they seemed unnecessary, and purposeless, masking the taste of the main ingredients rather than highlighting them and introducing a needless heaviness. In other words, there was no sense that when all these elements were coupled together, the one with the higher output charged the other, as with the eggplant, parmesan and parsley (strong Ducasse Mediterranean motifs), which simplified and overwhelmed the taste of the tiny, delicate lamb chops from a milk-fed Limousine lamb no older than 40 days. There was a certain sense of uncertainty in the whole meal, and, to prove my theory, I asked our Mâitre d’ whether Piege changed his menu often, which may have been an indication of his continuing experimentation. He said that indeed only recently instead of lamb chops, another and what seemed to be a more elaborate dish was on the menu: lamb saddle wrapped in the shape of a lamb chop with a detached bone. The strongest dish during our meal, or rather one element of the dish, was an absolutely excellent spaghetti façon carbonara served with blue lobster, despite a slightly artificial taste of canned black truffle bits. The grandiosity of the room, however, Baroque of the reign of Cardinal Richelieu, almost made me wish I lived three centuries ago if not for the sober consolation that poor dentistry most apparently prevailed at that time.

I also have an anecdote to share. My daughter, God bless her, an innocent child (while my husband and I were investigating more private facilities), mesmerized by a large cart, featuring live herbs in pots and multiple versions of honey, rolled to our table at the end of the dinner, upon being asked what tea Mademoiselle desired, replied, “May I please have two herbs in my tea, mint and thyme?” “Certainly,” replied a well-trained waiter and respectfully retreated. The mint and thyme leaves were put in a bawl of cold water first to induce flavor release before being moved to the pot with hot water. On the bill, the tea price read 44 Euros. “What tea did you order sweetie pie?” asked my husband in a slightly broken voice full of indiscreet surprise. We rushed to take last drops of this magic “gold” tea from our daughter’s cup only to find the taste of herbs with chestnut and acacia honey good, but not exceptional. As it appeared each herb or herb/honey combination cost 22 Euros. Beware! On the other hand, though I can’t imagine herbs to so greatly affect the price, perhaps good quality honey could boost it. My knowledge in this area lacks.

“Too bad these days came to an end.” I’m sure had you had a chance to glance into the keyhole of your future while younger, you would’ve envied your current self. That’s at least my consolation argument.

By the way, did you make it to Arpège or to Paris at all?

[chefzadi]

Did you actually pay the 44 Euros for the tea? I would have spoken to managament about it.

[Behemoth]

1975 is when Spain was opened to the world; before, she was as isolated as any country behind the Iron Curtain (Miro, Picasso, or Calder: offered the Spanish as devastated, scared, lonely, angry, confused).

I'm sorry -- which Calder was this?

[chefzadi]

1975 is when Spain was opened to the world; before, she was as isolated as any country behind the Iron Curtain (Miro, Picasso, or Calder: offered the Spanish as devastated, scared, lonely, angry, confused).

I'm sorry -- which Calder was this?

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Alexander Calder? He was also known in Spain as Alejandro Caldero,

[Behemoth]

1975 is when Spain was opened to the world; before, she was as isolated as any country behind the Iron Curtain (Miro, Picasso, or Calder: offered the Spanish as devastated, scared, lonely, angry, confused).

I'm sorry -- which Calder was this?

←

Alexander Calder? He was also known in Spain as Alejandro Caldero,

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I gather that was before he was born in Philly?

[chefzadi]

A recent discussion of L'Ambroisie with a friend encouraged me to put together a couple of thoughts on the restaurant recounting my past experience there in late May.

