I have since been back half a dozen times, each time a completely different menu and experience. Each meal has been progressively better. The ever evolving cuisine reveals a chef with tremendous versatility, precision, and passion. For these reasons, I believe Chef Kinch is currently the best chef in America.

In person, chef Kinch is soft-spoken and humble, rarely talking about himself or his current inspirations. The best way to understand chef Kinch is to understand his food. This is what makes each visit to Manresa special: each meal is a speechless conversation with chef Kinch, and he has a lot to say. During my first few visits, his food spoke of recent trips to France, revealing inspiration from Alain Passard and Michel Bras. He returned obsessed with vegetables, forging a partnership with Cynthia Sandberg of Love Apple Farms. More recently, his food spoke of visits to Tokyo and Kyoto: walks through tsukiji market and kaiseki meals at Koju. While chef Kinch’s cooking is enjoyed by everyone, it speaks even louder to diners who have eaten in Paris and Tokyo. David Kinch is a foodie’s chef.

One of the things I most admire about chef Kinch is his disregard for culinary politicking. Like Quique Dacosta of Spain, his cooking style reflects his current passions, regardless of what’s en vogue. Noma‘s ascension to the top of Pellegrino’s best restaurants list has not affected Kinch’s food in the slightest. This is a breath of fresh air. He’s a no-nonsense culinary rebel.

Manresa, named after the small Spanish north west of Barcelona, is about an hour south of San Francisco. A winding path leads from a quiet street to the restaurant. After passing the reception desk, the newly added modern dining room hangs left while the original dining room remains off to the right.

Black olive madeleines and roasted bell pepper pâtes de fruits – Our meal started with a Manresa staple, a cake-like madeline of black olive and a sugar-coated jelly of roasted red bell pepper. These two vegetal snacks, disguised as sweets, hint at the restaurant’s deep connection to local produce. It’s hard to describe these as delicious, but there is an addictive quality to them.

Roquefort cheese sablé – A crispy, salty, cheesy snack that really complimented the crisp green apple from our champagne.

Paired with N.V. Diebolt-Vallois Champagne Blanc de Blanc Brut à Cramant

Garden beignets, crispy kale, vinegar powder - Warm beignets counterbalanced with the subtle acidity of the vinegar powder. The crispy kale added a vegetal bitterness. This was a small arrangement of textures all held together by the leafy green taste of the garden.

An elemental oyster - A local oyster lightly poached in its own shell, topped with an ocean water gelée, and a sprinkle of nori flakes. The oyster was impeccably fresh — sweet and briny — and the subtle poaching enhance the oyster’s natural sweetness. The ocean water gelée extended the texture of the oyster making it taste twice the size. The umami of the dried seaweed enhanced the shellfish’s natural flavors.

Paired with Hangar One Kaffir Lime Vodka

This pairing with the vodka was too intense for me. While the vodka did have a clean taste and a pleasant citrus component from the kaffir lime, the burn of the alcohol distracted from the delicate flavors of the oyster.

Fig leaf curd, coriander granita, marcona almond, strawberry gazpacho - Wow. This was summer in a bowl. A rich lather of chilled strawberry gazpacho was poured into an herbal, ice cold coriander granita. This was an exceptionally fragrant and balanced dish highlighting the fresh produce of late summer.

 Japanese sardines with beets, watermelon, radish, and a garden sorrel sauce - A small sardine carried by the fresh vegetal bitterness of the chilled sorrel sauce. The sweet chunks of compressed watermelon and beets added a hint of sugar to an otherwise savory dish. This was a minimalist dish exemplifying how the freshness of raw vegetables can enhance the freshness of the sea. A simple dish with little cooking, where chef Kinch took a step back and let the natural ingredients speak for themselves.

Raw milk panna cotta, Monterey bay abalone and an abalone-dashi gelée - This was an exceptional dish, one that demonstrated chef Kinch’s deep understanding of Japanese cuisine and simplicity, and how to apply those techniques with local ingredients. With a texture like chawanmushi, room temperature raw-milk panna cotta formed the base of this dish. The panna cotta was covered with a thin layer of transparent abalone gelée.  The gelée was delicately salted and dotted with chunks of warm, meaty abalone. This was one of the most memorable dishes I’ve tasted this year.

