Unlike pâtisseries such as Pierre Hermé which pride themselves on constantly introducing new and unique flavor combinations, Ladurée takes a much more straightforward approach.  Most of the macarons are single-flavor, with a few being a combination of two, at most.  This emphasis on simplicity allows Ladurée to completely focus on ingredient quality and taste, ensuring each macaron is the best of its kind.

Not only does Ladurée have the most true-to-life flavors, but the texture of their macarons is also the lightest and most delicate.  The inside layer of crème is modestly thin, preventing the cookie from becoming cloying.  This is also a boon for someone impatient like I am who sometimes can’t help not waiting for the cold cookies to warm to room temperature since the thin layer warms up more quickly.  These cookies are delicate, airy, and delicious.  They are the most mouthwatering cookies on the planet.

Downstairs at the Champs Élysées location, ordering a box of macarons to go is a very efficient process.  The counter is configured like an assembly line with one person helping to find the right size box and another to help fill it.

At Ladurée, moderation is very important; I try to never get more than 30 macaroons during a single visit.  The vanilla, pistachio, rose, and licorice flavors are my favorite, each one an unembellished concentrated representation of the natural ingredient from which the small meringue sandwiches were made.

The pistachio macaron has a pastel green shell with light brown specks. The flavor is sweet and nutty with a very subtle hint of salt. The texture is a bit more gritty than the other macarons, a reminder that this cookie does come from ground nuts.

A floral aroma dominates the rose macaron, with a subtle flavor of vanilla.  Unlike other rose flavor sweets, there is not the slightest bit of soapiness.

I think the most interesting flavor is the ink-black réglisse macaron, or licorice, a flavor that combines the sweetness of vanilla with the cool mouthfeel of licorice.  I don’t really like licorice and generally try to avoid it, but for some reason the licorice macarons are absolutely incredible, I believe one of the greatest dessert pastry flavors ever created.

Upstairs at the Champs Élysées location lies the tea room. It feels a bit like stepping back in time to Paris’ belle époque: opulent gold leaf leads to delicate porcelain and an eclectic mix of antique chairs suitable for royalty.  The service upstairs is a bit more “relaxed” than downstairs, so be sure to leave plenty of time for afternoon brunch.

Ladurée has the finest macarons in the world, but they also have excellent pastries.  Pastries are baked in the morning, so try to arrive early if you plan on ordering croissants.  The croissants are buttery and flaky with a unique cavernous interior that makes them appear extraordinary large.

The pain au chocolat aux amande, piped with a green almond paste and thin layer of dark chocolate, is nonpareil.  Unlike most croissants aux amandes which recycle day’s old croissants by re-baking them with a layer of sticky frangipane, these are fresh, crispy, and flaky.  These are some of the only almond croissants in the city that are not are not flooded with powdered sugar.

Ladurée’s kouglof amande, a sweet brioche of raisin and almond sprinkled with sugar, is phenomenal.  When freshly baked in the morning it retains moisture like a sponge without the slightest hint of dryness.  Hard to imagine a pastry that pairs better with a cup of French Press coffee.

When Pierre Hermé was still the executive chef at Ladurée he created the recipe for the Ispahan, a giant raspberry macaron sandwiching a rose water crème dotted with lychee. When Chef Hermé left to open his own shop, Ladurée retained the recipe along with the right to continue producing it. This pastry is a wonderful balance of flavors and is quite beautiful, but the even more impressive ispahan left along with Pierre Hermé.

Ladurée will always hold a special place in my stomach.  No matter what crazy or inventive flavors competing bakeries create, Ladurée remains a beacon for consistency and unequaled taste.  It is truly one of the most magnificent bakeries in the world.

Related Posts:

• Pierre Hermé
• A Croissant Tour of Paris
• Ladurée
• A Baguette Tour of Paris
• Alain Ducasse

Sure, the restaurant has a menu.  But ordering from the menu here is a bit like asking Monet to draw a stick figure: it’s restrictive and doesn’t take full advantage of the chef’s creativity.  The best way to experience Chef Gaganaire’s cuisine is to ask the kitchen to cook for the table without restriction. At least that’s what I’d heard from regulars … but maybe their last visit was quite some time ago as this is becoming less and less possible since Chef Gagnaire spends less time behind the stove.  Apparently this can make the difference between an extraordinary experience and a disappointing one.

I’ve never experienced his cooking first-hand, unfortunately.  During my several visits, Chef Gagnaire was only in the restaurant once and it was for a television interview.  Eating at Pierre Gagnaire is like playing the lottery: it takes a whole lot of tries before finally hitting the jackpot, if it ever happens.  This is definitely not a restaurant for consistency.

The first time I visited I stuck to the lunch tasting menu.  The pan-Asian inspired menu was a little complicated — but nevertheless fun — to peruse as Gagnaire’s style is a combination of smaller plates and tastes composing a larger dish.  Take the amuse bouche, for example:

AUTOUR DES AMUSE-BOUCHES
Tartare Terre et Mer, oeufs de saumon organique et feuille de dorade royale.
Infusion au vadouvan, râpée de radis et petits coquillages au naturel.
Mousseline de Pompadour en persillade, chair d’aubergine à l’origan.
Brochette d’escargots petits gris.
Moutarde de Shiitake en aigre-doux, pain d’épices croquant et champignons de Paris.
Gras de seiche César aux taggiasche ; sorbet d’olive verte de Lucques.

The entire menu was described like this, a general header listing up to ten individual smaller plates.

We paired our meal with a bottle of Domaine J. Confuron-Cotetidot 2002 Gevrey-Chambertin 1er Cru Petite Chapelle, a red Burgundy light in body and full of red fruits.

Our amuses consisted of a combination of spring vegetable stuffed hearts of palm with sprouts, cucumber gelée, and a tuile garnished with herb “paper” and a raspberry confiture.  Rather than hitting all aspects of the palate these amuses were one-dimensional and acidic.  But I wasn’t complaining, I was pretty hungry.

We then received a small piece of soy-glazed eel served with tiny gingerbread cookies.  The gentle spice of the gingerbread complemented the salty soy really well; the pasty yet crispy-skinned eel brought everything together.  This was delicious.

Next came a rectangular beet tuile laced with anchovy paste, as well as a roasted peanut cornet filled with peanut cream and roasted peanuts.  The tuile was fishy, salty, and had a strong briny smell which actually went surprisingly well with the sweet beet helping to tame the fermented ocean flavor.  The creamy peanut flavor was focused yet mild much like wet peanut butter with milk.

The amuses continued with beef tartare crowned with salmon roe sitting atop a translucent slice of sea bream carpaccio.  The salmon roe was surprisingly salty and lacked the playful “burst” that really fresh ikura has in the mouth.  The saltiness was overpowering for the subdued flavors of the meat and fish.

We then had vadouvan jelly with grated radish and small raw shrimp and clams.  This was a dish in which the individual components were dull, but the combination more interesting.  The crisp of the radish contrasted against the soft shellfish and the vadouvan jelly helped bring everything together with its light acidity.

Lastly came the highlight of the amuses: mousseline de Pompadour.  This was a bright green and frothy parsley-flavored mousse heightened with a pinch of garlic covering a bed of juicy grilled snails.  Really fantastic.

I would have traded all of these amuses for one spectacular course in a second.  The variety was really a lot of fun and prevented palate fatigue, but honestly none of them were that exciting.

Our first official course was sweet-and-sour shiitake mushrooms: a giant wedge of pickled shiitake with a gingerbread tuile and a slice of raw white button mushroom.  The mushroom was squeaky and moist, but the overall flavor was acidic and one-dimensional.  The gingerbread tuile really didn’t do much for this course.

Last came tin strips of cuttlefish with taggiasche olives and Lucques olive sorbet.  These olives didn’t have the sourness of most pickled olives, rather they were sweet.  Their inclusion in the sorbet was particularly interesting as I’d never tasted olives in a sweet frozen form (olive oil, yes, but olives themselves, no).  The cold temperature of the sorbet really helped to make the cuttlefish taste fresh and alive, but also muted much of the fish’s inherent flavor.

Voile de mortadelle, pétoncles noires au citron vert. Jeunes navets, asperges vertes de Mallemort et brunoise de pomme verte. Bouillon d’asperge - A “veil” of mortadella with tiny black barnacles and lime.  This was served with young turnips, a hint of mizuna, and a brunoise of green apple.  This was a hodgepodge of flavors that didn’t seem to have any coherence but somehow they all came together in the mouth forming a brilliant mixture of salt, earth and cream touched with the light acidity of green apple.  This was a pretty exciting course bringing together concepts from Italy and France.

I asked for an additional course off the menu because it sounded really good:

LES LANGOUSTINES
En tartare à la mangue verte, feuille de nougatine.
Grilleés, beurre fondu relevé de poudre de carcasse.
Poêlée à la coriandre fraîche, Sketch up. Bouillon de santé voilé de farine de maïs.
Juste écrasées à la spatule, servies sur un toast chips au lard ibérique.
En consommé glacé cendré de caroube.
En mousseline ; soja frais et pousses de moutarde.

Langoustine tartare with green mango and a thin crisp of nougatine.  The mango was shaved thin and served unripe which tempered the sweet langoustine and added a hint of bitterness.  It also added a lightly tannic flavor which worked pretty well.

Grilled langoustine with melted butter and a fine powder from the langoustine shell.  This was incredible.  I’d always liked the flavor of shrimp heads mainly because the shell itself has tremendous flavor, but the shell of langoustine is just too thick and crunchy to eat.  Grinding it intensified the salt flavor which made for a fantastic flavor-enriching addition to this dish.  The light cooking left the stringy and pasty texture in-tact, a testament to the shellfish’s freshness.  This langoustine was incredibly juicy.  I only wish I had a few more of these.

Next came an acidic version of the langoustine, sautéed with cilantro and diced tomatoes.  The cilantro brightened the cooked langoustines and the taste very fresh, much like a Mexican pico de gallo.

“Healthy broth” with a veil of cornmeal.  A tribute to the 200-year-old recipe in The French Cook by Louis Eustache Ude.  Light, creamy, and muted in flavor.

Next came ground bits of langoustine on a thin layer of toasted garnished with a slice of Jamon Iberico.  The fattiness of the ham complimented the soft langoustine while the toast added textural contrast.  The addition of the salty meat really brought out the flavor of the shellfish in a different light.

Then came a jellied langoustine consommé with carob powder.  The langoustine jelly had a sublte flavor that somehow lasted long after each bite.  The flavor of the jelly was sharp and intense balanced by the hint of chocolate coming from the carob powder.

Last came a mousseline of langoustine with soy bean sprouts and baby mustard leaves.  The mustard leaves added a vegetal bitterness that contrasted against the sweet langoustine.

LE PLAT PRINCIPAL
Gigot d’agneau de lait rôti au colombo, taillé en fines tranches, servi sur une poêlée de blettes aux panoufles.
Caillette de légumes de printemps.
Tarte sablée de gousses d’ail, pâte de pruneaux.

Thin slices of milk-fed suckling lamb roasted with colombo spice blend, served with sautéed swiss chard and pieces of lamb sirloin.  This was pretty awful.  The gamey meat was overcooked and its flavor too similar to a quick stir-fry.

The other parts of the dish were equally offensive: meat’s curry spicing just didn’t work.

LE CANARD
Petit canard Pékin rôti entier à l’étouffée, aux aromatiques :
Les filets sont taillés en petits pavés ; carottes multicolores ; feuille de datte sèche aux mûres.
Scarole, parfait glacé de brebis et sirop de pétales de coquelicot.
Betterave rouge comme un condiment.

Another supplemental dish that came from the regular menu.  This, quite frankly, may have been my favorite dish of the year.  A whole small Peking duck sizzling with dates, blackberries and a bitter chocolate sauce.  The acidity of the fruits cut through the duck’s fatty mouthfeel and really brought out its natural flavor.  The skin was roasted to a light crisp making it more like flavorful chip that added crunch to the dish’s softness.  This was truly balanced in every way, and remarkably, each bite got better and better.  Served to the side were a few pieces of escarole with frozen blue sheep’s milk cheese parfait and poppy petal syrup.  This course really highlighted for me the potential of chef  Gagnaire’s cooking: when he hits, he hits big.

Next came a few desserts … ten to be exact.

LE GRAND DESSERT DE PIERRE GAGNAIRE
Neuf desserts
Inspirés de la pâtisserie française ; élaborés à partir de fruits de saison, de confiseries peu sucrées & de chocolat.

We started with an “acid drop,” a thin-shelled candy filled with dehydrated strawberry powder and citric acid.  Then followed an almond meringue with marzipan, a piece of dark chocolate with kirsch, a black currant wrapped with marzipan and glazed in the shape of a cherry, white chocolate with lemon curd, and a “marshmallow rope.”  Technically speaking these were all petits fours and were not included as part of the dessert.  The acid drop was our favorite as it exploded in the mouth like pop rocks.

The official dessert came next.  First was coconut and vanilla tapioca with toasted coconut, pistachio ice cream and red bell pepper.  This was a combination that just didn’t work.  Maybe this is because I don’t like bell pepper but its sweetness in particular just wasn’t appealing, sort of like sour caramel.

More desserts included a lemon-almond ice cream with almond gelée and a red bell pepper stuffed with dried fruit. Again more red bell pepper; I wasn’t a fan.

Next came vanilla ice cream in a white chocolate shell with white beer foam and a strawberry purée. This had all the sweetness of barley without the alcohol, something that worked really nicely as a foam.  The texture of the foam was more like a lather, thick and creamy.

Gentle flavors followed: cucumber sorbet, cucumber gelée, and arugula. This was cool and refreshing lacking the acidic bite most sorbets have.  I didn’t really like the flavor, but I liked how it soothed my mouth with a gentle hint of cucumber.

Next came lots of bright citrus with a sharp acidity: almond cake with lemon confit, caramelized sugar shell, and papaya-lime purée.  Orange and kumquat confit, orange sorbet, orange mousse served on top of orange toast.  And finally lemon sorbet, lemon confit covering a bowl of shaved pineapple.  All the desserts were concentrated and sweet.

Wrapping up the meal was a raspberry meringue with chantilly and raspberry confiture atop a fresh mango tart.  This was creamy with a slight crunch.  Lastly, a dark chocolate ganache with chocolate straw and praline tuiles.

Nearly half of our official meal was desserts; it was definitely intense.  As my friend Peter says, “wow ‘em with the desserts and they’ll quickly forget about the meal.”  At the end of this meal I was definitely confused.  Some of the dishes were inspired genius yet the others, a total mess.  It’s almost like trying to create art by throwing paint at a wall: most of the time it’s just a mess but once in awhile it gives birth to greatness, or at least it did for Jackson Pollack.  And it definitely takes a few risks and some experimentation to discover great dishes, but this was just too much.  It’s a delicate balance between calculated risk and experimentation versus haphazardness.  This was a complete roller-coaster ride and it wasn’t exactly fun.  Some of the dips were just too steep and the rest was kind of flat.  Two or three courses were absolutely exceptional, but this was no where close to compensate for the lows.

This sentiment has been pretty consistent among my visits.  So why do I keep going back?  In the back of my mind there is the hope that the slot machine will stop in my favor, that this could potentially be the highlight meal of my life.  I just haven’t won yet.  Maybe if I roll the dice one more time I’ll win.

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L’Arpège quickly became the restaurant spearheading Paris’s back-to-the-garden movement.  L’Astrance peaked my interest when I heard of the restaurant’s compulsiveness for fresh vegetables combined with its ability to integrate elements of molecular gastronomy: spherification, foams, and non-traditional flavor extractions made this menu really exciting.  Here was a young and extremely talented chef, Pascal Barbot, who went from one Michelin star to three in just under seven years.

Reservations, though, were not easy to obtain.  I made my L’Astrance reservation nearly two months to the date and even that required some negotiation.  When the much anticipated day finally came it was cold, dark, and rainy.  Trekking through the Paris metro with damp clothes and squeaky shoes was uncomfortable.  Particularly because the metro stations become slippery death traps when wet.  After a fourty-five minute struggle through what seemed to be a tornado we arrived soaked and hungry.  Perhaps by chance, perhaps because we were embarrassingly wet, we were seated upstairs away from the other diners.  But I really liked the birds-eye perspective this gave us of the dining room.  It felt like, just for a moment, the restaurant was ours.

Service started pretty quickly from M. Christophe Rohat.  While at first he seemed a bit cold he quickly began to warm up to us, even laughing and smiling at our jokes.

Cuiller de parmesan crémeux – Thick wedges of butter-laden toasted brioche with small bubbles of spherified parmesan.  The small bubbles tasted like cheese but had a creamy and silky smooth molten texture.  We were also brought thick slices of bread by Jean-Luc Poujauran.

Dr. Loosen 2006 (Wehlener Sonnenuhr) Riesling Kabinett – Fresh lime from the nose through the finish lends a juicy and invigorating streak, and a distinct sense of wet stone, too, provides a cantus firmus.  Just kidding.  But that’s what they say here.

Purée d’asperge verte, yaourt au sésame, lait au champignon – A tall shot glass of asparagus purée, sesame yogurt, and mushroom-infused milk foam.  The raw asparagus created a smell similar to freshly cut grass.  This reminded me more of an occasional wheatgrass shot than something I would want to drink regularly.  A generous salting would have helped to better bring out the asparagus flavor, but this still tasted too fresh and overall unappealing.  The pairing with the sweet riesling somehow made the asparagus taste sweeter, however, and made this a great combination for an otherwise weak course.

Galette de champignons de Paris et foie gras mariné au verjus, huile de noisette, citron confit – A speciality of chef Barbot.  This entire layered cake was raw, not a single component cooked.  Thin slices of button mushrooms with verjuice-marinated foie gras.  Orange zest was sprinkled throughout the layers to add a hint of acidity while brightening up the mushrooms.  The paper-thin layers of mushroom were supported by a crispy layer of brik dough.  The pleasantly squeaky cold wedge was dusted with a salty porcini powder.  This nearly carbohydrate-free dish was fascinating conceptually.  This is the only dish that can always be found on the menu at L’Astrance, everything else changes constantly.  I really liked this.