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Perhaps it is just an old habit of mine to attempt to characterize all establishments through a prism of current and historical stylistic influences, interweaving threads of commonality among the arts, music, and food, or perhaps style is what defines any creation, and it, or rather its presence is not only a hallmark, an imprint of imagination, but a clear representation of a personal expression and philosophy, but I’m not generally settled until I identify a chef’s style.  For instance, Passard is the most vivid representative of Minimalism in food, while his former student Barbot (L'Astrance) is primitivist.  While Berasategui’s cuisine gives the impression of a French contemporary influence with his overuse of quiet, cautious flavors, Gagnaire’s contemporary style is more vocal and is closer to Glen Brown’s approach (not Kandinsky’s, as Beaugé suggested in Francois Simon’s “Pierre Gagnaire: Reflections on Culinary Artistry” nor is it minimalist as stated in the same book) in how he treats “savage” recipes and ingredients (the beef aspic dish), eliminating the element of “rough brushstrokes” while introducing a gracious refinement of “lines,” and in how both of them use the historical context (e.g. Gagnaire’s classic turbot in buttery cream turned modernistic with a spike of African melegueta pepper).  Piege seemed to be struggling to stray away from the Baroque of Ducasse’s style on my visit to Les Ambassadeurs, and Senderens (Lucas Carton), the father of minimalism, aside from an occasional tiredness, maintains some elements of restrained Art Nouveau, just like the décor of the restaurant itself. 

L’Ambroisie, however, seemed to be the hardest one to “file” not due to its lack of style – to the contrary, there was something very personal and expressive in Pacaud’s cooking – but because it didn’t seem to fall under any of the existing categories of predefined stylistic formulations.  His cuisine doesn’t posses that indefinable “animalism” that cannot be resolved intellectually because it is addressed not to our intelligence but to our senses only, nor does it rely on a theme and thirty variations, with set forms and complicated constructions built on key relations and symbolism, nourishing our curiosity more than our senses.  Neither conservative (with classical grandeur and heaviness of individual dishes) nor avant-garde (gathering together smaller, interlocking units [dishes] of shorter breath while corresponding more closely to the overall tasting flow), with a good instinct to weave all components of an individual dish into an enjoyable unity, his style seemed to represent a work of “realism” composed by a romantic whose imagination and invention were accompanied by the supervision of an alert critical mind. 

There are two features characterizing Pacaud’s cuisine: 

1) Pacaud is the chef for whom the inner intricacies of ingredients determine the form, gait, and tone of his composition to such a degree that dishes with the identical main ingredient form separate, very unique sub-styles.  For instance, in two different versions of the fillet de bar dish, the fish would be cooked and presented in a similar manner (hence his “sea bass style”), while still lending a different output of flavors, reflecting the accompaniments with which the fish was enhanced.  Therefore, it becomes apparent why Pacaud can apprehend with infinite responsiveness individual dishes, but he cannot summon the force of multi-course flow:  Such an ultra-refined approach of hanging on details of individual ingredients is typical of miniaturists. 

2) The second characteristic is that Pacaud’s cuisine, conveying relaxed mood, exemplified by modest presentation (which still carries a residue of the conventional, but with polished simplicity and pictorial effort) is so complete, that the real marvel is that while the most finicky connoisseur has a chance to rejoice in the quality of the ingredients, the untutored still have a chance to absorb freely the highly artistic and subtle elements without being aware of their nature. Pacaud provides consistency, which can never disappoint to the extent some of Gagnaire’s dishes can. 

However, not always does the excellence of ingredients guarantee the same esthetic virtue to the dish, and considering that the course of the meal generally includes no more than three or four dishes, it is possible that at L’Ambroisie, an overall meal, though steady, may turn modest and somewhat lacking a thrilling element.  Mousseline de céleri aux écrevisses, jus de presse à l’huile de noix– six crayfish out of their shells, with firm, yet tender meat, placed side by side, as if building a tunnel over the off-white celery purée, whose buttery taste consumed any celeriac freshness, and surrounded by a thin yet very strong sauce, based on walnut oil and crayfish stock – was a less successful dish, ordered by my husband.  The delicately pronounced sweetness of the crayfish was overpowered by the very distinct, almost throat-scratching walnut oil, whose undiluted toasty taste was almost savagery, so that even the neutral-tasting celery purée failed to offset the oil’s strong characteristics, becoming somewhat superfluous.  Perhaps diluting the walnut oil with a lighter oil (a common practice) or offsetting it with sherry vinegar (though the vinegar acidity might’ve compromised the purity of the crayfish taste) would’ve helped, but this dish didn’t possess the necessary articulation, using rather incomplete and strong language that threatened to drown the main theme in undulating words.  This was the only disappointing dish, which followed the exceptional amuse.