Langoustines juste poelées, soupe thailandais, legumes et fleurs de printemps - A Thai-influcenced course of flash-fried langoustines served alongside coconut milk, lemongrass, and ginger.  The langoustines were cooked just to the border of raw and soft leaving the stringy and creamy texture intact.  This was delicious and the lightly charred flavor from the shell added a smokey component to the broth which really brought everything together.  This was paired with Loimer 2006 Grüner-Veltliner “Kamptal,” whose dry acidity helped break down the creamy coconut broth.

Asperges vertes et blanches au cumin, purée de cédrat, sauge cassis, amandes caramélisées – Thick stalks of white and green asparagus seasoned with cumin and Andean silverleaf sage.  The cumin added a tannic element to the asparagus with a hint of smokiness while the sage added a subtle frutiness.  This was served with a very bright quenelle of lemon purée, bringing a very strong acidity to the dish.  The addition of lemon wasn’t bad, but it strongly contrasted against my anticipation of how the dish was going to taste.  At first I didn’t like it, but as I approached the dish from a fresh vantage point, I really liked how the lemon brought out the sweetness of the asparagus.  The dish was decorated with a few caramelized almonds which added a chewy but sweet crunch.  This was paired with a 2004 Riesling Wineck Schlossberg (Alsace Grand Cru) which was dry and nutty.

Sériole sautée, coquillages cuisinées légèrement, purée des légumes verts, confit d’agrumes – A sautéed filet of yellowtail with an entire small abalone and large mussel.  The abalone was firm and smooth making it essential to slice it thinly to maximize flavor.  The yellowtail was tender, soft, and flaky: the light pan searing really locked in the juices.  This dish was seasoned with nothing more than salt and a hint of butter letting nature speak for itself.  This was served with a watercress purée adding a vegetal bitterness to the palate of flavors.  There was also a bright citrus confit tucked away behind the filet which made this dish a bit sour.  I really liked everything on the plate except the sharp inclusion of citrus.  My palate was a little sore from the sourness the citrus had added to the previous course.  This was served with Domaine de la Louvetrie 1993 Muscadet Sèvre-et-Maine Fief du Breil (Jo Landron).

Saint-Pierre cuisiné lentement, chou-fleur, piment doux, câpres, puntarelles – Slow-cooked John Dory with cauliflower and a bed of capers, red peppers, and puntarelle, a bitter Italian vegetable in the chicory family.  One of the things I like most about John Dory is the smooth and butter flavor it develops when lightly cooked.  The fish here was a little too firm for my liking.  This might have been the intention of the dish, I just wasn’t used to it and it was difficult to overcome my preconcieved notions of how the dish should taste.  I’m also not crazy about capers and the acidity they contributed to the dish; it sort of made me pucker my cheeks.  I’m still not sure if I liked it; this was the third course in a row with strong acidity and sourness.  This was served with Pierre Gonon (2006??) Saint-Joseph Les Oliviers (Blanc) whose minerality rounded out the bright capers.

Poitrine de porc, haricots blancs, émulsion de chorizo – A thick slice of pork belly with equally thick stripes of meat and fat.  The fork-tender meat literally melted in my mouth.  It was served atop a small bed of white beans and chorizo dashed with chili and paprika.  Everything about this dish was wonderful, from the doneness of the meat to the subtle spice the chili added to the fatty layers.  My friend Julien who shared this meal with us was so enamored with this course that he snuck to the bathroom to ask for a second round.  The restaurant served us a second course with as much enthusiasm as I had anticipating its arrival.  This was served with a full-bodied Bodegas Toro Albalá 1922 Viejisimo Solera Amontillado which really cut through the pork’s fatty mouthfeel.

Poularde de Bresse aux morilles, fondue de parmesan, sauce au vin jaune – My god this was amazing!  This was the softest, most tender, juciest piece of Bresse hen I have ever tasted.  The browning of the skin made it seem like it was roasted, but my friend Julien insisted it was cooked on the stove.  The cooking process removed much of the fat from the skin leaving behind an ultra-thin layer of crispy flavor.  The chicken came a bit undersalted for our tastes, but our waiter fixed that.  An extra pinch of salt and this dish was outstanding.  The meat sat atop a bed of parmesan fondue, sautéed morels, and a sharp vin jaune sauce.  This was the highlight dish of the afternoon.  It was also paired with 1996 “Mysterre” Vin de Table (Patrice Lescarret; Dix ans de voile).

Sorbet piment-citronnelle – Lemongrass and hot pepper sorbet.  I tried something similar to this at Alinea where habanero pepper was infused in water and later distilled to remove all the spice while leaving behind the pepper’s sweetness.  Here, the spice remained creating a twist of cold and hot in the mouth at the same time.  I can’t say this tasted great, but it was very stimulating to my palate.  This was paired with the very sweet and fruity 2003 Graacher Himmelreich Riesling Auslese.

Sabayon à l’orange amère, nougatine – Bitter orange sabayon with nougatine.  Bright, sour, delicate, and airy.

Tartelette pistache-abricot, mousse de rhubarbe – A pistachio and abricot tart with rhubarb mousse.  This too was surprisingly light and airy with hints of lemon zest to further brighten this up.

Mousse au safran et citron vert, sablé breton – A cylinder of saffron mousse adorned with lime zest.  This sat atop a buttery cookie crumble.  My girlfriend noted that the fruity mousse tasted sort of like Trix cereal.  This wasn’t necessarily a bad thing … just funny.  Barbot’s use of acidic elements in all of his dishes really shined through with the desserts, particularly in this case where the citrus tasted great alongside the saffron mousse.

Lait de poule au jasmin – Jasmin-infused eggnog inside hollowed-out eggs.  I couldn’t help but think that this smelled like a home cleaning product.  The eggnog really tasted good however; it was light and creamy with subtle sweetness.

Madeleines au miel de châtaignier – Chestnut and honey madelines.  These were very good, but think about how much better they could have been had they arrived warm like at Daniel Boulud restaurants.  What a difference temperature can make.

Fruits frais – A gorgeous plate of grapes, mango, orange, and plump and juicy medjool dates.  The dates were so exceptionally juicy we asked for a second round.  They really were outstanding.

Barbot’s cuisine is precise, intentional, and exceptionally careful: all ingredients are methodically prepared ensuring accurate cooking.  But at the end of the meal I was left in a bit of confusion.  On the one hand there were some courses I loved.  The Poularde de Bresse, for example, was the finest cooking of hen I’ve ever experienced.  Barbot’s obsessiveness with fresh ingredients really came through with his unabashed use of raw vegetables throughout the meal, as if to say, “these vegetables are so fresh, they don’t need cooking.”  And he’d be right.  It really takes a level of humility and confidence to take a step back and let nature speak for itself.

However on the other hand, there was an almost obsessive need to include strong acidity in every course.  While this is something loved by many, my palate is very sensitive to sourness and at times I found this off-putting.  More than three quarters of the meal was influenced with sourness.  Thankfully most of the acidic components were side accompaniments and I could control their inclusion with each bite.  This was very clever: it’s there if you need it, but not required.  I guess that’s just a difference in taste.

Sommelier Alexandre Jean’s pairing was so scrupulous that there were several courses where I didn’t particularly care for the dish but when paired with the wine the amalgamation was exceptional.  I would argue that Alexandre Jean’s pairing is essential to maximize the experience.

I really enjoyed my experience at L’Astrance.  But it’s a bit of a a bit like roulette as the menu and its focus changes on a daily basis.  It’s possible that the overwhelming acidity was simply the focus of the day’s menu, though I doubt it.  I hope to return to return again to L’Astrance again sometime soon.  Hopefully when lemons are out of season.

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• L’Osier
• El Bulli

For this tour, I visited the pâtisseries and boulangeries best known for exceptional croissants au beurre, with the thinking that the croissants aux amandes would be equally impressive.  In general this held true, though there were a few surprises along the way.  I started this journey without a sweet tooth and by the end, finished a few pounds heavier.  Warning: this is not a post for dieters.

Jean Millet, 103 rue Saint-Dominique, 7e

Instead of showering their almond croissants with powdered sugar, Jean Millet coats each croissant aux amandes in sugar creating a sweet yet distinctly crunchy clear shell of glaze.  The blackened ends are approach burnt, perhaps due to the addition of sugar before being placed in the oven.  Sections of the sugar glaze that broke away from the shell appear a frosted white.  The center of the croissant is golden brown with clearly defined ridges running across.  The croissant has a horizontal slice splitting it in half where it was lined with a light layer of frangipane.  But since the sugar shell turned solid, the croissant remained crispy — not a as a result of a flakey texture, rather of hardened sugar.    It was very sweet and tasted strongly of rum.  The inside did have some air pockets but the layering mainly compressed into the frangipane producing a dense interior.

This was essentially a candied croissant.  It was very sweet, and very flavorful.  The dominant flavor and scent was of rum, followed by caramel and sugar.  Some parts of the inside between the sugar coating and frangipane developed a texture very similar to rum-soaked raisins.  Almost like a “croissant fritter,” the French cousin of an American apple fritter.

Laurent Duchêne, 2, Rue Wurtz, 13e

Though flat in appearance, croissant aux amandes from Laurent Duchêne cannot be overlooked.  After sliced horizontally and lined not with frangipane but with a clear sugar-almond spread, these pastries are abundantly topped with toasted almonds and powdered sugar.  Rings of layers were still visible, though significantly covered by the powdered sugar.  The thinness of the almonst filling causes the croissant to lose its texture, becoming soggy towards the middle.  This pastry is best eaten with a fork and knife.  The only parts of the croissant aux amandes that remain crispy are those which did not make contact with the filling, mainly the outer surface and ends.  The flavor is of sweet sugar tasting slightly of caramel, with light notes of almond on the finish.

Despite not being the most attractive, this was one of the better croissant aux amandes.  The lack of frangipane definitely helped.  Even though these were very sweet, the exterior of the shell remained crispy and the toasted flavor helped to balance the sweetness of the sugary almond filling.  Overall they were pretty well-balanced.  My only complaint is the soggyness that resulted in the interior from the liquid filling.  If that could somehow be cut in half, these would be outstanding.

Aux Castelblangeois, 168 rue Saint-Honoré, 1e

The croissants aux amandes from Aux Castelblangeois take the form of a shell with a vertical cut splitting it nearly in half.  This is where the croissant was filled with frangipane.  The croissant was just barely dusted with powdered sugar making the appearance dark brown and gold with sparse specks of white powdered sugar.  The almond slices garnishing the top had been cut in half.  The flavor tasted strongly of almonds and only slightly of sugar and vanilla.  The frangipane was not evenly distributed — three quarters of it was on the left side of the crossant.  This preserved the cavernous interior as well as the flakey texture, while still adding an element of almond and sugar.

When I first saw this croissant I laughed at its unshapely and lazy appearance, particularly with the vertical slice that suggested its maker was trying to save as much time as possible.  Then I tasted it and was pleasantly surprised.  This croissant was not overly sweet, tasted like almonds, and still resembled the texture of a croissant.  It seems that the vertical slice preserved the texture of the croissant’s interior leaving it hollow and crispy.  The one part I did not like about this croissant was the thick pile of frangipane that did bunch together on one side — it was essentially all almond with no croissant, much like biting into a piece of soft marzipane.  But the flavor was not cloying throughout, and would have paired nicely with unsweetened coffee.

Boulanger Julien, 85 rue Saint Dominique, 7e

These croissant aux amandes resemble a twisted paper pouch a parisian pâtisserie  might give to hold its pastries.  Either that or a very fatty fish.  The exterior has clearly visible layers, with fanning on one end of the pastry.  The colors are light to dark brown, completely covered in white powdered sugar.  Garnishing the top are a handful of thinly toasted almonds bound by a paper-thin spread of frangipane.  This croissant was split horizontally and again spread with a very thin layer of frangipane.  This croissant was crispy and shattered on my table with each bite.  Despite being filled with frangipane and cut in half, the inside remained cavernous and was not soggy.

This croissant aux amandes is proof that frangipane does not have to be the enemy.  Despite being layered two times with this almond paste, the texture remained crispy and the croissant did not lose its shape or texture.  The ends of this croissant were the best part as they had little to no frangipane  yet still tasted of sugar and almonds.  The ends were also the crispiest part.  The flavor tasted very strongly of almonds leaving my palate with the flavor of vanilla for quite some time afterwards.  What most impressed me about this croissant was how even despite the almond-ization it still resembled a croissant — many many layers of delicate crispy pastry crisping and making a mess with each bite.  This was delicious.

Thierry Renard, 113 bis Boulevard de l’Hôpital, 4e

Croissants aux amandes at Thierry Renard come in the shape of an arrow, and are heavy, flat, and spongy.  The surface is covered by a strip of custard which develops a more chewy texture when baked in the oven.  The entire pastry is covered with powdered sugar and toasted almonds.  The smell is of vanilla, likely due to the custard sitting on the surface.  The inside texture is of cake, with no clearly identifiable layering.  Breaking off a piece releases powdered sugar into the air; there are no flakes that fall off.

This is another croissant that was completely destroyed by spreading a wet custard on top of a delicate structure.  The end result was a messy heap of sugar, bread, and custard that didn’t even resemble a croissant.  The flavor was overwhelmingly sweet and of vanilla.  The only part of this croissant that tasted like almond were the pieces of almond up top; otherwise this would be a vanilla custard cake.

Frédéric Comyn, 27 rue Friant, 14e

After having read about Frédéric Comyn from Chez Pim‘s post on the best croissant in paris, I decided it wouldn’t be a ridiculous assumption to make that their croissants aux amandes be fantastic as well.  I decided wrong.  Frédéric Comyn’s croissant aux amandes is not the most shapely; it is more like a heap of croissant parts and almonds piled together and buried in powdered sugar.  Some parts of the croissant were a very dark brown, almost burnt, while others a pale yellow.  This almond croissant, thankfully, was not filled with frangipane; rather everything was baked together giving the interior a chance at not being wet.  The surface was not crispy; rather, it was hard in certain places from having dried out in the oven.  The inside was moist and dense; there were no visible bubbles or holes.  The scent was of maple syrup, which when combined with the flavor of the very sweet, bread-like interior texture, reminded me of pancakes.

The almond croissants at Frédéric are overlooked and not given nearly so much attention as the regular croissants.  They almost appeared to be an afterthought lacking form, balance, and flavor.  Is it too much to ask for an almond croissant that resembles a croissant?  This was more like a sweet and soft bread pudding.  It was cloying.  There was no visible layering, and the airiness that makes a croissant unique was nonexistent.  Stick with the regular croissants.

Le Quartier du Pain, 74 rue Saint-Charles, 15e

This croissant aux amandes was flat and wide, loaded with toasted almond slices and powdered sugar.  The weight was heavy, and a clear lateral slice was visible where this pastry had been filled with frangipane.  The pastry was not crispy, and was wet due to the filling of frangipane.  Pieces of either end break off like cake.  It’s possible to see that at one point the croissant aux amandes had layers, but they were so compacted together that they had little to no effect.  The color was uniformly light brown, even on the bottom which was the exact same color as the surface.  The entire pastry was very greasy.  The taste was of frangipane and slightly of vanilla, sweet, and cold from the frangipane paste.

I honestly don’t understand how anyone could sell a soggy croissant with a straight face.  Croissants should never be filled with anything, let alone a thick paste like frangipane — it completely destroys the texture and turns a once light and crispy piece of art into a dense and soggy cake with no life.  The only thing crispy on this pastry was the toasted almond; but the inside was so wet I’m pretty sure I could have rung the entire pastry out and gotten drop of water and grease.  It almost seems as if this was sitting at the bottom of a large pile of almond croissants all morning; but that still doesn’t excuse the lateral incision and stuffing of frangipane, which is unforgivable.  I also found the croissant very sweet, as if I was eating spoonfuls of frangipane directly.  No good.

Au Levain du Marais, 28 Blvd Beaumarchais, 11e

The Croissant aux Amandes from Au Levain du Marais look, feel, and taste more like cake than croissants.  In fact, the first identifiable characteristic is a horizontal slice going through the middle of each croissant, like a layer cake, where a layer of frangipane was spread with a knife.  The croissant was covered with a large spoonful of powdered sugar.  The color was mostly amber with patches of dark brown hidden underneath the white sugar.  Aside from a few tiny pieces on each end, this was not a crispy croissant, and aside from the fact that at one point the layers were folded, had little to do with a croissant.  This seemed more like an almond cake.

The inside was moderately greasy, though it was hard to tell whether this was caused by the large amounts of frangipane or the pastry itself.  Due to its custard-like density, the frangipane tasted much colder than the rest of the croissant, and stuck to the thin layers of pastry forming indistinguishable layers of pastry and cream making uncoiling impossible.  The inside tasted like crème brûlée since the frangipane was more like a vanilla crème than almond paste, with the toasted caramel flavor coming from the top layer of the crust.  The flavor was sweet; but not cloying, and there was little trace of salt.

I didn’t like this almond croissant so much as I did the regular butter croissant.  For me it was too soft, tasted too much of vanilla, lacked a crispy shell, had too dense of an interior, and had too much powdered sugar on the outside.  I don’t think frangipane is an ingredient that belongs inside croissants since it’s too heavy and creamy to enjoy what makes a croissant so delicious in the first place: its light, fluffy, airy, and delicate texture that tastes slightly of toasted butter.

Philipe Gosselin, 125 Rue Saint-Honoré, 1e

Gosselin’s croissants aux amandes are flat, wide, and dense.  Black ridges surround the edges, just crossing over into burnt territory.  The entire croissant is covered with powdered sugar, which stuck out profoundly against the black regions of this pastry.  The surface was very crispy, but only for a thin layer which quickly changed to wet.  This was a messy croissant.  There was no noticible layering inside the croissant, the interior more like a bread pudding of cannelé with a spongy texture.  There were few visible bubbles at the very bottom.  The inside was moderately greasy, and the frangipane could have been scooped out with a spoon.  There was no uncoiling as I pulled off a piece, the inside was too dense and wet for that.  The top of the croissant was garnished with a single almond slice.  The flavor was overwhelmingly of vanilla, and was very sweet.  Pieces of the edges had a very strong burnt flavor.