Morels were blooming on the menus of nearly every respectable and less so restaurant last May, having pleased us with a variety of concentrated and light flavors from such dishes as a decent chicken with peas and morels at Mon Vieil Ami,  an excellent l’oeuf cocotte a la crème légere de morille at Atelier de Joel Robuchon and at Les Ambassadeurs, a very good morel and asparagus appetizer of morel consommé that continued gaining concentration from a cheese-cloth bag filled with dry morels, infusing the liquid with earthy intensity, as the mushrooms gradually re-hydrated. 

L’Ambroisie was our last meal in Paris, and, after a two-week gastronomic marathon, we desired nothing more elaborate than just to have a decent meal while maintaining quantity control, so that when our Mâitre d' hinted that Monsieur Pacaud would be able to cook for us, but that the dinner would consist of four or five dishes, we had to respectfully decline, restricting our choices to a conventional three-course meal.  In other words, a muse of adventure has already left us…until a fantastic amuse of morel consommé with foie gras awakened our senses again. 

What made this dish special is the skill with which luxury ingredients were applied.  Pacaud didn’t simply combine the immaculate morels and foie gras, but manipulated these ingredients in front of the diner, turning them into marionettes at the end of a string, which he pulled with marvelous virtuosity, adding a touch of designated light and perhaps even satirical chansons, as the dish kept altering its appearance and taste, as if mixing different paints on a palette to create a completely unique color.  The dish first made its appearance as a dark-brown consommé with a piece of steamed foie gras in the center, allowing us to acquaint our palates with the most intense morel flavor.  After a second spoonful, however, the elaborate “coloratura” started unwrapping as the steamed foie gras began melting in the consommé, forming white foam and thickening the liquid with a buttery richness while taming and smoothing the sharp and concentrated angles of morel taste.  A final touch of counterpoint sweetness, in the form of fresh (perhaps slightly blanched) peas, whose clean, delicate flavors were stressed by the foie gras richness, enveloped the somewhat forceful mood of the dish in mysterious and muted tones, capturing the unparalleled sensuality of this pale and amusingly decadent world of luxury – a truly spectacular dish.

There is one more dish that I’d like to mention. 

It was almost touching to see a young French couple, modestly dressed, sitting at the right-hand corner of the room, pet each others’ hands and whisper gently, as if their souls have immersed in the happy melodic world of their French song, with its joyous abandon, and their desires, memories and passions fainted into a cheerful intoxication.  Their language could’ve been gauche and blustery, for all I knew, but French, with its suave curves, can be deceiving to the untrained ear, and I simply observed the scene until the motion at the next table was interrupted when sea bass with butter sauce and caviar arrived at their table.  The fish, its black skin attached, was glowing and the caviar seemed of good quality from the distance, so that the growing temptation to try this dish forced me to inquire of our Mâitre d’ whether  Escalopines de bar à l'émincé d'artichaut, beurre léger au caviar,” would add harmony to my order. His concern was that the buttery sauce on sea bass would echo the sauce in the frog legs appetizer, Royale d’oignons doux, cominee de cuisses de grenouilles (frog legs with sweet onions, butter and watercress sauce) I had already ordered,

…and suggested that should my heart still desire sea bass, he’d arrange for a different, off-menu version, which would bring the necessary diversity and balance to my meal.  Three small filets of line-caught sea bass in the center of the plate – hiding sweet and buttery carrot purée under their bodies, surrounded by a thinly carved crisp, fresh and almost sweet fennel and fish-fume based sauce, sparked with saffron – was a truly fantastic dish.

It is hard in general not to fall in love with this aristocratic and refined fish, whose tender meat seems to be pampered by nature as if only the best of two worlds – hermaphroditic, the fish produces eggs, claiming its female origin, until later in life its ovaries dry up and it switches hormones to produce sperm – can deliver this extraordinary softness and piquant, delicate taste, but when it is a line-caught specimen, delivered the same day and handled with extreme care, sea bass becomes a real treat.  The extraordinary preparation of the sea bass at L’Ambroisie secured its fluffy texture – characteristic of extremely fresh fish, the flesh of which generally becomes slightly firmer the day after the catch, which is not always a negative, since its taste still remains superb, providing the fish was stored properly (another advantageous quality of sea bass compared to other no-less-glorious species like turbot, for instance, whose taste and texture deteriorate rapidly with time) -- and the skin tightly embraced the flesh so that every cell of its pattern was glittering in the artificial light almost decoratively, while the moist, tender and cushiony meat added a sensual legato to the tableau.

There is probably no other restaurant of this magnitude that provokes so many disparate opinions on service.  From the perspective of some diners, the service at L’Ambroisie  is not unacquainted with perplexities; others extend their praise for the restaurant’s professionalism. 

One could say that L’Ambroisie epitomizes everything that is right or wrong with the French, depending on his individual perspective.  Classicism and tradition assume a certain level of formality, which, while possibly viewed by some as buffoonish, cold, and impersonal, would be revered by others as courteous, professional and proper.  To some extent, L’Ambroisie  doesn’t adjust its culture to the needs of its customers as much as it attempts to adjust customers to the formal mores of the restaurant, which can create a conflict of different opinions.  The Mâitre d’ would not be shy to insist on your changing your order to fit his own perception of your perfect meal, which could be construed by some as intrusiveness, while others would view it as professionalism and a welcomed enthusiasm.  While the Mâitre d’s insistence on your practicing French at the restaurant could be viewed as nationalistic, others may perceive it as his tolerance and patience and appreciate the opportunity to rehearse their language skills.  (Even having acknowledged my inability to communicate in French, our Mâitre d’ continued to insist that I try, as if testing the truthfulness of my admission.  I laughed and suggested that I would rather take pleasure in his practicing his Russian with me, after which he conceded that unless I spoke Japanese, our only common means of communication had to be…oh well, English.)

L’Ambroisie  allows one to experience time in its immobile state, having preserved that which has almost gone – a level of distant respect expressed in courteous but directive care with an element of theatricality obtained through rigorous training. For those whose temperament prevents them from being open-minded in accepting someone else’s authority over them, or those resenting taking their part in a “play” of predefined roles as set by the still life of the restaurant, going to L’Ambroisie may not provide an ideal experience.  If one manages to become an integral part of the L’Ambroisie culture, however, then the reward may be significant.

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The style of plating is over 20 years old. Except for the first presentation, which doesn't make sense to me.

Edit: The fish on the last plate, it's perfectly cooked. Not that other ingredients weren't. But the fish stands out, I can't comment on the seasoning though because I haven't tasted it.

Edited February 2, 2005 by chefzadi (log)

[Ptipois]

The style of plating is over 20 years old. Except for the first presentation, which doesn't make sense to me.

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http://www.lileks.com/institute/gallery/meat/4.html

(So terribly sorry.)

[chefzadi]

The style of plating is over 20 years old. Except for the first presentation, which doesn't make sense to me.

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http://www.lileks.com/institute/gallery/meat/4.html

(So terribly sorry.)

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The chef must be from a different generation (refering to the photos in the thread not on that website ). When I was in culinary school many, many moons ago my textbooks had photos like that. Even then we were told it was old fashioned. Not that I've reinvented the wheel with my plating. It's simple and clean. No towers, no fussiness and no extraneous garnishes that do little more than distract from the star ingredient. It doesn't look like the Keebler elves have put their little fingers all over the plate. No assembly line cooking. My mantra is a la minute as much as possible and everything from scratch. Other chefs know immediately what my food is about. Most customers do too, I'm always told that even the smell of my food isn't like restaurant food because it smells so clean and fresh. But some customers and food critics though seem to only respond to alot of empty clatter on a big plate served up by a chef who spends more time talking about his food than actually cooking it.

My wife loves onion soup she used to order it at almost every bistro we went to in France. We didn't find a single place in Paris that made it from scratch. The use of premade powdered or concentrated bases was apparent. The color dark and murky, the texture heavy, even a little slimy.

I make mine with a Beef Bouillon base. The result is a golden coloured, delicate, but still very flavorful soup. It always sold well, but I'm not sure that most of the customers in LA knew what they were eating.