The first thing that struck me about this croissant aux amandes was how flat and wide it was.  I’ve seen similar things, but they usually involve baking cookies at high altitudes — these croissants were squished — too dense !  The smell of vanilla was very pleasant, except the taste too strong and way too sweet.  Where was the almond flavor?  But above all that, these were left too long in the oven; I found the burnt flavor too overwhelming and could not finish this.

At the end of my adventure, the thing that struck me as most interesting was the diversity of textures and flavors I encountered.  With a butter croissant, there’s a fictitious ideal of the perfect pastry for which all bakers strive to reproduce.  There are no such guidelines for almond croissants: some are airy cakes, others more like dense bread pudding with abundant custard.  Some even have brittle candied shells.  The nice thing about these pastries is that they all do keep quite better than regular croissants, making for an excellent mid-afternoon snack.

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I’ve since lived in Paris for nearly three years.  While the restaurant may have evolved a bit since my first meal three years ago, it was I who changed the most.  My expectations of a Parisian restaurant are different now.  In the US, a meal at a three star Michelin restaurant is often reserved for special occasions: birthdays, anniversaries, congratulatory dinners and the like.  The restaurants cater to the food as much as they do to customer enjoyment: they make guests feel special.  Things are different here.  Aside from say Guy Savoy, the impromptu gifts and unexpected culinary surprises such as tours of the kitchen, chef handshakes, and take-home goodie bags are severely limited.  Ego-stroking is almost non-existent.  Here, the fine dining ecosystem is designed for regulars.

It was with this new perspective that I revisited L’Ambroisie.  My second meal was quickly followed by twenty more.  A staff that once seemed cold and unfriendly, over time, opened up to reveal warmth and humor, even.  It took a few subsequent meals for them to open up, but they’re actually quite funny.  In all my visits I’ve only seen Pacaud leave the kitchen once, and it was on a day when I arrived before service had started.  Of all the Michelin three star restaurants in Paris, L’Ambroisie is the only one where its chef is always in the kitchen.  It is also the only such restaurant that does not advertise.  At L’Ambroisie, it is truly all about the food.

I am now certain that this is the finest French restaurant in the world.  The indulgent menu, which is updated once per season, consists of only a handful of dishes.  There are no weak choices on the menu, ever.  Every dish is a speciality.  The menu reads very straightforward, each dish described in a single line with all its ingredients listed.  There is no tasting menu.  There is no lunch discount.  There are no exceptions.

All meals start with a plate of piping hot gougères, a cheesy puff pastry fresh from the oven.  Most notably they lack salt.  At first I didn’t like them; but the more I returned the more I appreciated the delicate cheesy taste without a heavy salting.  It’s difficult to get tired of these, reinforcing the restaurant’s model of catering towards regulars.

Pacaud has a unique ability to craft an inspiring and decadent dish from the simplicity of only two or three main ingredients.  Diners will never see decorative flowers or spherified olives served here.  The only machines in Pacaud’s kitchen are a blender and refrigerator.  His cooking philosophy represents the opposite of Ferran Adria’s.  Pacaud only adds elements that significantly contribute to the dish’s flavor.  Often making use of radial symmetry, Pacaud turns the ingredients themselves into edible art.

The amuses here are quite simple, either a single filet of fish or cream-based soup.  The olive tapanade that accompanies the sea bass is exceptional.  I’ve only experienced it once.  The olives were fresh, neither acidic nor sour.  They tasted more like sweet fruits.  My friend Ulterior Epicure makes note of the strange geometry of the soup bowl with its right-angle base: it’s a bit of a challenge to eat this soup as holding the spoon at any angle leaves much of it behind.

Chaud-froid d’oeufs mollets au cresson, asperges vertes et caviar osciètre gold – Two lightly poached eggs garnished with asparagus, watercress, and golden ossetra caviar.  The cold briny caviar cuts right through the warm and thick yolk, leaving behind a constantly changing whirlwind of flavors up until the last bite.

Escalopines de bar à l’émincé d’artichaut, nage réduite, caviar osciètre gold – Four wedges of sea bass, their skins interlocked in radial symmetry atop a bed of acidulated artichoke and surrounded by a moat of caviar.  The changing sweetness of the artichoke actually makes the caviar taste sweet, a melange of sweet, salty, acidic, creamy, warm, and cold all mixing together.  The sea bass is just lightly cooked, its creamy texture accentuates the creamy broth.  This is the first time I’d tried warm caviar.  It was amazing how the caviar didn’t disintegrate in the heat, each pearl held its shape and texture like delicate tapioca.  Aside from visually incredible, this is one of the most delicious dishes I have ever tasted.

Feuillantine de langoustines aux graines de sésame – Soft and supple langoustines sandwiched between a sesame wafer and pooled with a gritty sesame sauce.  The sesame sauce offers a tannic texture that excentuates the delicate langoustines.  The thin wafer adds a light crunch.  These are the best langoustines I have ever tasted in my life, each bite softer and richer than the previous.

Supreme de volaille de Bresse aux morilles – A lightly cooked Bresse chicken filled with morel mushrooms and a mix of a white wine cream sauce and jus.  The chicken is ultra-moist, the sauces are more to compliment the spongy texture of the squeaky morel mushrooms.

Morilles – On one special day, at the height of the short three weeks of morel mushroom season, I ordered a simple bowl of mushrooms and cream.

Daviole de foie gras aux morilles – An off-menu classic French dish guaranteed to send chills down any foie gras lover’s spine.  A generous medallion of whipped foie gras atop bed of morel mushrooms and cream.  Pacaud is able to serve hundred year old dishes without the stale and boring feeling that often accompanies them.  The flavor of the hearty foie gras jumps off the plate in excitement.  It is both buttery and airy, its cooler temperature blending with the warm mushrooms in a dance of chaud-froid.

Oeufs mollets à la florentine, râpé de truffle blanche d’Alba –  Two poached eggs in a pool of spinach and cream, crowned with potent white truffles.  White truffle and egg is nature’s generous gift to the palate.  Pacaud understands the magic of the egg, how its incredibly versatility is the foundation for most French classics.  It was amazing how the warmth of the egg incubated the truffle’s aroma, making its scent permeate throughout the entire dining room.  Pacaud reminds us that a simple combination of a handful of ingredients, each executed perfectly, can sometimes create the most intoxicating flavors in the world.

Raviolis de Homard aux Morilles – Layers of generous lobes of folded raviolis, filled with lobster, and garnished with chunky morel mushrooms.

Corolle de noix de Saint-Jqcques et brocoli à la truffe blanche d’Alba - Perhaps the real reason Pacaud never leaves the kitchen is because his halo would scare away diners.  This is one of the magical dishes of L’Ambroisie, a dish so seemingly simple yet brilliantly executed in form and flavor.  Branches of bright green broccoli supporting layered wedges of scallop medallion and white truffle.  It is impossible to not like broccoli after trying this dish.  What is most amazing is how the broccoli actually makes the scallop taste sweeter.  The paper-thin layer of clarified butter serves as the binding agent holding all the ingredients together.  This dish is served at room temperature which allows for the broccoli’s natural flavor to be fully enjoyed.

Navarin de homard et pommes de terre de Noirmoutier au romarin – Chunks of Breton lobster with potatoes and rosemary.  This lobster is served consistently firm, a function of the firmer texture of France’s northern lobsters.  Unlike the sweet Maine lobsters, to which I was used to, these bright red tails are less sweet and more meaty.  They even border on dry.  The real highlight of this dish, however, is the sauce reminiscent of a thick seafood bisque.

Noix de ris de veau à la grenobloise, purée de persil aux graines de moutarde – A giant lobe of sweetbread punched with rosemary and served with a parsley and mustard puree.  This is a very filling dish.  The light cooking of the sweetbread makes it develop a texture like wet tofu, its creaminess barely holding form.  The rosemary highlights the dish’s earthiness.  I did not like the bitter puree by itself, but when eaten in combination with the creamy meat, it somehow cuts through the fatty mouth feel lending to excellent balance.

Dos de saint-pierre poele, maraichere de coquillages a la citronnelle – Potentially the lightest fish dish on the restaurant’s menu.  A lightly seared filet of John Dory served with sauteed vegetables and lemongrass.

Parmentier d’escargots a l’ail des ours, salade de roquette et Parmesan – Thick snails, a thin wafer of parmesan, and rocket lettuce.

Cote de veau double, coeurs de sucrine braises au jus, gnocchi – A beautifully pink filet of veal served with potato gnocchi.  The veal’s thin layer of fat was seared into a crisp locking in the moisture while cooking.  This left a smooth and uniform texture throughout.  This dish was generously salted.  This was the finest filet of veal I have ever tasted.

Salade d’écrivisses, mousseline de chou-fleur, vinaigrette aux fruits de la passion – Crayfish salad with a cauliflower mousseline and passion fruit vinegar.  This is the lightest dish on the L’Ambroisie menu.  It’s also the only dish I don’t care for.  The dish is served very cold, and reminds me of airplane food.  From a menu of all-star dishes, this is the oddball.  It doesn’t belong.  But then again, I suppose every menu should have one ultra-light salad option.

Lobe de foie gras de canard roti, navets primeurs a la reglisse – A lobe of duck foie gras with spring turnips cooked in liquorish.  It’s amazing how the flavor of foie gras changes so dramatically when served cold in a paste, or cooked as a filet.  Here the fatty oil oozes out, tempered by the cool sweetness of the liquorish.  It’s an exquisite dish, though quite heavy.

Petit pois – Sometimes, as in the case of these lightly sauteed peas, nature speaks for itself.  Pacaud served this dish by itself during the height of spring when peas were at their sweetest.

Viennoise de sole meunière, étuvée d’asperges et morilles au vin jaune – A thick filet of juicy sole topped with one of France’s most delicious and simple sauces of butter, lemon, and parsley.  Some say it was this dish that seduced Julia Child and introduced her to fine French cuisine.  Here Pacaud adds a thin layer of breading to increase absorbency, and adds a touch of poetic freedom by including the parsley alongside the morel mushrooms rather than garnishing the fish itself.  The net effect is the most incredible piece of cooked fish I have ever tasted.

Foie gras de canard en gelee de pomme, betteraves – An obscenely thick cylinder of foie gras wrapped in apple and dotted with red peppercorns.  Served alongside is a modern looking salad of beets.  Another beautiful combination both to the eyes, and the palate.

Viennoise de dos de sole meunière, salsifis à la truffle blanche d’Alba – During white truffle season, Pacaud serves the classic sole meunière, only instead of morel mushrooms he serves it alongside white asparagus and a dusting of layers of white truffle.

Tourte de canard aux foie gras – An off-menu classic dish that my girlfriend says is the single best dish she has ever tasted.  I might have to agree.  An airy puffy tourte stuffed with layers of rare duck and buttery foie gras.  I have been told that there is a better chance of meeting God than being serve this exquisite dish, but after relentless requests one special night the clouds parted.

Pigeonneau de Bresse, laque au caramel d’oignons, petits pois a la francaise – Bresse pigeon with caramelized onions and peas.  An incredibly tender yet lean serving of pigeon simply prepared with jus on a light bed of onions.

Though not on the menu, L’Ambroisie always has a sorbet ready in case diners would like something light and sweet as an alternative to some of the heavier dessert options.  The two flavors that I have tried are simple, sweet, and sour: lemon, and raspberry.

Turban de rhubarbe au fromage blanc, coulis de fraises – Fromage blanc wrapped in candied rhubarb with a strawberry coulis.  I’ve never tasted rhubarb like this, both sweet and salty at the same time.  The rhubarb’s hint of acidity contrasts against the light cheese’s creaminess creating balance.  The light salted biscuit on which this dessert sits adds a sandy crunch.

Royale de mangue, fraises de jardin poêlées, emulsion de lait de coco – Mango, sauteed strawberries, and coconut milk all in one place.  This dish is light, airy, and sweet.  Somehow the coconut milk adds no weight.  This is typically served with a slice of pain de Gênes, which while a bit dry, falls apart into dust with the slightest touch of the fork.

The petits fours change nearly every time, though are always centered with a bowl of dark chocolates.  They are as delicious as they are beautiful, a rainbow of flavor.

Tarte fine sablée au cacao amer, glace a la vanille Bourbon – An airy and weightless flourless bitter chocolate cake, accompanied by a dollop of vanilla ice cream laced with Bourbon.  The entire volume of this cake could be compacted into a single bite, that’s how light it is.

The meal ends not with a take-away surprise or a handshake with the chef, but with a prompt bill, a menu souvenir, and a subtle, “we hope to see you again soon.”  My stack of souvenirs makes for some of my favorite reading material, though now I am careful only to begin reading after a meal.

This restaurant has become the standard against which I compare all other French meals.  Any culinary visitor to France must take a visit here, just be prepared not to mistake coldness for subtlety, and lack of personalized attention for an affinity for regularity.  It is a place where magic happens.

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It’s incredible that a food-oriented culture which values so heavily elaborate sauces and delicate soufflés, can completely disregard the methods by which to properly prepare an espresso.  Even simple ones.  I was once thrown out of Café Amazone for suggesting that the doddering owner/barista use the tamp to compress the ground.  He instead insisted on using the tamp as a measuring device, compressing the coffee into a spoon, and pouring the loose beans into the portafilter.  Even La Caféothèque de Paris and Verlet, which both have fancy La Marzocco equipment and all Arabica beans disappoint.  The city is like a parallel universe.

A lot of blame often gets put to the use of Robusta beans versus the more aromatic Arabica.  France is able to import these beans from former African colonies at much less cost than overseas Arabica varieties.  But frankly, I’m tired of this as an excuse.  Even mediocre beans can taste reasonable when prepared correctly.  With espresso, 85% of the flavor comes from the process and technique, not the ingredients.

I cannot count the number of “baristi” I’ve witnessed forget to tamp, under fill the portafilter, or even start the extraction and walk away to take someone else’s order.  The result is pure culinary neglect.  Parisians in general either don’t care or don’t know, as the undemanding clientele is more concerned with the trendy style-aspect of sipping espresso with a cigarette than the flavor.  Paris needs a coffee revolution.

In this java wasteland, however, there is hope.  Gocce di Caffè in the 2è is the sole consistently perfect espresso I have had in the city.  Antonio Costanza, barista/owner from Milan, opened shop in the center of Passage des Panoramas, the oldest covered passage in the city.  The covered passage resembles a miniature version of Milan’s Galleria Vittorio Emanuele, with a humble espresso counter and its handful of seats decorating the center.  Barista Costanza is the sole person pressing the espresso, so quality remains high and visitors are never at the expense of inexperienced trainees.  As a former barista from the main café at Harrod’s London, Costanza speaks excellent English as well as French and Italian.

The beans from Gocce di Caffè come from Milan’s Caffè Guiducci, a family-run shop in existance for over 50-years.  The beans are an Arabica-Robusta blend, 80% Arabica and 20% Robusta.  Given that 100% Arabica blends are the current trend in US coffee houses, I raised my brows upon hearing of the 20% inclusion of what I was taught were inferior beans.  Barista Costanza explained that robusta beans are included to add structure to the flavor.  That without their inclusion, the flavor would be too sweet, oily, and one-sided.  After doing some research, I was surprised to learn that the majority of Italian espresso bars intentionally include a small pinch of Robusta beans.  Robusta beans have essentially become a scapegoat for poor technique.

Espresso at Gocce di Caffè most often tastes of dark chocolate, hazelnut, and at times has a hint of smokey almond.  The texture is consistently thick with moderate crema.  Barista Costanza’s milk-foaming skills are nonpareil.  At times he adds a sprinkle of cocoa powder to enhance the contrast to his art, which with a teaspoon of brown sugar adds rich notes of caramel and milk chocolate.  (Authenticity police can simply ask for no cocoa-powder.)  Barista Costanzo’s espresso is delicious and can compete against Stumptown, Ninth Street, or Joe the Art of Coffee any day.

All visitors to Paris looking for outstanding coffee must visit.  However be warned: if people-watching or fashion-spotting is the intended goal, this is not the place.  For that any of Paris’ thousand cafés will do.  This is a place for the coffee-obsessed who are tired of espresso with notes of ashtray.  And go quickly; so far, it’s dominated solely by locals and Italian tourists seeking sanctuary.  And while there, consider suggesting to Barista Costanza that he open a few more locations in the city; there’s a huge need.

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One stereotype, however, was so spot-on it was comical: I cannot count the number of Parisians I’ve seen racing around the city with groceries on one arm and a bitten baguette under the other.  The French love their bread.  And they should!  With the arguable exception of Tokyo, Paris has the finest bread in the world.  Fine boulangeries are to France as Starbucks is to America.  They’re everywhere.

Think about it:  a baguette is the perfect accompaniment for any course.  It goes with confiture and butter for breakfast, with a “jambon fromage” sandwich for lunch, in a small bowl to the side of a glass of red wine with dinner, or with a cheese board as a snack.

So I spent my time in Paris keeping a small journal for noting particularly interesting experiences on the carb front.  While the quality of most boulangeries is excellent, there are some which have baguettes that stand out in particular.  Of the nine places below, four were so exceptional that I was really pressed to find anything to complain about.  They’re listed first. The other boulangeries are excellent as well, but only visit them if time permits after having tried the first few.  Enjoy!

Thierry Renard, 113 bis Boulevard de l’Hôpital, 4e

Renard’s baguettes are, in one word: beautiful.  The pre-baking flour placed on the surface spreads around the tear-shaped crevasses making the baguette look like it’s wrapped in a snow-colored cage of rustic powder.  Not only is this effect visually appealing, it also means the texture and flavor change depending on which part of the baguette is eaten first.  The sides of this baguette are the softest part, with a texture like a toasted marshmallow: a thin crisp at first giving way to a springy center.  The top is the most crispy part, particularly the dark brown ridges surrounding the tear-shaped fissures.  This baguette is plump looking and, were it not for the different textures on the surface, it would appear rather cylindrical — it is nearly as tall as it is wide.  When I ripped a piece off and bit in, a small puff of white flour floated like magic.  My tongue picked up on the dry texture of the powder first: a very rustic flavor.  The baguette leaves behind small crumbs and lots of powder.  The exceptionally moinst interior has clearly visible glutens with some bubbles being very large and others quite small.  The flavor has the tiniest hint of toasted bread, so little that with some bites it was undetectable.  The dough has a neutral, lightly salted flavor: neither tasting sour, nor of whole wheat.

This is the best baguette I’ve had in Paris, as well as the most interesting.  Each bite tasted unique because of the infinitly different combinations of flour and crisp, making the baguette practically its own diverse meal.  It’s also stunning: the first baguette I’ve seen that is both white and gold with a snow-colored cage of flour wrapping around the light brown baguette.  The flavor was neutral enough that it could be eaten with anything, though I enjoyed it best with salted butter.  Renard is truly a master baker.

Laurent Duchêne, 2, Rue Wurtz, 13e

Very plain in appearance, the light brown baguettes from Laurent Duchêne have no frills.  There is no flour dusting whatsoever and there are no fancy shaped stencil-like cutouts, as seen at Thierry Renard.  The baguette is pure in appearance with several crispy ridges stiching the top of the bread.  The ridges were very dry and crispy, even hard, providing a strong structural support.  The edges were also sharp and pointy.  But despite a dry crust, the inside was paradoxically as moist as possible.  Tearing off pieces produced a loud crackling sound quickly giving way to the soft interior.  The inside was fully of randomly sized bubbles, some quite large, forming a honeycomb of soft bread.  Even though the crust was dry and crispy, it wasn’t terribly thick, and so there was excellent balance between the slightly salty interior and the thin and toasty exterior.  The flavor was neutral, as a baguette should taste, slightly leaning towards salty.

This baguette was outstanding.  The pieces of the shell were so sharp you could probably use them as small weapons.  Breaking off my first piece likely woke my neighbors.  Being a person who does not crave the just-before-burnt flavor of bread, I still loved this baguette because the crust, while toasted, was thin and non-offensive.  It was a beautiful balance.  The flavor could sway towards sweet or savory; but, is best enjoyed by itself since its taste is so pure.  It was a bit of a trip to get here, and was worth every minute.

Au Levain du Marais, 28, Blvd Beaumarchais, 11e

Au Levain du Marais’ baguettes are light brown with canvass-colored parts creeping through the tears where the bread expanded in the oven.  Flour can be found on the edges and ends, parts of the bread where the oven rise was minimal.  This bread is not springy; but rather, has a texture similar to swedish memory foam, each squeeze would take a few seconds to come back.  What’s interesting about this bread’s shape is that the ends are significantly taller than the middle, like a Boeing 747.  I’m not sure what causes this; but it was it was evident on all the baguettes.  The outside was very crispy, in fact a tear off caused continual cracking for several seconds after the tear was finished, like rice krispies.  This left a large mess; a good thing for a baguette, I think.

The weight was fairly light on the inside; this was not a dense baguette.  The air bubbles were very think and for the most part seemed uniformly distributed with the exception of a few large air pockets towards the center.  The inside was soft, having a slightly grayish color, perhaps indicative of the type(s) of flour used.  The flavor was pure and clean: the water’s flavor could not be tasted.  It did taste, however, slightly whole grain which when, combined with the color, makes me suspect that a mixture of whole grain was used in the flour mixture.  This baguette is not sweet, has a hint of salt, and would pair well with with both sweet and savory.  It was delicious in all respects.

Aux Castelblangeois, 168 rue Saint Honoré, 1e

This baguette looked more like a giant pretzel than a baguette, with shades of dark brown giving way to slits of gold.  The crust was very crispy; but since it was relatively thin, its flavor was not dominating.  Little to no flour was sifted on the surface before baking making the flavor taste of pure bread.  This was fairly messy to break resulting in hundreds of small crumbs littering my plate.  When squeezed the baguette demonstrated a delayed rebound indicating the freshness of the interior.  The inside was exceptionally moist with small bubbles and nets of gluten stretching across the interior.  The flavor tasted ever so slightly of cornmeal, even though this was not an ingredient.

I really like these baguettes for both their texture and simplicity.  The lack of sifted flour on the surface makes their use very versatile for both sweet and savory.  The dark brown color really makes these baguettes distinct.  It’s paradoxical how they can be baked so thoroughly yet have not the faintest flavor of toasted bread.  The interior is not light and fluffy, rather substantive and supportive, a quality I prefer in my baguettes when eaten with butter.  These exhibit an excellent balance of crust and interior with neither part tasting more strongly than the other.

Stohrer, 51, Rue Montorgueil, 2e

Stohrer’s baguettes are thin and cylindrical, minimally puffing towards the middle.  These baguettes are so thin that two can fit in a single baguette bag.  They’re plain in appearance with very little visible flour on the surface.  There is a central fissure running through the entire center of the croissant.  The texture is crispy and springy, perhaps from the small, uniformly distributed creating a bounce on the inside.  The inside was dense and moist, though it smelled slightly of yeast.  Breaking off a piece produced a mess of small flakes of toast.  The flavor was of toasted bread, dominated by the crust.

Some claim Stohrer invented the baba au rhum.  Being as famous as this place was, I was curious to see how non-sweet baked goods tasted.  While possibly the best baker in the immediate area, I wasn’t blown away by the flavor.  But the texture was particularly interesting.  Since the baguettes did have such a small diameter, half of each bite was crust: too much for me, but perhaps perfect for others.  The smell of yeast also threw me off a little.

Boulanger Julien, 85 rue Saint Dominique, 7e

The plump baguettes from boulanger Julien had a nice appearance of both rustic and modern — sifted with flour to make them visually interesting yet loaded with fissures bound tightly by the glutens revealing that this is indeed a pastry hundreds of years old.  The outside was very light with colors ranging from cream to light tan.  The baguette was soft to the squeeze and slightly mailable.  Pieces broke off very cleanly with minimal to no flakes left on my table; the breakage was also silent.  The inside was filled with uniformly distributed air pockets of small to medium size with notable density.  The flavor was nutty, similar to chestnut, with a distinct vegetal taste on the finish yet neither salty nor sweet.  The sifted flour dusting the surface was fairly thick, making each bite taste first of flour, then of the baguette itself.

This baguette had a lot of potential. My biggest complaint was the texture which was a little soft.  I think my first one was slightly undercooked as the inside remained very chewy and the outside shell lacking crisp.  The second was a bit more crispy.  The most interesting part was the vegetal flavor that would have paired really nicely with salted beurre de bordier.  When I broke off my first piece the smell was strongly of chestnut and potato.  Really interesting.

Frédéric Comyn, 27 rue Friant, 14e

Located at the last stop of the 4 subway line at Porte d’Orléans, Frédéric Comyn is officially at the outskirts of the city.  I heard about Frédéric Comyn from Chez Pim‘s post on the best croissant in paris.  It’s easy to walk by this pâtesserie; there are no signs and the well-lit display counter and cash register makes it look a bit like au bon pain.  Well, at least I missed it the first time.  When I asked for a baguette ancienne the woman told me there were no more left.  Then her friend came to the rescue, “I think some just came out of the oven.”  That was all I needed to hear.

Frédéric Comyn’s baguettes are nearly perfect cylindars: in most parts, they’re as tall as they are wide.  There is a single fissure that traverses the top revealing a lighter colored interior.  The top golden-colored surface has moon-like craters with patches of dark brown; the bottom is white with flour.  The texture is a lot like a plain New York bagel: a thin and tight shell that doesn’t crisp very much when squeezed.  There is some rebound; but if squeezed too firmly, the shape will stick.  Inside is a little sticky which might explain why there was little rebound when squeezed.  When I tore off a piece I was able to twist the baguette without it breaking until I pulled hard enough that a piece tore off: this was not a crispy baguette.  The flavor was light with little to no toasted flavor.  There was no sourness or whole grain flavor in the dough, the flavor was as basic and simple as possible.

I like a thin crispy crust on my baguettes and so I found these a little too crust-less; though these could very well be the perfect baguettes for those who dislike the flavor of toast.  The interior actually seemed a touch undercooked as it was slightly sticky to the touch.  Though chewy, the density of this bread worked nicely with salt and the best butter in the world; then again with that butter, anything is delicious.

Le Quartier du Pain, 74 rue Saint-Charles, 15e

Hiding a few blocks behind the Eiffel Tower lies the best bread in the 15th, found at Le Quartier du Pain.  This small corner shop bakes fresh bread throughout the day, so it’s no longer necessary to wake up at the crack of dawn to eat something hot.  The first thing that struck me about Le Quartier du Pain’s baguettes were the tear-shaped crevasses lining the surface.  Each symmetric crevass has a crispy ridge along its sides which, when torn apart, produces a crackle similar to wood burning at a campfire.  These baguettes are very crispy.  In fact, when I was squeezing the baguette on my 30 minute trip back home, I realized there was essentially no spring or rebound to its texture.  The crispy crust makes squeezing this bread a risk: too hard and you’ll shatter it right then and there.  Inside is a light grey-brown with randomly distributed bubbles of small to medium size.  The crust is very significant here, and its flavor of toasted bread dominates each bite.  This is not a baguette for the Japanese those who do not like crust.  The flavor and smell is slightly sour, and the inside borderline chewy.  It is wet and moist, perhaps because this crust locks in the moisture so well.

I really enjoyed this baguette with butter and salt.  I’m not sure if I would use it with cheese or cured meats due to its significant crust; but with simple garnishes it’s predominately toasty flavor is delicious.  The skill of the bakery comes across very clearly in this bread’s incredible uniform crust and texture — it is both crispy and soft, without being dry or heavy.  I can only imagine what this would taste like hot.

Philipe Gosselin, 125 Rue Saint-Honoré, 1e

The baguettes here were rated the best in the city in a 1996 survey by Le Grand Prix de la Baguette de Tradition Française de la Ville de Paris, which Gosselin still proudly displays on each of its product bags.  A lot has changed since then.  These baguettes anciennes are easily distinguished by their gold to dark yellow exterior, with visible traces of flower on the surface.  The underside is a darker color, a rich brown, and is the most crisp part of the baguette.  The texture is springy, so much so that during my walk home I probably lost a few surface crumbs from the fun I had squeezing it.  After breaking, the baguette kept pretty clean with minimal crumbs and fracturing.  Since the bottom was significantly more dry than the top, breaking off a piece was a tear for the top half and a crisp for the bottom.  There was no crackle sound; the crust was not very dry.  The inside of this baguette has a nice distribution of randomly sized iridescent bubbles, indicating a high moisture content.  This baguette was fresh.  The texture of the interior was very similar to latex in both color and its slight transparency.  The first flavor that struck me was the cholorinated water used to make the baguette, clearly not filtered.  This baguette was fairly light on the tongue, not salty, and slighty sweet.  The surface flour left a powdery texture on both my hands and in my mouth after each bite.

These baguettes have a beautifully symmetrical appearance on the outside, and the flour certainly makes them appear more rustic.  My biggest gripe with this baguette was that sometimes the taste of tap water is too strong.   Chlorinated water has no place in the flavor profiles of a baguette.

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The name Agapé itself is one of three Greek words roughly translated into English as love.  This title is well-suited as the energetic and enthusiastic passion of the entire staff comes through immediately.  I’d never seen a maître’d more genuinely excited to put together a tasting menu.  He was proud of the restaurant’s creations.  And it showed.

The meal started with an amuse bouche  of mousseline de potimarron avec orange, graine de tournesol, a thick soup of winter squash brightened by orange zest and sunflower seeds.  The soup had a strong flavor of pumpkin with a slightly grainy and creamy texture.  The raw sunflower seeds seemed a little misplaced at first; but then I began to enjoy the textural contrast it provided to keep each spoonful interesting.  I really liked this.

My favorite course of the night came next: crevettes de Nouvelle Calédonie crue et marinée avec navets, yuzu, et cacahuète.  These raw grey shrimp from New Caledonia were sweet and extremely fresh but not as sweet as the red varieties of sweet shrimp.  The bitterness of these grey shrimp made the pairing with the yuzu fantastic.  The addition of peanuts and beets provided textural contrast.  The ice-cold temperature of everything heightened the dish’s overall sweetness.

Keeping with the light and fresh theme came carpaccio de betterave  avec parmesan, noisette, et vinaigre balsamique, or thin slices of beet root with salty parmesan, crispy hazelnuts, and acidic aged balsamic vinegar.  The beets had a distinctly earthy taste, which was further accentuated by the parmesan.  I really liked the mix of textures in this dish.

To me, when very tender, veal carpaccio develops a texture similar to raw lean tuna.  Such was the case with the noix de veau cru d’Hugo Desnoyer, espuma au concombre, coriandre, citron, vanille.   This was heightened by the fresh taste of the cucumber for which I already associate with the flavor of tuna from American sushi rolls.  Vanilla, lemon, and coriander gave the meat a sweet fragrance making the dish smell almost like a dessert.  And not to mention that Hugo Desnoyer’s small shop in the 14e is known for the finest cuts of meat in the city.

L’Agapé has close ties with L’Arpège with both staffing and philosophy.  Laurent, the current maître’d at Agapé was the former maître’d at l’Arpège.  Both restaurants insist on farm-fresh seasonal vegetables and choose to prepare them in ways that enhance their natural flavors rather than to obscure them.  Agapé’s potager aux poireaus et huîtres was a tribute to the famous dish by Alain Passard.  It was incredible how the sharp brine from the oysters actually made the leeks taste sweeter.

Next came rutabega, espuma au poireau, céléri-rave, jus de poire, long cuts of Swedish turnip with a leek foam, celeriac and a sweet pear reduction.  This dish was tasty, but certainly not a favorite of the night.  I thought the leek foam was more like an aioli in terms of fattiness and texture.  I didn’t care much for this dish.

My face lit up when I smelled the next course, foie gras grillé de Charolais, katsuobushi, radis vert et rouge, ciboulette et basilic thaï.  The generous slab of grilled foie gras was tempered with a very clean clear broth, which allowed the fattiness of the liver to come through without feeling overwhelming.  The salty strips of katsuobushi, or dried and fermented tuna, combined with the thai basil made this meat taste both sweet and savory at once.  The thin broth kept the liver moist until the very end.

When cooking scallops, it’s always best to err on the side of raw.  These scallops — noix de saint-jacques rôties avec chou-fleur, lardo di colonata, purée de cresson – were pan seared for what seemed like just a few seconds, which allowed them to maintain their sweetness.  I didn’t particularly like the lardo di colonata here and pushed it to the side: it was too fatty for me and I thought it lacked salt.  The watercress puree had a fairly strong flavor for watercress, so I limited its addition to my fork, basically only eating the scallops.  Honestly, the highlight of this dish was the perfectly seared scallops; everything else served as  decoration.

Next came mallard de Landes avec chou-rouge, purée de coing, jus cuisson parfumé avec vinaigre fumé.  I would have liked the skin of this duck to be a bit crispier because I thought it was a tad soggy.   I saved the dish by separating the skin from the meat and eating only the lean part.  Loved the combination of the astringent quince and the smoked vinagre.  These modifications really helped to cut down on the fatty mouth-feel.  The meat itself was very juicy, and its flavor was emphasized by the slight vegetal bitterness of the red cabbage.

I prefer my meats lean, so I’m predisposed to enjoying fattier cuts of wagyu beef.  Titled Boeuf ‘wagyu’ d’Argentine, oignon en robe de champ, béarnaise de la moutarde d’Orléans, this rare cut of Argentine beef was cooked impeccably.  As you can see from the picture below, the beef’s color is astounding : it appears to be beet red.  The meat was served with Agapé’s version of chimichurri, keeping in line with the Argentine theme.  I loved the onion that accompanied the meat and how the skin was left on to preserve a crispy texture.  FoodSnob, with whom I shared this meal, loved the fatty marbling.

I followed with a light assortiment of cheeses, comté de Bernard Anthony (Juin 2005), Chèvre Drôme Gramat, Chèvre-Crabotin, and Munster Nord Vache.  Most memorable was the 4-year-aged comté, also a favorite of Alain Passard.

Our first dessert was a poire William pochée au sirop, sablé à la farine de sarrasin, crème de yuzu, et sorbet à la poire William.  While known simply as a common pear in the US, in France they distinguish between types.  This one happened to be poire William. The grainy texture of the pear mixed well with the flour sable and produced a grainy texture that felt like the pear skin itself.  It was strangely addictive.  The bright citrus flavor of the yuzu was tempered as a crème.  I thought this dessert was outstanding.

I was disappointed to see a piece of chocolate tart brought as the final dessert.  I very rarely enjoy a chocolate dessert; I find its flavor completely takes over anything I’d tasted previously due to its strength.  This one broke the mold.   I tasted it and immediately  wanted more.  This “Samana” chocolate from the Dominican Republic was sweet and rich with a strong taste of salted cocoa butter.  I couldn’t get enough of it.  It was served with a Tahitian vanilla sorbet and a drop of salted caramel.  The portioning of this dish also ensured that I would finish it and want more.

Petits fours were truffe à la fève tonka, crème caramel au fruit de la passion de Jacques Genin, small and to the point.  I didn’t particularly like the tonka bean chocolates, nor did I like their inclusion immediately after a chocolate dessert.  But the passion fruit crème caramel was an enjoyable bite.

My meal at Agapé was a very positive experience, calling on culinary influences from both Japan and France and melding them into a relatively light meal.  I did prefer the first half of meal to the second, mostly because I’m crazy about raw shrimp and veal.  But overall this was a really enjoyable meal filled with energy and creativity that made it really fun.  I’m looking forward to my next visit.

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My tasting methods were efficient: there were no left overs. (I don’t want to talk about the health sacrifice I gave to complete this delicious study.) I tried to keep things as consistent as possible by visiting all the bakeries before 10am; nearly 50 of them, in fact. If it was raining, I returned when it was sunny. I visited each bakery at least twice.

So, listed below are the five bakeries I believe to have the best croissants in Paris. They are in no particular order.

Laurent Duchêne, 2, Rue Wurtz, 13e

These croissants are big and bulky; yet, light and airy.  Thick, dark caramel bands wrap this pastry with blisters of tan revealing just how thin each layer is.  A side view immediately shows that despite the croissant’s bulk, it was still composed of thousands of paper thin layers.  The croissant was sturdy; though, squeezing the exterior would have broken the shell rather than spring back.  There was a very strong scent of toasted butter.  This croissant was very messy, and tearing off segments resulted in a distinct crackling sound.  Despite the shell’s dryness, however, the inside was cavernous and moist with spiral-shaped webs revealing the inverse of the piece I’d torn out.  The flavor was salty with a hint of sweet towards the end, followed by toasted butter.