[vmilor]

lxt--I am very much in accord with your diagnosis of Piege. I have dined there with my "enigmatic international gourmet"(EIG)friend on March 16, 2004. He did not hit it off with the staff(except the sommelier)because he asked too many questions and because he did not believe that "agneau Sisteron de biberon" was really 40 days old and thought it tasted more like 8 not 6 weeks old lamb. We both very much enjoyed the Breton(of course blue, as opposed to the green Maine lobster which is not as delicate)lobster tail served on a skewer made of vermicelli noodles. Yes, there was some canned truffle taste in the paste he used to bind the otherwise refined carbonara(cream, egg, jamon and I detected an infusion of curry)sauce--the only drawback. We play a game of ranking on 20, and this dish was the highest ranked:18. Suckling lamb came with a coco-curry sauce and it paled(for too many reasons--alchemy, quality, clarity)esp. when compared to a stellar shoulder of Lozere lamb(6 weeks old)I had had at Les Elysees under Briffard 5 days before. The entree "endives, bacon and truffles" was actually very successful and the pigeon with olive, good, but had some minor problems.

My notes actually corrected me: we were served Comte 2000 instead of the 99. I have jotted down after the meal that this was one of the best 2 hard crust cheeses I have tried: it was very concentrated and complex YET moist(the other is a 3 years old Reggiano at Parizzi in Parma). My EIG friend(now I will call him degusto as he posts under this name but prefers to remain "enigmatic" for the moment and does not want to reveal his name) claims that 99 is similar, except even more complex and concentrated and even more moist. What can I say as I have never tried it! Perhaps one can ask about it to our dear friend Robert Brown as the 2 know each other and degusto shared some of his allotment from Bernard Anthony with Robert. As you guessed degusto resides in the Riviera and he is a European. One reason he lives there is because he thinks world's best ingredients are all available there(gamberi of San Remo, mediterranean langouste, pre sale lamb, gaullois chicken, etc) and he scours local markets, both in Italy and France, for best products and he has developed relationships with a range of interesting people ranging from fish mongers to quasi Mafioso truffle dealers, both white and black truffles. To tell you the truth his fanaticism about ingredients borders on "craze" as nothing stops him say, from driving 5 hours to swamp land in the middle of nowhere to eat the world's best "tellines". He also makes constant experiments with cooking(such as purchasing 5 different breeds of suckling lamb shoulder to see subtle differences and cooking all of them)and I am sure if he were to become professional restaurateur he would go bust soon as he can not restrain himself or his curiosity.

I don't want to comment on his special relationship with Gagnaire and whether or not he was served a different meal than the rest of us mortals as he can comment. On my part, as I have been following Gagnaire's Paris adventures starting 15 days after he set foot there, I can say that the ratio of delicious/exciting to muddled/massacred preparations has unfortunately decreased there over the years. Is this the result of family problems or a search for renewing himself as this very "Bohemian"artist is a restless creature? I don't know. I also know that, as economists predict, my own tolerance to risk taking is decreasing with the passage of time.

[mdibiaso]

lxt:

I am telling this juicy story to ask forgiveness for not addressing your more basic inquiry about  a comparison between ex Robuchon and Pacaud.  This will require some sorting out of old documents and Jamin menus+a travel down memory lane when, a very young(!) international student in mid 80s Paris was going solo to Jamin without necktie once a week and ordering the 140 FF lunch menu($14 given the exchange rate)and discovering that, living an isolated life in Paris burying yourself to the archives in Fondation National and rue de Martignac(French Planning Commission), may not be too ascetic after all given the weekly friday lunch routine and the sheer pleasure of anticipating it.  Too bad these days came to an end.

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Do your parents understand that the real live long education you got from your time in Paris had nothing to do with the University? Kudos to your parents for letting you go and kudos to you for putting your free time to such valuable use. You and your friend from the Riviera are two of my favorite posters (knowledge, generosity, patience and never a flame) on these various boards. And to have sampled Robuchons cuisine for so many years! What a pleasure it must have been.

I have never been able to get to Paris that often and tried for years to get to Robochon and finally succeeded to get a lunch reservation for the Friday in July before he closed (and I called in January and could not get dinner). Needless to say I was not ready in my dining experience to truly value the meal and I will always regret never having had the chance to get to know his cooking better. But I can say I learn one thing from the lunch. I pushed the sommellier to give us some wine other than Bordeaux or Bourgogne and he suggested a white Hermitage. Still today white Hermitage is one of my favorites and probably the single white wine I can most easily pick out in a blind tasting. Thanks for your post that has brought many found memories of my younger years back to me.

[Ptipois]

He did not hit it off with the staff(except the sommelier)because he asked too many questions and because he did not believe that "agneau Sisteron de biberon" was really 40 days old and thought it tasted more like 8 not 6 weeks old lamb. We both very much enjoyed the Breton(of course blue, as opposed to the green Maine lobster which is not as delicate)lobster tail served on a skewer made of vermicelli noodles. Yes, there was some canned truffle taste in the paste he used to bind the otherwise refined carbonara(cream, egg, jamon and I detected an infusion of curry)sauce--the only drawback. We play a game of ranking on 20, and this dish was the highest ranked:18. Suckling lamb came with a coco-curry sauce and it paled(for too many reasons--alchemy, quality, clarity)esp. when compared to a stellar shoulder of Lozere lamb(6 weeks old)I had had at Les Elysees under Briffard 5 days before. The entree "endives, bacon and truffles" was actually very successful and the pigeon with olive, good, but had some minor problems.

My notes actually corrected me: we were served Comte 2000 instead of the 99. I have jotted down after the meal that this was one of the best 2 hard crust cheeses I have tried: it was very concentrated and complex YET moist(the other is a 3 years old Reggiano at Parizzi in Parma). My EIG friend(now I will call him degusto as he posts under this name but prefers to remain "enigmatic" for the moment and does not want to reveal his name) claims that 99 is similar, except even more complex and concentrated and even more moist.

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For a while I have been contemplating this long and fascinating exchange wondering if it was not a bit off-topic. Until I read this post, and realized it was not. It is the perfect example of how cold, desincarnated and sometimes boring French Haute Cuisine has become. This and the 44 euros for herb tea: that does it. This style of cooking is not dying; it is already dead, though it may still last a long time.

Edited February 3, 2005 by Ptipois (log)

[lxt]

Chefzadi, after we verified with the staff that we were charged not for two but one tea (albeit with two kinds of freshly snipped leaves and two portions of honey), I’m not sure there was any further issue to take up with the management. I’m simply presenting an “eG consumer report” so that those diners who are not tea and honey aficionados will have enough information to plan their expense and dinner accordingly. Aside from the tea, Les Ambassadeurs, however, is currently a real bargain for the quality it delivers, and vmilor’s and my thoughts are more of a constructive exchange on what could be improved from our perspective, than a negative criticism.

The sea bass in the picture does speak for itself, and I’m glad you pointed it out once again.

Edited February 15, 2005 by lxt (log)

[lxt]

Vmilor, I’m joining the chorus of the disappointed regarding the service staff’s unhelpful attitude, which is illogical, considering that revealing product details is to some extent a tribute to the purveyors and acknowledgement of their and the restaurant’s efforts. I had a similar experience recently at ADNY where my simple question regarding the supplier of tuber melanosporum (while deciding on whether to order the truffle tasting menu) was met with persistent resistance from our Maitre d’, who insisted that truffles were delivered by several suppliers and that it shouldn’t matter since they were excellent anyway. He did eventually come back to us with the answer (Platin, who also supplies Daniel) though much later and after we decided to order a la carte – quite fortunately, since the truffles were weak for this time of year, based on the two dishes with truffle supplements I had from the regular menu. It was as if we threatened to alter some immutable theology of indifference dwelling under the roof of the restaurant, which forced me to look around only to note that the majority of the restaurant’s clientele were either young, aggressive Wall Street yuppies, flashing their Prada ties, tamed quickly, however, by the arrival of their important clients (like an elderly lady across from our table, reminiscent of a relic of the Freudian world, whose face, distorted by plastic surgery, had about 20 years ago, reflected a chronic melancholy) or bored middle-aged couples, for whom the food was a plausible excuse not to invest any energy into the conversation, drifting into a world of separation from their legal spousal appendages. It occurred to me at that point that the Maitre d’s reaction was as much a result of his surprise as a lack of his enthusiasm, since most of the diners seemed to embrace the superficial luxury of the surrounding while bypassing the benefits of the cuisine itself, which eventually led to the cuisine’s apathy, a vibe I clearly got from ADNY.