This is one of the best croissants I’ve ever tasted.  Almost hard to tell whether it was salty or sweet since the two flavors were in perfect balance.  The shell had structure and protected the croissant’s shape despite my 30-minute journey home through the Paris subway system.  My guess is the firm shell locked in moisture allowing the croissant to stay fresh throughout the entire morning.  The inside was a nice mix between a hollow cave and a honeycomb, ensuring that the crust’s texture was crispy and pronounced; but not dominant.  The ends of this croissant were blunt, making each bite texturally equal: there was no bad bite.

Thierry Renard, 131 bis Boulevard de l’Hôpital, 4e

Thierry Renard won the Concours du Meilleur Croissant, Ville de Paris 2008, for having the best croissant in Paris.  It’s easy to see the elements that make this croissant so impressionable: it’s ultra-light with thin flaking layers, has an airy soft interior with a rich flavor of butter, and smells lightly toasted.  The exterior is diamond-shaped with one side slightly more pronounced as a boomerang.  The color is a light brown with random strips of shiny dark brown showing where the pastry was glazed with butter.  The consistency is fluffy and the pastry looks more like it was rolled than folded: it’s very round.  The thin and crispy shell holds together pretty well as flakes do not brush off easily.  When broken, however, make sure you have a napkin underneath to catch the thin small pieces that come off.  Inside is sort of like a collection of flower petals: the glutunous webs stretch across the ringed interior, each waiting to be pulled out and enjoyed.  The texture was chewy, and the inside tasted of buttered dough with a slightly sweet, rich butter aftertaste.

These croissants were very enjoyable; but they could have been even more enjoyable had they been cooked just a bit longer to eliminate the doughy interior.  This croissant’s outer shell is a very good balance between ultra-thin and slightly thicker, bringing the best of both worlds into a single pastry: thin enough to flake yet thick enough to absorb maximal butter.  The interior was beautiful, and the thin mesh of butter scented rings gave the croissant substance, while still keeping it feathery and texturally interesting.

Frédéric Comyn, 27 rue Friant, 14e

I read about Frédéric Comyn from Chez Pim, who says this is the best croissant in Paris.  It also happened to win the Concours du Meilleur Croissant, Ville de Paris 2007. Pretty strong recommendations.  Strong enough that despite the terrible weather I trecked out to the last stop on the 4, Porte d’Orléans, to taste for myself.  Sure was worth it.  This croissant has a very distinct spherical appearance; it is nearly as tall as it is wide.  Its center arcs upwards like a crescent instead of sideways, lifting off of the table.  It is quite tall, and perfectly symmetrical.  The surface is shiny with copper and bronze tones.  A view from the side reveals a spiral with hundreds of fine layers.  The outer shell is slightly thicker than paper which gives it a crispiness that is almost moist, since there is more volume to absorb butter.  Dispite the thicker shell, this croissant is not greasy.  When it fractures, it leaves behind large pieces with thick flakes.  This was not a delicate croissant; rather, it was substantive and strong.  The interior is cavernous with large webs of pastry stretching between sides of the outer shell.  The flavor is of salt and toasted butter.  The outside surface tastes sweet in some parts, as if it was lightly brushed with butter containing a hint of sugar.

This croissant was wonderfully different: hundreds of light layers thick enough to absorb butter without feeling greasy.  The salting was significant making this pastry perfectly straddle the line between savory and sweet.  The inside was hollow with pronounced layering.  This bold croissant needs absolutely nothing else to be enjoyed, no confiture, no coffee … nothing; it can stand completely on its own.  Maybe it’s a good thing Frédéric Comyn is a bit out of the way.  Otherwise, I’d be 500 lbs.

Le Quartier du Pain, 74 rue Saint-Charles, 15e

I learned about Le Quartier du Pain from my bible Paris est à Nous – Paris Gourmandises guidebook which says that Le Quartier du Pain has the best croissants in the city.  It’s certainly possible.  The diamond-shaped croissants here have an inflated appearance, and are slightly larger than average.  However while large, they are still essentially weightless since these croissants are light and airy.  The first thing I noticed were the hundreds of layers clearly visible on the surface, some were shiny and brown, others were matte and bronze colored.  The croissant had a very strong smell of toasted butter, the 30 minute subway back to my apartment holding this bag was torture.  It’s hard to call the shell of this croissant crispy since it’s ultra thin, I think flakey is a better word — much like the brown skin that surrounds an onion.  Because of the ultra thin shell, this croissant did not shatter but flaked all over the place: it was very messy.  One edge of the croissant was minimally frayed; but since the croissant was uniformly thin it didn’t add any additional textural element to the exterior.  The inside is chewy and fluffy, and pulling a piece does not uncoil the croissant rather tugs at the surface from the inside — that’s how thin this is.  The flavor is of butter, but not overly toasted or salted.  This would be excellent company with a coffee.

I very much liked this croissant for its texture, weight, and smell.  It has significant body on the inside, so for those who seek something crispy this is not going to fit the bill.  I found the flavor gentle, which would be perfect if eating this pastry with a hot beverage or confiture.  The only thing to be aware of is that it is greasy: eating with several napkins is obligatory, unless you are next to a sink to constantly wash your hands.  But this croissant may be the single most masterful pastry I’ve seen in terms of skill — there is no other croissant whose layers are so cleary detectable and thin.  It is truly a work of art.

Au Levain du Marais, 28, Blvd Beaumarchais

I first read about the croissants at Au Levain du Marais from David Lebowitz, who says that this is the best croissant in Paris.  Frankly, it might very well be.  The croissants from Au Levain du Marais are not so crescent shaped as they are diamond shaped.  With the exception of fanned out frills on one end, these croissants are nearly perfectly symmetrical.  The croissants have beautiful broad stripes of pretzel brown and amber that alternate the surface.  Each tip has a beautiful fanning of layers making it clear just how much work actually went into this edible art.  The width gently tapers off at each side, without any striking changes in size.

When I first tried to pull out a piece, I had trouble grabbing hold !  My hands crinkled through the soft and delicately crispy shell, much like crumbling tissue paper used to package gifts.  I realized more care would be necessary, and I began to tear off a piece with as little force as possible, so as not to destroy the texture.  The fanned end was light and crispy but not dry, more like a butter wafer.  This was the first bite of the croissant I took, and my favorite — each part of this croissant has a different texture, and since none of these parts are dry, each is absolutely rife with the flavor of toasted butter with a hint of sugar and salt.  The inside of the middle is very soft with clearly visible layers of rings.  Stretched across these rings were thin webs of soft dough, full of moisture.  This was a very messy croissant to eat, since it shattered all over the plate.  Some parts of the outer shell tasted sweet — hard to tell if they were sitting next to some other sweet pastries or if the shell was lightly brushed with some kind of sugar.  Regardless, absolutely delicious.

It was a bit of a travel for me to get to this bakery; but shortly after finishing this croissant I hopped right back on the subway to get a couple more.  These croissants were wonderful.

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The first chef, Philippe Légandre, brought the restaurant its three Michelin stars with a refined seafood-focused menu highlighting simple flavors and combinations.  Then in February 2007, Le Cinq lost its third star.  Légandre stepped down.  His sous-chef took over during the transitory period and played off the better known dishes with minimal modification.  Most recently, Éric Briffard took house, specializing in rustic yet sophisticated dishes bringing Le Cinq to an all new high.  With him as chef, it’s only a matter of time before the third star returns.

My first meal at Le Cinq was under Légendre and at night with my family.  The candle light from the outside courtyard poured in through the French windows.  When combined with the dinner candles, the restaurant became quite warm and intimate, the subtle gold leafed molding shimmered the candles’ reflections.  The intricate molding, paneled walls, and oil paintings make eating here feel like dining in a well-lit library.  It quickly became my favorite evening dining room in Paris.

My first dish under Légendre was raw langoustine carpaccio with ossetra caviar and crème fraîche.  If a perfect combination of ingredients existed, it could be this.  Sweet langoustine, salty and briny caviar, lightly acidulated crème fraîche made me want a second serving.  This was very light and creamy at the same time; a perfect accompaniment with a glass of champagne.

Next came a fricassé of lobster and fresh vegetables, a small pile of large unshelled chunks of tail and claw sitting in a lobster broth.  The firm blue lobster was lightly cooked so it remained moist.  The thin broth had a flavor strong enough to stand on its own as a soup.  Strong, yet precise.

Dessert was an outstanding caramelized vanilla custard medallion served atop a bed of fraises des bois, in a tart strawberry reduction.  The texture of the custard was really interesting — firm enough to maintain its shape yet soft enough to slowly seep between the cracks of the wild strawberries.  The top of the custard had a thin sheet of caramel that flaked at the first few pokes with my spoon.  The medallion tasted like sweet vanilla and rich butter with a hint of burnt caramel, freshened by the tart and sweet strawberries and sauce.  It was really wonderful.

My sister ordered a chocolate soufflé served in a square rammekin.  The strong taste of dark chocolate contrasted with its light and fluffy cloudlike texture revealed that she would be happy too.

This was the highlight restaurant of our family trip.

My second return during the transitory period was full of excitement.  At the time I was switching apartments and stayed here for a few nights during the transition of my own.  Frankly, Le Cinq was a major factor in choosing where to stay … it would now be technically feasible to have three meals a day here with just a short walk downstairs.  I started with breakfast, waking up really early in hopes of a warm croissant.

Except breakfast was no good.  This really has little to do with the dinner staff since the breakfast team is different; but the restaurant still has the same name and, like my experience at Alain Ducasse for breakfast, should still have an impressive first meal of the day.  The breakfast “amuse bouche” was a pear custard which tasted like eggs with the grainy texture of pear.  I didn’t like it.  The croissants despite having nice layering were glazed with sugar, which made them too sweet and sticky on the surface.  Not really sure why the croissants were brushed with sugar.  It just seemed unnecessary.  My pancakes were soggy, dry, and cold, served with unacceptably firm mango and strawberry, littered with powdered sugar.  For the following days I stuck with assorted pastries and coffee — the best way to navigate the menu.

I returned later that night for dinner.  It was my first time back since Légandre had left.  The dining room for whatever reason was lit much more brightly than I’d remembered.  And my photos verified my suspicions.  The house lights were interfering with the candlelight.  It felt much less intimate.  The space suddenly felt huge.  It no longer had the romantic and intimate feel that I enjoyed so much the last time.  Like a flag hung at half height, perhaps this was the omen I should have listened to.

Since they had not devised a tasting menu yet, the waiter helped me to put together a tasting that would trail through the best dishes of the winter menu.

Service started with some really nice bread: sourdough rolls with a touch of whole wheat.  The glutens held strong in a tug-of-war as I ripped off each piece.  The bread was served with French olive oil in addition to butter.

Sensing my excitement to be here, or perhaps my appetite, the waiter offered me some cured ham with an olive brioche to snack on while the kitchen worked.  The brioche was a bit dry.  I appreciated the delicacy of the olive flavor; it wasn’t distracting.

The first course was crème de cresson au caviar de la mer Caspienne, a watercress crème topped with a dollop of crème frâiche and Sevruga caviar.  This small pot of soup was top heavy, to say the least.  Completely overwhelmed by the cold acidulated crème, the flavor of the watercress was nearly impossible to taste.  The crème was thick, too; more like cream cheese.  I took a few spoonfuls of the broth beneath, and scooped the remaining caviar onto thin slices of the house bread, and left the rest of this dish untouched.

Next came the fricassée de langoustines Brettones, lasagne au viex parmesan: large Brittany langoustines layered with sheets of pasta and aged parmesan.  The smells of Parmesan and butter quickly filled the table.  The langoustines were cooked on the border of raw and slightly translucent, keeping them soft and absorbent.  The presentation seemed a bit sloppy, as did the intemperate portioning of strong cheese, which completely muted the langoustine.  I also found this dish quite oily, perhaps from the warm Parmesan or simply the abundant butter.

I thought the tarte d’artichaut et du truffe noire du Périgord — strips of artichoke and black truffle sandwiched between between layers of soft bread — was to be the highlight of the evening; except it wasn’t. TThis sandwich sat atop a bed of raw spinach.  Not sure what purpose the dry, raw spinach served.  Even the bread itself was dry and since this dish as a whole was minimally sauced, my mouth thirsted for moisture.  The plate was encircled by truffle oil with ground black truffles, a dressing for the spinach.  Everything about this dish was just off.

Last of the main courses was a boudin blanc façon George V à la crème de truffe, a white pudding topped with a black truffle crème.  This was the highlight of the evening.  The elastic skin gave way to a crumble of pork and bread, perfect for absorbing the truffle sauce below.  This was quite filling.

Dessert was titled Le Surprise; because it was not clear exactly what filled the light meringue shell.  Several cracks later, the thin shell gave way to an egg filled with vanilla sorbet and mango.  The entire sphere sat atop a raspberry foam.  This dessert was light and airy; but its flavors were nothing to write home about.  Chefs take note, this could be a new way to facilitate staff training: “just tell them it’s a surprise !”

At the conclusion of the meal, I was left in a daze.  The Le Cinq I’d remembered under Légandre was no more.  This was a really bad experience.  However I didn’t give up.  I just didn’t return until a new chef returned to the kitchen.  And when Briffard joined in early 2009, things changed.  The restaurant became better than ever.

My first visit under Briffard took place just weeks after he took house.  Briffard has a natural ability to make complicated dishes with many ingredients seem simple and approachable.  He also has the humility to let high quality ingredients stand on their own with minimal preparation.  Take for instance his accras de crevettes et calamar, a basket of lightly battered shrimp and squid served with fresh lemon (which happens to pair perfectly with a glass of champagne).  These were so lightly fried using batter so thin that no oil stains were visible on the napkin beneath.  The dish came with lemon slices; but to be honest, they weren’t necessary.  The hot shellfish was well-salted, it really needed nothing else.

A second amuse came next: a watercress soup with a butter-laden brioche.  The brioche was layered, which made it seem more like a feuillantine.  The pastry itself was a bit dry; maybe it was made in the morning for lunch service.  The flavor of the thin soup was enjoyable, both pure and simple.  The pastry and soup being only a few inches apart made dipping inevitable.  I would have liked a stronger flavorfrom the watercress; but then again, it’s a subtle plant.

The next course was tasty: a small crab salad topped with white raddish.  A seemingly simple dish delicately balanced with just the right amount of mayonnaise, olive oil, and crushed olive to hold everything together.  The chilled crab was bursting with freshness.

Briffard has a special ability to make carefully executed dishes seem like he quickly threw them together. Our next course of medallions of foie gras sitting on a bed of mixed greens testified to that talent. My friend Julien, with whom I shared this meal, really enjoyed this dish for its stark contrast of rich and buttery foie with clean and crisp greens. For me, this was the low point of the meal. I thought the liver was too fatty and its flavor too dull.  The cold medallions tasted like sticks of refrigerated butter.

However things quickly picked up.  Our next course was Merlan de ligne, Saint Gilles Croix de Vie, a generous filet of whiting garnished with fava beans en gelée and rice.  While the whiting was delicious, soft and slightly acidic, the real highlight of this dish was the fava beans.  They were cooked but edged on raw giving them a starchy crunch that absorbed all the sauces on the plate.  I sort of pushed the whiting to the side. The beans stole the show.

Next came the highlight of the meal, Tourte de Pigeonneau dui Pays de Racan, an individual pigeon and foie gras puff pastry.  Unlike the feuilleté at L’Ambroisie, this little tart came pre-sliced.  The interior of the savory pastry was lined with a cabbage leaf to lock in the moisture while preventing the shell from becoming soggy.  The outside remained dry, crispy, and shiny.  As I parted the pastry, juices poured out and released a small puff of steam.  It was clear that this had just left the oven.  The cut of meat was very lean, so the foie gras picked up on the creaminess that complimented the gamey texture of the pigeon.  I couldn’t get enough of this hearty dish.

The dessert looked fancy and elegant: a cylinder of brown sugar chantilly wrapped with gold leaf.  While pretty and geometric this dessert was bitter, sour, and sweet all at once.  One bite was more than enough.  This academic creation was a sign that the pastry chef still has a bit of catching up to do to with Briffard.

The dessert trolly had the real dessert here filled with chocolates, cannelés, and fraises des bois.

I returned to Le Cinq a few weeks later, only this time with my family.  The fried shrimp and octopus was a hit with my mother and sister.

This time, the amuse-bouche was a slate tray holding three small bites of vegetable-centric starters.  From left to right sun-dried tomato with pasta and olive oil, a vegetable samosa, and a tomato gazpacho with avocado.  None of these were particularly memorable.  What was memorable, however, was how each bite was at a different temperature, heightening the overall sensation of the plate: the gazpacho was very cold, the samosa very hot, and the sun-dried tomato somewhere in the middle.

The first appetizer of our lunch, however, was outstanding.  Both beautiful and diverse, these first tomatoes of the season titled premières tomates de Provence déclinasion de variétés anciennes came split in two.  The first plate contained layers of tomato alternating with fresh langoustine and avocado.  It was bright and fresh.  I loved how the tomato interacted with the langoustine and avocado creating a creamy yet slightly acidic texture and flavor.  On the other plate a battered and fried whole tomato was made even sweeter by the gentle cooking.  To its side sat what I would call gazpacho ice cream: a tomato sorbet atop a thin layer of frozen avocado.  The layered tomato plate was the highlight of the two plates for its textural variety.  It kept me interested until the last bite.

While it wasn’t my first time having foie gras, it was my first time tasting liver this fatty.  While this dish may seem and sound innocuous, one slice with my knife unleashed a pool of oil.  The entire square portion of my plate was flooded with fat.  This was the richest foie gras I have ever tasted.  So rich, in fact, that I couldn’t eat it !  I think this is a dish most people would have enjoyed; but for me, it was just too much.  The flavor was a balance of sweet and salty, of charred grill lines and smooth muscle; but after a few bites I had enough.

I much preferred the merlan de ligne meuière au laurier asperges blanches et girolles à l’abricot confit, a very lean cut of whiting served with chanterelle mushrooms and apricot confit.  While a generous portion of fish, the diversity of the greens and mushrooms combined with the tart but sweet apricot prevented palate fatigue.  The fish was very evenly cooked without any kind of crispy surface; it was soft and moist throughout.