A dear friend of mine from my student years, a former Opera singer, currently teaching in Canada, called me recently, and we engaged in a conversation on how deep and broad was the level of public understanding of classical music in Russia, for instance, due to a very well-defined educational system, a set of established standards, or, in other words, “school,” which always started with“ pre-listening” before attending a concert as a means to open the mind, excite the senses, and train the ear. It was as important to educate the public, those ultimate critics, as it was the musicians whose performances and their quality had to satisfy public demand. Yet, in the matters of food, the largest accent seems to be placed on diner’s personal likes and dislikes, based on their intuitive preferences, rather than on any standardized criteria. In our attempt to identify the reasons for the demise of any cuisine, the blame should be placed not only on chefs, whose performance deteriorated, but on diners as well, whose demands were lowered due to the lack of “formal” education.

As I was reading your description of the lobster dish, I also remembered that Piege presented the lobster tail on a skewer made of a raw vermicelli noodle -- clever, but somewhat misleading especially for those materialists who tend to advance the slogan “seeing is believing “ to “tasting is trusting what you are seeing.” Both David and I found ourselves in this category.

As to Gagnaire, it is not that the ratio of bad vs. good dishes was disproportionate on my visit, but even aside from the dishes whose esthetic virtues were questionable, Gagnaire seemed to have built this meal erratically, in a way that lacked a smooth flow (a step, necessary to deliver a multitude of small dishes in a sequence of progressing tastes). Among the dishes served simultaneously as a theme group, even the temperature of each dish was not calibrated to reflect the time required for the diner to finish one warm dish before starting another. It was as if Gagnaire, in his pursuit to build multi-course mini sub-themes, directed toward showing the same product from different textural and taste perspectives, seemed to estrange himself from the idea of building a centeral dish, concentrating more on a less “fleshy,” group approach, where the individual dishes comprising one composition could not stand alone, performing the role of team-players in the selected theme, which deprived these dishes of their individuality. I enjoyed Gagnaire’s more conservative dishes each proclaiming its masterpiece status and presented as a full-portion main course, like his excellent turbot with malagueta pepper. That is why I was curious whether a meal prepared for a special guest in any way differed from my observations as a regular diner.

[Bux]

lxt, you've touched a nerve here with your assessments that many of the diners at some of the most famous restaurants are there only because they can afford to be and are no more interested in the food than the diners, if they may be called diners, at some chain restaurant in a mall. I recall an the time I first got into a conversation with a French chef in his NY restaurant. A few pleasantries were exchanged as he passed the table, but I guess he became convinced of our passion, if not necessarily of our knowledge. Over the years, a small friendship emerged, but at that moment the ice was broken just enough to broach certain subjects and I asked about his clientele. He was direct. He said that tomorrow, many of the people in the dining room would be eating far inferior food, paying as much, if not more, and quite as happy to do it. I honestly don't know if the ratio of connoisseurs is higher in Paris than in NY. I've suspected so, but I'm not always convinced. A chef and his kitchen need to be appreciated or the quality will deteriorate, but the best of them will cook for the best level of clientele. They will cook at their best all the time, but a good restaurant will usually have a staff that's attentive to the signs of an educated diner as well as a passionate one and will be responsive to that interest or should I say those interests. Catering to an audience with an interest in food, but a less developed appreciation may lead to to excesses of showmanship rather than solid cuisine.

[John Talbott]

A study done by IPSOS of French eating habits summarized by Radio France revealed that only a small minority of those surveyed were interested in great cuisine and that while they knew names like Robuchon, Bocuse and Ducasse (curiously, despite his M6 exposure, Cyril Lignac was known by fewer than half, the same percentage as the Troisgros) and 3/4ths would eat in a three star resto, they weren’t willing to spend more than the 106 € for everything including wine & alcohol, which is inadequate. They also thought Italian and Chinese (followed by Spanish and Magrebian) cuisine was the best outside of French cooking and was accessible. Almost half of those surveyed thought that French cuisine was unaffected by foreign influences. Younger and more educated respondents were more favorable to foreign cuisines such as Indian and Japanese.