The real highlight of this meal, however, was the pintade fermière des dombes dorée à la feuille de citronnier avec melon confit, fenouil y olives noires.  This clever plating separated the guinea fowl into white and dark meat, a yin-yang of lean and fatty.  The  fowl was served with lemon tree leaves, melon confit, fennel, and black olives.  While the menu read all these ingredients, I struggled to find them all on my plate.  Once again, Briffard makes this dish is deceivingly simple.  The meat was a bit dry; but, the gratuitous saucing covered that quite well making the cuisson difficult to complain about.

The desserts this time around had improved greatly from my first visit.  Starting with the betterave et fraises gariguette en compression de meringue, yaourt glacé, citron confit et poivre sauvage, I had a spring bundle of beet root and gariguette strawberries topped with dense meringue, yogurt sorbet, lemon confit, and wild pepper.  Really a vibrant and eclectic list of ingredients.  The gariguette strawberries were reminiscent of fraises des bois, having a smaller size with more seeds and a sweeter flavor.  The wild pepper picked up on this spicing the back of my tongue while the yogurt sorbet soothed the front.

The more classic dessert of the two was the soufflé maracuja, gianduja coulant et croustillant, sorbet passion-Malibu, a passion fruit soufflé filled with warm gianduja.  This nutella-like filling softened the subtle but tart notes of the soufflé making the combination very balanced yet still playful.  I didn’t care much for the sorbet on the side; but frankly, my attention was elsewhere.  Interesting that the plating of the soufflé stayed the same under both Briffard and Légendre.  In fact, they were nearly identical.  Both were exquisite.

The final course was a cold and refreshing glass of Wattwiller zero nitrate water designed to clense the body and serve as a simple yet effective digestif.

Since it was a beautiful warm day outside, I asked if we could take a few of the desserts from the trolly and sit outside in the courtyard for coffee.  The Maître’d happily obliged, and he sent the petits fours our way under the sun.  He also sent along a little tray of fraises des bois, which frankly, couldn’t have been a more perfect way to finish this meal.

Le Cinq has been through quite a transition over the past two years; but it appears that the food quality, like a fine wine, is only getting better with age.  Briffard was definitely the right choice for this restaurant.  I am quite confident that as his hearty yet precise cooking style further develops, it will be no time before Le Cinq regains its third star.  In the meantime, now is a great opportunity to take advantage of what this newly refreshed restaurant has to offer.

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I decided to order à la carte.

To start I was given some canapés: carré (fromage de chèvre) et tomate confite along with hareng fumé et pommes de terre.  Goat cheese and sweet tomato confit wasn’t a particularly interesting combination, nor was the smoked herring and potato.  Both bites, however, offered a pleasant meeting of cream and crunch in a cute geometric package.

The second amuse bouche was a bavaroise poireaux, oeuf de truites, mousse de tomates which was a lightly acidic combination that cut through the oily mouthfeel that lingered after the herring.  Leek and trout roe were noticeable, but the flavor of vinegar dominated, reminding me of something canned and preserved.  The fact that it actually came in a can didn’t help.

The last amuse bouche was an interesting concept, gelée de pot au feu avec mousse de cornichon, a light gherkin mousse covering a pot au feu gelée.  A different presentation of this classic stew was appreciated, but three cold and acidic starters were enough.

My first course was morilles étuvées au vin jaune, five morel mushrooms with a cabbage leaf stuffed with carrot and turnip brunoise.  The vin jaune sauce was bold, heady, and nicely absorbed by the spongy texture of the morel mushrooms.  The cabbage and its contents were soggy and dull, neither appealing for flavor nor texture.

Not ordering asparagus in the spring is like skipping sushi in Japan — it’s just not the wisest decision.  So I was practically obliged to choose the asperges vertes du midi en chaud-froid de saumon fumé. Two plump spears of asparagus half-dipped in a smoked salmon crème and topped with three small dabs of ossetra caviar made for a striking and beautiful presentation.  The salmon crème was ever so lightly smoked, a nice counterpoint to the bright green flavor of  the asparagus.    The caviar, however, showed signs of drying, a sign of either inferior eggs or the improper treatment of them.  This dish was served slightly cooler than lukewarm, so I’m not particularly sure why it was called a chaud-froid.

Next came the langoustines vivantes cuites à la minute au court bouillon, which were extremely tender and lightly pasty.  But aside from the skilled cooking of the crustacean, I found little about this dish to love.  The sea of capers and butter weren’t particularly attractive.  And, surprisingly, all the flavors of this dish were muted.  I picked out the langoustines and left the rest.

Homard bleu, or Brittany blue lobster, is a creature that I find nearly always overcooked in Paris, which is particularly sinful given its already-firm texture when compared to the Maine lobsters I know and love in the US.  But I was really happy when I saw two fat chunks of lobster bordering on raw — this dish had potential.  Then I noticed that somebody in the kitchen got a little overzealous with the curry powder.  The lobster tasted like Madras curry, alright, but nothing anything else.  The texture was fantastic, but the flavor, one-dimensional.

The second part of this course was a lobster bouillon containing several pieces of the more thoroughly cooked claws.  The simplicity and intensity of flavor here made this dish my favorite of the meal — the pure taste of lobster.  This was also the only course of the afternoon that was served hot, which at this point was a welcome change.

None of the desserts struck me enough to order them.  So I decided to skip out on sweets and return at a later time, possibly for the strawberry and rhubarb dessert they call la vie en rose.

Some small mignardises were placed on the table: sablé mousse framboise (raspberry mousse on top of a butter cookie), beignet avec confiture fraise (strawberry-filled donut hole), financier au betterave et meringue citron (beetroot financier with lemon meringue), and a macaron aux framboises et violette (raspberry-violet macaron).  The sablé mousse framboise stuck out for its sweet and tart flavor … also looked pretty.  The beignet tasted fresh from Dunkin’ Donuts.

Also had a small rice bowl filled with sorbet pommes verte et raviole de fraises, green apple sorbet and a strawberry raviolo, which was a really fresh and clean flavor to wrap up the meal.  Placed atop the lid was a guimauve citron verte et framboises, a small raspberry-lime marshmallow that didn’t pack much flavor.

The last of the mignardises were small tarts of raspberry, anise, and hazelnuts, all of which were quite good.  The licorice flavor of the anise combined with the tart raspberry made the flavor interesting.  So did the light crunch from the anise seeds themselves.  This plate was empty in no time.

Throughout the entire meal chef Yannick Alléno sat with various diners in the dining room and chatted away.  He seemed very friendly and sociable, even striking conversation with me when I took a few pictures.  Too bad this means he wasn’t in the kitchen for most of my meal.

Although I can’t point to any dishes that I really disliked, I can’t point to any that I particularly liked, either.  Everything was forgettable, except for the beautiful dining room and kind and flexible service.  I think the next time around, I’d like to come in for breakfast in the beautiful space, or perhaps for dessert after dinner … elsewhere.  Both those situations seem like the optimal way to take advantage of the restaurant.

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So imagine my curiosity when I learned that Christian Le Squer’s Ledoyen had been in existence since 1792, the same year that Louis XVI was arrested and taken into custody.  Yet unlike Louis, it seems that Ledoyen had luck on its side.  Despite being over two hundred years old, Ledoyen has been able to bridge tradition and innovation creating interesting and tasteful dishes while still paying homage to the incredible institution that is French fine dining.

The restaurant itself is located in the Pavillion Ledoyen just off the Champs Élysées in Paris’ 8th arrondissement.  Being on the second floor, the restaurant has an incredible view of the Petit Palais and the surrounding park.  I went towards the end of fall, which meant I was surrounded by uncountable trees of yellow, red, and orange leaves; the foliage was stunning.  The floor to ceiling windows certainly helped.  There were no crystal chandeliers, baroque paintings or gold-leafed molding here.  The dining room was classic and understated, formal yet full of daylight.  I sat in the corner with a bird’s eye view of both the restaurant and the changing of seasons around me.

The waiter brought out a slate of four amuses bouche: a foie gras macaron, herb croquettes with liquid foie gras, a foie gras puff pastry, and spherified cheese.  The meringue shell of the macaron was crunchy which while not evocative of macarons at Ladurée, was appreciated since the foie was so creamy.  The herb croquettes were wonderful, the shells of which were essentially non-existent once it entered my mouth spilling out only a warm crème of foie gras.  The puff pastry too was served warm, the crispy shell of many layers adding texture to the creamy foie gras.  Last were the cheese spheres whose flavor was slightly diluted, or at least it tasted that way after having eaten three prior amuses with strong flavor.

The second amuse bouche was a small bowl of bacon gelée made sweet.  Interesting flavor, highlighting the sweet notes of pork.  But I couldn’t help but think that someone had accidentally spilled bacon bits onto my sugar cane gelée.  Interesting concept; but I found the flavor not very interesting.  The gelée was also very watery making it inedible without the crispy bacon.  There was also a very stark textural contrast between these two ingredients making them seem out of sync with each other.  Perhaps I should have waited a few minutes for the bacon to soften in the gelée.

The first course brought lamelles de noix de saint-jacques à l’osciètre royal, a generous dollop of Ossetra caviar hidden inside a frozen sea water sphere, surrounded by scallop medallions cooked so lightly they almost seemed raw.  Beautiful presentation.  What was interesting about this dish was the way the frozen sea water melted into a cold airy liquid that practically hissed like fresh ocean foam from an ebbing wave.  This also kept the caviar chilled and refreshing.  The scallops had a chewy and soft texture with a slight bounce as the tiny bands of muscle split apart with each bite.  The lemon added a slight acidity to the lightly salted seawater foam making the entire dish taste fresh, clean, oceanic, and salty.  The dish had no scent, which was nice since fresh shell fish really shouldn’t have any.  My biggest complaint about this dish, ironically, was the temperature.  Everything was so cold that it became difficult to taste the differences between ingredients; I could only rely on texture.  There was also only so much frozen sea water I could take.  After scooping out the inside caviar and finishing the surrounding scallops, I called it a day.

A signature dish of the restaurant is the blanc de turbot de ligne juste braisé, pommes rattes truffées, a rectangular filet of zebra line caught turbot lightly braised and covered with stripes of black truffles.  First off, I don’t know what was going on with the potatoes but they were so interesting I just wanted to push the turbot to the side and finish them first!  Milky, firm, and sticky, these potatoes absorbed the foamed butter sauce without affecting their texture.  They were not starchy at all.  I couldn’t get enough of them.  The turbot was slightly undercooked (read: perfectly cooked), producing a very welcome texture: a slight push with my fork and a new layer would slide down into the foam.  It was actually a little difficult to tell by looking how the fish was cooked.  Since the fish was ivory white, supple, and slightly gelatinous throughout, any translucency it might have had from being so lightly cooked was masked by the moisture of the fish itself.  The fish was quite a large portion, however, and palate fatigue set in quickly.  Also my eyes spotted the truffles, but my nose did not.  Perhaps I went slightly out of black truffle season; regardless a poor seasonal ingredient should not have been served if it wasn’t at the peak of freshness.  That was disappointing.  Other than that, this dish was essentially an elegant version of French soul food — potatoes, fish filet, done.

Another Le Squer classic was the highlight course of the meal: ris de veau en brochette de bois de citronnelle, jus d’herbes, a fist-sized lobe of sweetbreads skewered with a lemongrass skewer and sailing along on a raft of roasted salsify in a sea of green herb purée.  The light scent of lemongrass became immediately apparent, melding with earthy and rich scents of the herbal butter reduction.  The sweetbreads had a savory buttery interior with a sweet and sticky shell (they had been marinated in soy sauce), a really nice contrast of texture.  There were also crispy little bits of fried sweetbreads adding a bit of crunch to each bite.  The harb sauce had a distinct acidity, possibly from vinegar, which helped to reduce the fatty mouthfeel left by the creamy sweetbreads.  This was a fabulous dish for both flavor and texture.

Cheese service came next — a cart filled with French classics.  I opted for Beaufort d’Alpage, Roquefort, Epoisses, and Camembert de Normandie.  The Beaufort was particularly nice because, like some gruyères, it had tiny salt crystals inside which made the cheese have some bites that were crunchy.  (It’s essential to bring this cheese to room temperature for those crystals to develop, I later learned when I bought some to eat at home later that week.)  It was a really interesting texture.  The époisses was runny, perfect to let drip onto a slice of whole grain bread.

I received my petit fours before my desserts, which terrified startled me because for a split second I thought this was it.  Fortunately, more was to come.  But for now I had a plate containing fresh figs sprinkled with sesame seeds, a small lemon cookie, a chocolate-filled cookie, and a marshmallow.  The figs seemed particularly interesting, except this was way out of season and the flavor was unremarkable.  This had real potential if the figs were sweeter.  The marshmallow, meanwhile, was like a light and moist foam that melted in my mouth.  It had no weight whatsoever.

Next came the official pre-dessert, a blanc manger d’oeuf à la leuvre, Le Squer’s classic reinterpretation of the French classic.  This dish not only impressed me, but demonstrates Le Squer’s ability to make a very old dish innovative, modern, and fresh.  This was delicious.  Here we had yeast sorbet sitting atop sweet thin shavings of white chocolate and almond.  These ingredients coated each spoonful of sorbet like coconut flakes, sticking to the surface yet remaining warm enough to melt away quickly on the tongue like snow.  This dessert was light, creamy, and only slightly sweet.  The flavor of the yeast sorbet was really similar to fior di latte gelato, except once in my mouth there was a slight scent of fresh bread.

The first full dessert was beautiful albeit a little dangerous.  Named croquant de pamplemousse cuit et cru au citron vert, this dessert contained a layer of candied grapefruit, a layer of raw grapefruit marinated in lime, pineapple sorbet, and a covering of cold caramel.  It was a really assertive, acidic citrus dessert that delicately highlights both the sweetness and bitterness that grapefruit can exhibit.  Each layer on its own may not have worked; but together created a symphony of opposite flavors that were really interesting.  The raw grapefruit was bitter, the candied grapefruit warm and sweet, the pineapple sorbet cold and refreshing, and the caramel crunchy.  Really a beautiful combination, and certainly visually stunning.  My only complaint is that the caramel roof of this bittersweet house can be very sharp.  Since it’s sitting atop sorbet the temperature stayed really cold even when in my mouth, so each bite split the sheet into tiny razor-sharp blades of sugar.  Aside from that slight risk, the flavors were exciting.

Perhaps to close the bright citrus notes of the croquant de pamplemousse, the next course had a more muted and subtle flavor.  Titled glacé de caramel fumé, pistils de chocolat, this was a chocolate dessert I really liked because the chocolate flavor was neither intense nor overbearing.  Small strips of sweet chocolate nested a cylinder of smoked caramel sorbet providing a crispy texture to a smooth tube of rich frozen milk.  I was very happy that this was served last as it left my palate in a sated state, neither craving anything savory nor sweet.  It felt just right.

At the end of the meal I continued to sit at my corner table reflecting on what I’d just eaten. Granted, the beautiful view of autumn outside didn’t exactly make me pack up my bags and run home. This was a very satisfying meal, certainly worthy of its three stars: flawless service, innovative dishes, and novel flavor combinations. I particularly liked the re-interpretation of classical dishes, such as the turbot, ris de veau, and blanc manger; it’s great to see a restaurant that continues to re-invent even after having been around for over two hundred years. That being said, there were no flavors that jumped out and grabbed me by the heels — the dishes, while innovative, were not so risky as perhaps necessary to discover combination that are jaw-droppingly delicious.  In addition, there was a slightly mechanical element to the service and dishes where I had to remind myself that these plates actually came from a kitchen: lots of perfectly cut geometric shapes with lukewarm flavors.

I think my friend Chuck hit the nail on the head: the best way to maximize the experience at Ledoyen is to order à la carte and really make the kitchen work instead of getting the mid-day assembly line courses.  The best way to take advantage of this type of cooking is to go with one other person, carefully order à la carte, and split the dishes to maximize variety without excessive portion sizes.  At least that is what I will do the next time, and there definitely will be one, just not too soon.  If I were here for only a short getaway in Paris, there are other places that have tickled my fancy even more.

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• L2O

My friend from Genova was in town this weekend, and had e-mailed me the two restaurants he was “thinking” about visiting during his short trip to Paris: Le Bristol and La Bigarrade. I knew Le Bristol had garnered a third star this year, so I was excited about that. But what was the second one, La Bigarrade? A quick reference to my Michelin guide revealed they too had just gotten a star. I thought about it, at first with reservation, but I quickly remembered that my wise friend has a knack for finding interesting restaurants, even in cities where he doesn’t live ! I humbly agreed and suggested we make a reservation. “I already made one … last month,” he told me.  He’s also very organized.  Located in the seventeenth by the Brochant metro stop off the thirteen, La Bigarrade is located just outside of convenient. Did my Genovese friend want to go here because one of the chefs, Giuliano Sperandio, was also from Northern Italy? My suspicion grew, as I knew Italian pride could be very strong.

We arrived for lunch in the early afternoon to a completely packed restaurant, the size of my small studio apartment.  With space for only twenty diners, the restaurant’s wait list, I learned, can exceed a month. How does he always find these places? We were seated in the sun-drenched dining room with the open kitchen, also petite, just behind us.  We saw the two chefs Christophe Pelé and Giuliano Sperandio working in-sync with each other just a few feet behind our table, casually checking on diners to see if they were enjoying their dishes.  There were no menus, only a chalkboard on the wall that read: Gourmand: 45€, Gourmet: 35€. Was this the right restaurant? How could the prices be so … reasonable? The waiter explained that chef prepares an impromptu tasting daily using market fresh ingredients that would be around 7 – 10 courses. Well, that sure made ordering easy.

It should be noted that there was no written menu for this meal so I wrote as quickly as I could every ingredient I heard and saw on the plate. It’s possible that some of the ingredients as missing or incorrect, just a heads up.

Our waiter placed a slate slab on the table containing a piece of salted focaccia with a small bowl of olive oil. The limited size of the slate and symmetry of the bread suggested that this would be a single serving. I was worried that I wouldn’t get full happy to have this moderation enforced upon me; besides, carbs are the enemy, right? Right …

The first course of shellfish came next served in two parts: oyster and clam. The single oyster was held in place by a bed of Brittany sea salt, which is a good thing, considering it tasted so fresh it may have jumped off the table. Covering the raw oyster was a tea-colored bonito flake gelée with a wedge of lime and wild pepper. The flavor was crisp, sweet, and acidic. The small pieces of wild pepper made the center of my tongue tingle without spicing it. The ocean water was left inside the oyster which, when combined with the bonito flake gelée, tasted like Japan the sea.

The clam was cooked ever so lightly, just enough to open the shell, essentially leaving it raw; but “safe” to eat. The clam was garnished with wild sorrel, white radish, a grapefruit broth, and a few drops olive oil. Also acidic and sweet, with a small aftertaste of olive oil giving the flavor a tough of earth. Like the oyster this was light, clean, and refreshing.

If spring could be embodied in a single plate, it would be what came next: a light and refreshing pea soup with sepia, black garlic, and red flower petals. The soup was served cold. Chef Sperandio explained that from the peas he got this morning, he used the larger more bitter ones to make the broth, and the smaller, sweeter ones for eating. The peas were raw making them crunchy and flavorful. The broth had little to no salting — it didn’t need it; all the salt was in the black garlic along the side of the plate which, when mixed with a spoonful of broth, salted everything very nicely. Thin strips of lime zest were placed throughout the broth adding an element of citrus completing the balance of flavor between sweet, salty, acidic, and savory. The sepia was cooked so its texture remained firm and crunchy, and was ever so lightly garnished with piment d’espelette. Spring was here.

Next came a filet of yellowtail belly served with small wild onion, jamón ibérico de bellota from Spain, lemon, and wild purslane greens. The minimalistic presentation allowed each flavor to be tasted individually and in different combinations, from an earthy pairing with the jamón to a garden fresh ensemble with the purslane. The yellowtail was lightly seared on each side leaving the inside nice and cool. Scattered about the plate were small bits of piment d’espelette which, like the previous course, added a sensation that widened the spectrum of flavor.

The following course was line caught mackerel, caramelized and acidulated onion, wild herbs, and garden fresh watercress. The filet of fish sat atop a reduction of Valencia orange, which chef Sperandio explained had arrived a little bitter. The orange reduction smelled a bit of vinegar and chile oil, even though later I learned there was none, alerting my senses that there may be an acidic and spicy component to follow. The fish was very lightly cooked, skin in tact, leaving the full flavor of the mackerel and its piscine aroma. After eating this course it became apparent to me that each course we’d had so far left a dominant flavor in my mouth. First the bitterness of grapefruit, then the spice of chile, and now, the sweet bitterness of Valencia orange. It kept me interested and curious about what the next course would bring.

Next came the meat course a filet of lieu, or pollock, a strong flavored white fish lightly lightly sautéed with Sichuanese red pepper and wild black pepper. The filet was topped with course sea salt. Alongside the pollock was spring asparagus with small shrimp, thin strips of lemon, and wild red sorrel. This dish tasted slightly acidic from the lemon rind; but this acidity was expanded by the ever so delicate spice from the wild peppers. Remember this is France, home of not spicy food; perhaps spice is too strong of a word … tingling? In addition to the dish’s visual simplicity, the flavors were very explicit and easily distinguishable making it fun to try different flavor combinations with the assortment of fresh vegetables and spices on the plate. Everything worked.

By this point I realized that I was still pretty hungry had probably eaten enough, but gladly welcomed the plate of Reblochon and Crottin, which come from Savoie (by the Alps) and the Loire valley, respectively. I don’t really like the light creaminess of Reblochon, but the prune reduction with which it was served brightened the flavor. Crottin, like a table-side truffle shaving, is always welcome. The two cheeses were plated alongside vadouvan, a south Indian spice blend that seems to be popping up on menus all over the place in the past couple of years.

Our pre-dessert was a refreshing soup of fava beans in a medlar fruit broth. The beans were very lightly cooked, so they stayed crispy. The broth was slightly sweet and acidic.

The first official dessert was a lemon pot de crème with a saffron gelée and rosemary flowers. This was the first pot de crème I’ve had which didn’t leave a greasy residue in my mouth. The flavors were of bright lemon with a slight citrus acidity; but, this was tempered by the earthy flavor and scent of saffron. The texture was pure and smooth and the portioning just right to both satisfy and leave you wanting more.

Next came a pistachio crème anglaise with raw mango in a mango reduction. This was garnished with a pimpinella saxifraga leaf. The crème anglaise was served chilled but not frozen which made it more like a heavy mousse. The flavor tasted very strongly of pistachio — not sweetened at all — just pure pistachio, as if the entire nut, shell included, had been included. This was my favorite of the dessert courses; my only complaint was the lack of brioche of some other sweet bread to return my plate a polished white.

What came next tasted as interesting as it sounds: an oatmeal and tobacco infused mousse topped with a dash of cocoa powder. Throughout the mousse were weightless crôutons of brioche making some bites crunchy and others rich and smooth. Most interestingly was the taste of the tobacco. It was a spice similar to black pepper; except it caused a tingle towards the back of my tongue — an area untouched by other spices. It wasn’t a “hot” spice; it was a light prickle that added depth to the sweet mousse. It was as if every ingredient in this was intentionally placed to achieve a certain affect: this dish was intentionally delicious.

The last dessert, and the only course I did not like during my lunch, was a chilled dark chocolate crème in a coffee-chocolate reduction with tonka bean crème. I didn’t care for this much. This dish was as heavy as all the previous courses combined and completely offset the delicate progression of the meal. Just as my palate was unwinding, it was overwhelmed by the intense taste of Domori chocolate from, coincidentally, Genova where my friend was from. The chocolate was just too rich for me after having eaten four weightless desserts in succession. It didn’t seem to fit in the progession of this meal. As a bit of consolation though, without me having said anything, chef Sperandio explained at the end of the meal that were it up to him the chocolate would not be on the menu: he doesn’t like it. He said he puts it on the menu at lunch time to please the Parisian palate. I’m not sure if I completely buy that; he might have just seen my plate returned nearly full. Nevertheless one strike out of fourteen is still remarkable.

Along with our bill came two small thyme-infused bavarois petit-fours topped with candied almond. Nothing life-changing. Then I actually read the bill: 70€ for two people. Was this for real? I rubbed my eyes and checked again. It’s official: this is the highest quality to price ratio I’ve seen in Paris so far. La Bigarrade could have easily charged double to triple this amount and still had customers calling months in advance to secure reservations.

As we finished our meal our waiter began to prepare the chalkboard for dinner service, thus increasing the prices. Dinner is a little more expensive so I hope you’re sitting down. The cost: 45€ for the Gourmet tasting, 65€ for the extended Gourmand tasting of 12-courses. No wonder this place is so crowded.

After lunch my friend and I sat around talking to Giuliano Sperandio, while chef Christophe Pelé finished up in the kitchen, for the next hour. He explained that the small restaurant and lack of a menu allows him to improvise on a daily basis and optimize use of farm-fresh and seasonal local ingredients. “Not only do the plates change every day,” he added, “but not everyone in the restaurant eats the same food!” He criticized the restrictions on creativity many Michelin 3-star restaurants have in striving to provide a consistently perfect experience. “Here,” he added, “we cook depending on our mood, how we felt when we woke up in the morning … it is very free.” That type of freedom and airiness came across very clearly in the food which, for me, was light, balanced, and enlivening.

For now this small restaurant is still being discovered by diners across Paris. I hope that as its flavors mature, which they no doubt will, it maintains the flexibility and creativity in its dishes that I was so lucky to have experienced during my visit. If it can, La Bigarrade is going to get a lot more popular.

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Our waiter came to the table flanked by a champagne cart that seemed almost attached at the hip like a much more attractive conjoined twin. He offered an early afternoon apéritif, and, being just past one, I thought a glass of champagne would be more than enough for the next few hours. After being asked which champagne we desired, I wondered if my friend had been pegged as such an expert that he could discern the different offerings solely by their corks, since all eight of the bottles were completely submerged in ice water and covered with a white napkin. Must have been his striped tie. They say geniuses choose stripes, you know. He’s good, but I’m not sure anyone is that good. I laughed to myself and chose a glass of Alfred Gratien Cuvée Paradis.

A small rectangular plate of three amuses-bouche was placed on the table to accompany the champagne. Starting from the left was a smoked foie gras custard covered with a green gelée of what tasted like parsley or similar herb. This had a smokey flavor without a burnt aftertaste, and was very creamy. In the center was a white fish covered in horseradish foam with a very fatty consistency. The foam had the flavor of horseradish without the spice. Last was a cucumber gelatin ball with oysters, also very gelatinous.

My friend and I had a look through the menu, which despite being the beginning of April was still the winter version. We must have been just on the cusp of a seasonal change. This one had two sections, a 3-course lunch menu at a rather reasonable price of 90€, or a more extensive à la carte selection with several dishes at rather unreasonable prices. Before coming I knew I wanted the poularde, so we ordered the lunch menu with two additional supplements from the à la carte: Le Foie Gras de Canard, and Le Poularde de Bresse. Our waiter cautioned us that this might be too much food. He had no idea who he was dealing with.

Before our first course we were given a lardon mousse with beet gelée, a sweet pre-appetizer whose gelée tasted strangely of sweet red peppers. Beets have a very strong, earthy flavor but in this dish the earth was removed leaving only the sweet, almost candied taste of beets. My friend found this a little too sweet, but at first I was too distracted by the texture: a smoky and weightless mousse that instantly dissolved in my mouth like bubbles. It was very fun, and playful. Crowning the light mousse were ultra-light and airy crôutons making each bite crunchy without distracting from the texture of the mousse. Once I got over the texture what remained was the flavor which, I agreed with my friend, was a little too sweet for my liking.

What came next is still a mystery: what was that? I sent the pictures to a few friends who all had a similar response: what is that? According to the menu, maquereau de petit bateau cuit au vin blanc, parfumé d’aromates et de baies de cassis, relevé au raifort. According to me, very tasty: mackerel cooked in white wine and scented with herbs, spices, black currant, and “picked up” with horseradish. The mackerel was eerily suspended inside this perfectly shaped rectangular solid gelée, not touching any of the sides. The dish was served cold and the light smell of white wine vinegar began to hit my nose. A friend of mine‘s chief complaint of French food, or justification to only eat Asian food, is that in general it contains insufficient acidity for his palate. I’m pretty sure he would have liked this. The fish was soft, creamy, and wet; the surrounding gelée seemed to form an airtight lock trapping all the moisture. With each bite the gelée would meld with the fish making the two textures nearly indistinguishable except for the slightly gritty texture of the fish. The acidity of the white wine was tempered by the horseradish crème which was only lightly spiced. For me this dish had particular meaning as its cold and acidic taste reminded me of Sunday mornings with my father when my sister and I would wake up with freshly sliced sturgeon on the kitchen table served with bagels and cream cheese. Aside from this dish being artistically beautiful, its concept was crisp and clear, its flavors clean, though tepid.

The next course came, sole de sable farcie aux girolles, sucs des arêtes réduits à peine crémes au vin jaune, a roll of pacific sand sole stuffed with chanterelles and a fish bone and yellow wine reduction. The first thing I noticed of this dish was the strong smell of rich butter: I was back in France. The fish was beautifully presented with these two sauces that somehow managed to stay separate. A dorsal slice revealed how the fish was stuffed, through its side. Since the surface of the fish was so smooth, unfortunately, the stuffed interior slid together into a dry mushroom paste with most of the moisture being absorbed by the fish. The first bite was overwhelmingly salty and buttery, attacking the delicate flavor of the sole and mushrooms. Aside from salt and butter, the fish bone reduction had a very appealing flavor of fish head and this dish has a lot of potential. I also think the portion of fish was simply too large to enjoy. For me the flavor of fish fatigues my palate after about the 3rd or 4th bite (this is one of the reasons I’m crazy about sushi). This dish approximated 8-10 bites; way too many. By the third bite I decided to cut my losses and leave the dish alone.

For the next course, our waiter came out of the kitchen holding two large plastic bags. Was this a gift from the kitchen to make up for the previous course? Sure was; except I ordered it: foie gras de canard cuit en papillote, huîtres fumées, bouillon de canard au thé vert. This wedge of goose foie gras was cooked in a bag to lock in the moisture and served with smoked oysters and a duck broth with green tea. The bag was cut table side and the oyster smoke released. The warm smoke had the light scent of toasted wood with nothing charred nor burnt. This might be the first time I have liked the smell of smoked food. The cut of foie gras was significant, and its fat melted to the surface of the green tea bouillon enriching the broth. The foie was cooked through enough so that it held its shape and didn’t melt completely, yet still remained supple and buttery. To break up creamy foie gras were tender pieces of oyster and cooked brussels sprout leaves which also added the smallest amount of vegetal bitterness possible. This heavy dish was very satisfying.

Next came an egg-shaped pig bladder in which our fattened young hen had cooked in its own little ecosystem of moisture. This was the poularde de bresse cuite en vessie aux écrevises, royale d’abats, asperges vertes et morilles au vin jaune and it was the dish for which I had come. From the entire chicken we were each served a single breast with chicken giblets, crayfish, morel mushrooms, and asparagus. I watched in delight as juice rained from the chicken with each slice — this was the most tender chicken I had ever seen. Our waiter plated and sauced our breast in front of us, and I once again smelled the richness of butter. Was this the same yellow wine sauce from sole two courses ago, the one I found too salty? Sure was; I guess that’s what I get for supplementing something à la carte. But the difference here is that the salt was necessary for the chicken since by itself it wasn’t salted. In this dish, the combination worked and the salting was welcome.

While the texture of the chicken was incredibly ripe, I can’t say it was the most tender I’d ever had. That distinction is reserved for the Hainanese chicken rice at Boon Tong Kee in Singapore. What I can say is that this is the most tender chicken I have had in Paris, even more than Ducasse’s poularde de bresse at Alain Ducasse Plaza Athénée. The combination of morel mushrooms and chicken remains to be my favorite as these two textures complement each other really nicely. I was very happy to have ordered this.

The last course of the savory dishes was a black truffle bouillon served with thin strips of duck. The truffles were very fragrant, particularly when the scent was activated by the hot broth. The smell was complex and earthy combining the truffles and the meat-based bouillon. But the rest of the soup was secondary to everything else — there was too much going on. The duck almost seemed unnecessary, as did the many other vegetables lurking about. Dispersed throughout the thin broth were cubed pieces of raw black truffle with a texture very similar to raw carrot — cold and hard. Each spoonful made me question if I had eaten something that maybe I shouldn’t have. For this course I skimmed off the top layer and called it a day.

The cheese cart was rolled out: pouligny St. Pierre, cabécou, mimolette, fourme d’ambert, époisses, comté de 24 mois, and some other common cheeses. Nothing incredibly exotic or that wasn’t available at my cheese store (or Artisanal for that matter) so we passed. Sure was pretty, though.

Our pre-dessert was served, a grapefruit sorbet with grapefruit wedges and a black cherry gelée. After a traumatizing experience, I am now very cautious with bitter ingredients, particularly bitter citrus ingredients. But somehow this worked. Though still bitter, I enjoyed it. The completely bitter assault of grapefruit, the main reason why I don’t enjoy a glass of fresh squeezed grapefruit juice, was moderated by the sugar leaving behind only the bitterness not the tongue-clenching acidity. It reset my entire palate.

Then came the dessert, amarena sorbet acidulé, crousti-fondant au chocolat par Carïbes, a geometric semi-crispy Caribbean chocolate fondant covered with acidulated amarena cherry sorbet. Amarena cherries are sour cherries grown in northern Italy, mostly in Modena and Bologna, my Genovese friend was quick to point out. The chocolate fondant was sandwiched by very think layers of chocolate wafer, making the smooth center a little crunchy. I generally do not like chocolate desserts particularly when I am approaching fullness, as they tend to be heavy and one-dimensional. I especially dislike chocolate when it is served cold and takes three times as long to melt in your mouth; it just doesn’t taste good. This dessert, on the other hand, was nothing of the sort. The texture was nothing of chocolate, more like a a light mousse with a light crispy shell. The flavor was pure and dark, but not so intense as to monopolize my tongue. The combination of the sweet fondant with the slightly sour sorbet was interesting, though a tad bit cloying, a harmony of yin and yang resulting in a happy palate. The plating was beautiful.

Some small petits-fours were wheeled out, two caramel macarons and a spherified citrus gel. The macarons tasted more like butter with raw sugar than caramel, and lacked salt which I think would have made the macarons less cloying. The texture was very fresh, though, as the two halves slid around in between my fingers very easily. I hoped the citrus gel would “pop” in my mouth, but instead leaked a very sweet liquid that could have been skipped.

Our waiter offered us some Armangnac; no thanks.

Lastly came the bon-bon trolly full of nougat, dark and milk chocolate, marshmallow, and mango-passion fruit caramel. I took a few pieces of everything, but nothing jumped out as particularly memorable. The M’aître d’Hôtel then offered us a small box of red fruit macarons to demolish right then and there take home. Take a look at the color and see if it looks familiar. Anything yet? Yeah I didn’t get it either; but it was to celebrate Le Bristol’s reception of its third Michelin star, a truly impressive feat. What better way to celebrate than with macarons? I surely can’t think of any. The texture of these macarons was even fresher and lighter than the caramel ones I’d just eaten. I had trouble taking them out of the box they were so delicate; the two halves were gliding all over the place. The flavor was slightly sweet; but the subtle sourness helped to control it.

I left the restaurant confident that Le Bristrol had rightfully earned its three stars for its refinement of dishes, service, and ambiance. I just felt like they just lacked the inspirational spark that some of the other Parisian 3* restaurants have. Like other 3* restaurants lacking soul, this restaurant operated like a well-oiled machine, except most of the flavors were old news.

In a way I wish I had gone last year before the third star was awarded. Some of the dishes seemed to have unnecessary plays on textures making them really gelatinous, which make me question if this was artificially done to make some of Frechon’s more classical cooking seem more modern and innovative. Perhaps this is his way of keeping things “new” to hold on to his third star. Leaving out this play on textures could have made the first three courses even more appealing and seem more natural.