[winemike]

Thanks for the link, John. Most interesting...

May I just correct you as the article states that most French are actually interested in haute cuisine, not just a minority of privileged people...

Cheers

Mike

[Margaret Pilgrim]

We are constantly surprised at the € cut-off point many of our French acquaintances set for a meal including beverages. While many are eager to discuss starred cuisine, they do not put a priority on budgeting for such meals, unlike many Americans we know of similar economic level. Interesting.

[John Talbott]

Thanks for the link, John. Most interesting...

May I just correct you as the article states that most French are actually interested in haute cuisine, not just a minority of privileged people...

Cheers

Mike

←

Thanks Mike, I clearly saw only one negative not two.

[Ptipois]

Thanks for the link, John. Most interesting...

May I just correct you as the article states that most French are actually interested in haute cuisine, not just a minority of privileged people...

Cheers

Mike

←

Thanks Mike, I clearly saw only one negative not two.

←

I am wondering what "interested" means. And how different, in this case, it is of "being acquainted".

You can be interested in cubist art and be able to view it physically after paying a few euros to a museum. This does not apply to haute cuisine. Most of the population has very little idea of what haute cuisine is, while being aware of its prestige.

[Ptipois]

We are constantly surprised at the € cut-off point many of our French acquaintances set for a meal including beverages.  While many are eager to discuss starred cuisine, they do not put a priority on budgeting for such meals, unlike many Americans we know of similar economic level.  Interesting.

←

This is not uncommon: the acute awareness of a price level above which a meal, however refined it is, is no longer worth the fuss, and the one that haute cuisine is, increasingly, aimed at a rich international clientele and caters less and less to natives. And these days, the "hauter" cuisine is, the more a-national in style it becomes.

[John Talbott]

the acute awareness of a price level above which a meal, however refined it is, is no longer worth the fuss, and the one that haute cuisine is, increasingly, aimed at a rich international clientele and caters less and less to natives.

←

There's a word for this that my precious little woman, Colette, learned in Business School Micro-economics that is something like "the price point," above which, whatever they are, truffles, caviar, indeed sandals, are not worth the price. I must say the 19 € for girolles this week made me pause before ordering them.

[winemike]

Margaret, my american acquaintances, who visit France -and love food- are prepared to splurge on starred food and price, in these circumstances, is less of a concern.

Most my French acquaintances put a price (incl. beverages) that is relative to what they'd normally pay in a restaurant. Say €30 to €40 per head. 3 times that price is what they're prepared to spend in a multi starred place. It's a high price, when looking at it this way.

We know, though, that the pricing curve is exponential. And that's what these people don't factor in...

This is how I read it, anyway...

It's also interesting to realise that what people look at, is fame through media. Who the heck is Cyril Ligniac? We're in the star system, here. And France is no exception.

I firmly believe that the people who have been surveyed know these guys simply because of the media coverage they get. Some chefs are obviously more media-friendly than others...

[winemike]

Thanks for the link, John. Most interesting...

May I just correct you as the article states that most French are actually interested in haute cuisine, not just a minority of privileged people...

Cheers

Mike

←

Thanks Mike, I clearly saw only one negative not two.

←

I am wondering what "interested" means. And how different, in this case, it is of "being acquainted".

You can be interested in cubist art and be able to view it physically after paying a few euros to a museum. This does not apply to haute cuisine. Most of the population has very little idea of what haute cuisine is, while being aware of its prestige.

←

Well... not wanting to play the devil's advocate here but I know quite some people (family, friends, acquaintances) who have been indulging "haute cuisine". That would be a restaurant with 2 or 3 Michelin stars. It certainly does not mean they "know" haute cuisine well but would have experienced it. These people are not rich and have made a substantial effort to afford this food/restaurant.

I think France is a country where a worker will have potentially eaten at, say Troisgros, once in his lifetime. At least, there'd have been more chances for this French worker than his British, German or American counterpart...

But of course, I'm not discussing how this is evolving and what the future might be.

Cheers

Mike