The other thing I noticed was what seemed to be a discrepancy between the main courses ordered from the lunch menu, and from the à la carte menu. It was like two different restaurants, and made me wonder if there was a separate lunch menu chef who was preparing those items. The majority of the courses for which I had qualms came from the lunch menu. Could be a coincidence,and maybe I’m just too idealistic, but I feel like a three star restaurant should have consistency between the two menus. At least that’s been my experience.

Aside from those concerns, this was a very polished experience and represents what is meant by haute dining in Paris twenty years ago today. I look forward to returning eventually; but not too soon, and definitely not for lunch.

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As I walked into the dining room, I was immediately turned off by its apparent chill that came from the cold tile 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 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 see that there was indeed a second dining room. A more ornate space with parquet floors and a grand chandelier, it seemed to be the more impressive of the two; but was not nearly so cozy. 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, they can really jump start one’s palate, setting a savory foundation to be contrasted with a sweet glass of champagne. I curiously awaited the next step.

Next came the amuse bouche, very lightly smoked salmon, potato strings, and a dill mousse. Two things struck me immediately about the salmon: the slightest hint of smoke, and its buttery texture. The salmon was so lightly smoked that the woodiness added a subtle hint of complexity rather than dominating the fish’s inherent flavor, something I feared after my initial disappointment when this dish was set before me. Nothing to be disappointed about here, though. 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 reminiscent of bagels and lox (you can take the boy out of New York, but…), without a significant enough difference to warrant 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. Oh god, how things turned around. Sitting in a velouté of Jerusalem artichokes were three round scallops topped with black truffle. 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. My first bite revealed the complexity of this dish. The velouté was left grainy, a reminder that artichokes were involved. But more importantly, this texture was a nice transition to the softness of the scallop, supporting its smoothness rather than contrasting against it. As I dipped my spoon into the thick velouté, I noted how it took several seconds for it to fill the void. With these Jerusalem artichokes and scallops displaying such an impressive marriage of earth and sea, frankly I wondered why chef Guy 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 in the 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 meaty 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 creamy liver and the truffle 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 during this long 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 wonderfully moist pastry could have stood up on its own, and I would certainly wait in line to have one as 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 and 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, but would certainly be a welcome dinner guest anytime in the future. Delicious. My only complaint was that the lobster seemed slightly overcooked, with a texture that would have been even more inviting to absorb the red wine reduction had it been slightly softer. This could, however, be due to the type of lobster: bretagne blue.  The purée 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 dull as there was nothing to break up the monotony of the cold crème.

For dessert, there were quite a few appealing choices. And 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 embarrassed, 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 peppermint leaf. This was an appreciated appetizer for the dessert tasting. Nothing exquisite, just a light dessert with bright tropical flavors.

Next was undoubtedly 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. It had the airiness 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. Although they appeared to be flawless, these chestnuts were unfortunately no different. With the mocha sauce, 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 gelatin; 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 tiny sprinkle of fleur de sel for balance, I think, as 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 certainly 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 undoubtedly 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.

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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.

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The first time I ate here, I left with memories of eating in a large ornate dining room with a high ceiling and chandeliers; 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 deftly 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 okay, 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 over-sized 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 little 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 marmalade. 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 marmalade 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 accompaniments accentuated 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, for example, is squeamish about 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 palate began to fatigue after the third or fourth bite. Also, the flavor of chestnut was unnoticeable. 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 tart. 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.

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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 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 licorice, 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 airiness 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 raspberry preserve as in, certainly not airy. The raspberry 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 raspberry 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 in between 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 apparent. The bitter chocolate macaron was much lighter with the ganache having a texture a bit thicker than heavily whipped cream. This macaron was also noticeably 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 shirley 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 bearable; 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 crispiness 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 preferred that the task of temperament 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 resting on 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 warrants a special trip to try this 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 delicacies.

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 flawless 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.

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While Versailles might symbolize the pinnacle of Louis XIV‘s reign over France as a display of opulence, setting up a table in the middle of its hall of mirrors would probably be a bit uncomfortable. That’s how I felt dining here, as this room was laid, floor to ceiling, with marble accentuated by gold leaf molding. There were countless mirrors, each of which making the already large room feel even larger. There was no carpet, or really anything else that might have warmed this room’s coldness. Everything felt hard and cold, especially with the echos that spilled in from the adjacent hotel lobby. It was like eating in a grandiose hallway. Beautiful, indeed; just not for a restaurant. Perhaps this room was better suited for purgatory a hotel lobby or large public space as it lacks intimacy.

Things started off sky high with a remarkable amuse bouche titled sur l’idée d’un plateau télé, a platter of five small appetizers on a tray resembling a TV dinner. The serving of this course started with my waiter wheeling over a cart of an iced canister and small cups, the waiter then proceeding to spray carbonated carrot purée and lemonade into a small glass. The rest of these treats were placed on a tray which seemed perfectly designed for this purpose. The other amuses included Gâteau de foie blond selon Lucien Tendret version 2007, a beautifully layered glass of foie gras royale, émulsion de foie gras, and jus d’écrevisses (crayfish). This was the best part of the amuse selection. The warm creamy foie gras royale crowned by the cooler foie gras foam, a textural and temperature mix that indisputably awakened my taste buds. Some of the other items included a cromequis d’une pizza, a small pizza-flavored croquette which did indeed taste like pizza, the liquid contents spilling in my mouth with a single bite. There was also a variation croustillante d’un jambon et fromage, a sweet pastry cylinder filled with a ham and cheese crème. Very delicious, particularly the crêpe-like sweetness of the shell and the saltiness of the ham. Last was a wrapped bon bon of beurre de truffe noire à tartiner, a black truffle butter designed to be spread on the three loaves of bread placed besides me. Not like I accidentally ate this in one bite forgetting that it was butter for the bread; but, the wrapper could, potentially, be a bit deceiving.

The momentum continued with the next course, langoustines and caviar: croustillantes, sushi, bouillon, and with golden Iranian caviar. Some say this is Chef Piège’s signature dish. The diversity of this plate was incredibly well-thought out, each preparation equally impressive. The langoustine croustillante was a large langoustine tail encrusted in a langoustine-flavored dough, much like ultra-thin strips of tempura. These crispy strips were ultra thin, allowing for the juicy crustacean to retain its moisture rather than absorb it. They were also slightly salted, further bringing out the natural shellfish flavor. Despite being deep fried there was, remarkably, very little oil and this was by no means greasy, a parallel to some of Japan’s finest tempura houses. It should be noted that the juiciness of this seafood, perfectly hovering on the cooked-raw boundary, nearly gave me a shiver. Incredible. The bouillon had a very concentrated langoustine flavor. And while this was a thin soup, the small portioning and dollop of caviar and crème in the center kept it interesting. This was the lesser of the four variations of shellfish; but it was still very good. The third preparation was the sushi, raw langoustines wrapped with thin slices of cucumber and topped with caviar. A very simple preparation, the naturalness of which suggests chef Piège’s modesty as a chef, unafraid to let high quality ingredients stand out on their own. The freshness of the cucumber really contrasted nicely against the other preparations. Very fresh. Last, but certainly not least, was the bowl of caviar with a pleasantly salty finish.

The first main course was the turbot two considerable portions of fish wrapped in a galette de Bretagne, a cookie-like pastry with a slight sweetness. This galette drew in moisture from the fish, making it slightly soft but by no means soggy — this cookie stayed crisp! In many ways, the galette was as a second-skin for the skinned fish, one that was slightly sweeter and more attractive than the original. It even had wafer-scales. Surrounding these turbot pillars was a coquillage of giant clam and green herbs, the more salty oceanic component to this already texturally diverse dish. It should be noted that the parsley leaves garnishing this dish are by no means raw and have been candied in sugar, maintaining their green crispy appearance from a quick blanching. The fish itself was succulent, and the mélange items surrounding this plate prevented this generous portions of fish from becoming monotonous.

While this meal was progressing really nicely, this next course is what really stole the show and remains such a memorable preparation of sweetbreads. These ris de veau were prepared three ways, lait blanc, brun, and spaghetti carbonara. Michael Mina would have been proud. The first thing that struck me was the variety of colors and preparation for this single ingredient. What a beautiful plate: a heavenly spectrum of sweetbreads, the sauces melding together into a colorful gradient of flavor. There was also a gradient of textures, with the most crispy croustillante on the left, the semi-crispy carbonara with a crouistillante topping, all the way to the soft and rich white milk. The croustillante preparation was perhaps the lesser of the three, a creamy oblong encrusted in bits of dough rife with clarified butter. The textural contrast was fantastic. To the right was the sweetbread pâte wrapped in spaghetti, a tribute to the more classical yolk-based carbonara, although Aaron was quick to point out that this sauce was startlingly white for one based on egg yolk. The line of ham flavored brittle sitting atop deftly kept this dish texturally interesting and diverse. And last, but certainly not least, was the white milk. Oh god. This rendition was spectacular; but certainly not for those trying to save a few calories. The velvety milk accentuated the buttery sweetbread, adding a slight hint of sweetness which was countered by the little circular bacon-flavored crisps sitting on top. Wow.

Following this pinnacle course came the cheese, two large carts of cheese wheeled over by three people. Each cheese had an individual glass dome covering it which was certainly pretty; still, this did prevent any aromas from the fine cheeses from surfacing. I was still pretty hungry getting kind of full from all the food, particularly the heaviness of the sweetbreads. I selected five cheeses; Livarot, Fourme D’Ambert, St. Marcelin, Abbaye de Citeaux, and Comté. I enjoyed the light caramelization of the 4-year-old aged comté very much, though it was not quite so intense as in Guy Savoy. Though, my host mother was quick to inform me that the correct pronunciation of comté leaves the “m” silent. The apex, however, was in fact the Fourme D’Ambert, an incredibly creamy blue cheese that’s relatively light on the tongue. I generally like strong blues, particularly Bleu D’Auvergne and Bayley Hazen; but this was really fantastic.

After finishing my cheese, I was handed a light popsicle of chocolate and almond coated almond sorbet, which cut through much of the cheese flavor left behind in my mouth from the previous course. Nothing particularly interesting; but I did feel surprisingly fresh afterwards.

Next up at Per Se The French Laundry was a selection of mignardises which, starting from the bottom up, included a biscuit moelleux sangria et noisette, a selection of quite a few macarons pomme Granny, as well as miniature pastries described as paille d’or framboise. Even though I sent it back empty, this silver mignardise container was startlingly heavy. It’s always a good sign in my book when I have to handle macarons carefully, which was the case with these granny smith apple treats. The top and bottom meringue layers began to slide around each time I lifted one, a sign of their freshness. The tart apple flavor with slightly grainy texture was surprisingly nice, too. I didn’t much like the sangria and hazelnut cookies, that flavor combination seemed a little off to me. As for the gold and rasberry pastries, very tasty; though, I would have liked to see a little more of a rasberry center so the flavor wasn’t so overwhelmed by the dry pastry.

I was also given a box of 35 dark chocolate truffles. It wasn’t clear whether or not I was able to take this home with me, so I finished all of them right then and there tasted a few and moved on to some of the other goodies. I will say that I was very curious to find out if all of these were the same and, as it turns out, they were. Surely an excessive amount of chocolate.

The next course, still before dessert officially arrived, was particularly interesting. A cup of miniature “baguettes,” with liquid chocolate and popping sugar. The waiter recommended that I dip the bread stick into the chocolate, and then coat with the bursting sugar. Definitely an interesting sensation in my mouth, tiny explosions with each bite; but the flavor of the chocolate was slightly disappointing and I ended up having my cracking sugar fun with just a spoon.

Alas, the dessert. And a beautiful dessert it was: a cylindrically-shaped verbena leaf sorbet with strawberry center surrounded by a meringue cage. A generous scoop of frais des bois was added at the table. The cage was decorated with gold leaf flakes which, visually, contrasted beautifully against the bright white cage and luscious red strawberries. The fresh lemon flavor from the verbena leaf sorbet added a nice hint of citrus with each bite of sweet meringue and wild strawberries.

After my dessert, in Japanese style, I was brought a hot towel to cleanse my hands before the tea cart rolled over. I’ve never seen this done in a French restaurant before; but I’m a firm believer that every restaurant should adopt this: a warm towel before and after each meal. This cart contained a variety of fresh herbs, my decision boiling down between mint and verbena, where I ultimately chose the verbena. The waiter cut the leaves in front of me and placed them into the pot to steep. About 5 minutes later, he poured a bit into my glass, as if I was tasting a fine wine, and asked me if it was “ready.” I opted for a few more minutes, I like my tea strong. This was a light and soothing way to end a substantial meal.

This was a marvelous meal. Chef Piège’s creativity and culinary craftsmanship really came through in every course. Despite the somewhat awkward dining room, it is indeed beautiful and truth be told, my attention was so focused at what was on my plate that I didn’t pay much to my surroundings. For all visitors to Paris, I would definitely recommend taking a visit to Les Ambassadeurs. I left that night with an enormous smile on my face.

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I stopped by just after breakfast, only to see a long line of hungry people standing outside. I tried to convince myself that this line wasn’t for Pierre Hermé; but that thought was quickly interrupted by the defensive voice of a macaron-hungry french woman telling me, “the end of line is back there, sir.” What did she think, that I was going to cut? God … who would so such a thing. Though people have been known to do crazy things while under the influence, of macarons. My stomach and I waited about twenty minutes before being admitted to this reputed macaron heaven. Upon entrance, I glanced at the extensive selection. This was going to be difficult. Carefully, I decided to get one of everything try a few things here and there that looked appealing. Since the weather was nice, and since there were no tables inside, my friend and I headed to the Luxembourg garden with our four boxes and three bags of reasonable amount of pastries to eat à l’extérieur.

We found a nice bench in the sun, and decided to start with the macarons, clearly, a beautiful assortment of pastel-colored treats. The first victim was the Truffe Blanche & Noisette, a glittering tiny cookie of white truffle and hazelnut. The surface literally shimmered in the sunlight, the sparkling film transferring to my fingers which soon became iridescent as well. There was quite a bit of crème in this cookie. Nearly a third of the cookie, perhaps more, consisted of this crème layer. This made the cookie somewhat dense and, as a result, a bit heavy. The first bite was indeed pleasant, the savory taste of truffle followed by a cool and sweet vanilla crème finish. But, while the flavor was enjoyable for the first bite, the excessive amount of crème became cloying.

As for the beautifully colored Rose macaron, it should be noted that I generally dislike Rose-flavored macarons. In fact, I cannot recall anything rose that I would willingly order a second time. This macaron was the exception. It was exquisite; essentially a light crème flavored macaron with a slight hint of rose petal. Its scent, paradoxically, was nothing of rose; but the flavor was there! It tasted as I expected it to smell, and it smelled as I would have expected it to taste not knowing that it was rose, that is. Frankly, this was the first rose macaron I’ve tasted that was not reminiscent of soap, a memorable feat in my book. This was the highlight of the Pierre Hermé macarons, for me. And, unfortunately with the other macarons, it was sort of downhill from here.

Next up was Infiniment Vanille, or infinite vanilla. It should be said that vanilla and pistachio are my two staple flavors for comparison, so I certainly looked forward to this. Sadly, it did not taste much like vanilla. I waited for the strength of the vanilla beans to kick in; but eventually, I gave up waiting. It was really bland, and I was disheartened. Additionally, and most upsettingly, the texture of this was awful. Despite having waited for the macarons to adjust to the proper temperature, the crème layer had a texture of refrigerated butter. No good; way too dense.

The fourth macaron was the Mogador, Fruit de la Passion & Chocolat au Lait, a melange of milk chocolate and passion fruit. The texture of the crème was heavy, very similar to cake batter — way too pasty! That being said, the flavor was a balanced mix of chocolate and fruit, with the first taste being of bittersweet chocolate, and the second being the sweetness of passion fruit on the finish. This was not at all excessively sweet and, as said in the three little bears, it was just right. The cocoa powder dusted shell, while pretty, certainly did make a mess! But I can certainly sacrifice a clean shirt for some macarons anytime.

Next came my second staple flavor, and generally my favorite, pistachio. This macaron would be a little different, however, as the ganache was of white chocolate rather than pistachio. Perhaps that’s what made this excessively sweet. The taste of pistachio was somewhat muted as this tasted a bit more like vanilla than pistachio. The green color of the inside was also very bright, which felt overly artificial. There was slightly less ganache in this macaron, which made it more texturally appealing; but the flavor was just too sweet.

I first thought I had accidentally purchased double pistachio macarons; but after the first bite, I was very quickly reminded that there was indeed another green flavor: olive. This macaron, titled Huile d’Olive & Vanille, was surprisingly tasty at first. Mainly because it tasted like essence of olive rather than actually tasting like an olive. But, this quickly changed when there was a solid piece of green olive in my cookie. What the? This flavor completely assulted any sweetness of the cookie, the acidity of which cut through any form of pleasantness this cookie had to offer. There was also a bit of a metalic aftertaste that irritated me. Eesh.

The final three macarons were up, and I began this countdown with chocolate. So thick! I couldn’t help but think of a marshmallow-less s’more, a bar of chocolate placed between two cookies. Why was this chocolate so thick? Where was the crème? Where was the love?! This did indeed taste like chocolate; but it didn’t taste so much like macaron. Too much chocolate!

Oh god, chestnuts. I do indeed have a strong attraction to chestnuts. The next macaron was of chestnut and matcha green tea. I was disappointed that they did not have just chestnut; but I kept an open-mind and embraced the new flavor. But the texture was awful. The pastiness of the matcha green tea weighed down the entire cookie, the texture of which was very similar to marzipan; only a vibrant green. Too heavy for a macaron, I think. The green tea flavor also removed the distinct whisper of autumn that chestnuts give. I couldn’t consider the green tea anything more than a distraction.

The macaron degustacion finished on a higher note, with a Pléntitude Chocolat & Caramel, a dual-colored macaron with a chocolate top and caramel bottom. My friend commented that this had a slightly burnt taste, which I appreciated very much, as the combination of this flavor with the fleur de sel really grounded this cookie and prevented it from falling off the cliff of too sweet. Caramel on the edge of burnt, with fleur de sel, is a brilliant combination. The texture was still a little too dense for me, with a significantly thick layer of crème; but the flavor was wonderful.