Albacore tuna, runner beans, crispy bean shell bouillon, lemon verbena, olive oil - This was chef Kinch’s sashimi course in a traditional kaiseki sequence. The tuna was lean but still buttery with an herbal note that grounded the dish to California.

Razor clams – A small bowl of razor clams with wild rice, chrysanthemum and roast chicken gelée, topped with fennel fronds. This was another incredible dish. Chewy, plump grains of wild rice topped with chunks of razor clam whose meaty flavor was enhanced by the roast chicken gelée. The chrysanthemum and fennel fronds added an anise-like herbal dimension that kept each bite interesting. This was a dish that took me back to the rice courses from some of my favorite kaiseki experiences in Japan.

Paired with a 2007 Izadi Viura from Rioja

A summer tidal pool - A David Kinch classic, a dish that has taken on various forms over the years. This was the best version yet. Chunks of Monterey bay abalone, sea urchin, foie gras, local spot prawn, and hinoki mushroom swimming in a beautifully salted dashi broth. It was as if chef Kinch took a list of my favorite Japanese ingredients and combined them into one dish. This was a simple dish with a very complex flavor; sweet sea urchin and prawns, buttery foie gras, meaty abalone and earthy hinoki combined into a broth of absolute perfection. This is a dish where chef Kinch exercised culinary restraint, letting a simple dashi broth serve as the clean canvas for the natural flavors of the sea.

Paired with a 2009 COS Rami 50% insolio and 50% grecanico from Sicily IGT

Into the vegetable garden - A handpicked showcase of the day’s herbs from Love Apple Farms combined into a beautiful, colorful potpourri. I loved this dish and Kinch’s local interpretation of the gargouillou. This dish was a collection of textures both smooth and crunchy and herbal flavors ranging from sweet to bitter. My only complaint is that it’s a bit awkward to eat these delicate, almost weightless leaves with a full-sized fork and knife; it would have been easier with a pair of fine chopsticks or culinary forceps. This is a dish that connects Manresa to its surroundings, a reminder that California has the finest produce in the country.

Paired with a 2010 Domaine du Salvard Sauvignon Blanc from Cheverny

The meal could have ended right here and it would have been one of my all time favorite dining experiences. The last seven dishes made one of the best sequences in a restaurant I’ve ever had. What came was still outstanding, but of a very different foundation from the first half of the meal. The meal took a turn from Japan and headed back to Europe.

Late season fava beans - A risotto made from late season fava beans with a farm egg, morel mushrooms, and sheep’s milk ricotta. This was a very original, creative dish where the chewy fava beans were cooked to mimic the texture of risotto. The butter and generous salting carried this dish, enhancing the earthiness of the mushrooms. The ricotta thickened the sauce making it really texturally close to a risotto.

Paired with a 2009 Bruno Clair Rosé of Pinot Noir from Marsanny

Monterey bay abalone - A firm medallion of abalone cooked in brown butter topped table-side with a pesto of pickled cucumber and walnut. A few leaves of Malabar spinach added a vegetal, tannic component to the dish. The butter really helped bring out the flavor of the abalone, and the pickled cucumber pesto brightened the meatiness of the shellfish.

Poached halibut - Thick cuts of poached halibut served with thinly sliced young celeriac and romanesco. This was one of my least favorite courses of the night. There was nothing particularly wrong with the dish, but after a heavenly sequence of abalone, razor clams, sea urchin, spot prawn, and foie gras, giant chunks of poached halibut seemed boring. This would have been a great dish as part of a smaller tasting menu, but at this point in the sequence, it didn’t make much sense.

Paired with a 2006 Domaine de la Tournelle Terre de Gryphees Chardonnay from Arbois, France

Suckling porcelet – A generous cut of young pig served with chanterelle mushrooms, apricot-anise purée, courgette velouté, and a pistachio pesto. This was a heavier course and although fatty, the crispy skin really helped diversify the texture; the crunch was the best part of this dish.

Paired with a 2007 Jacques Puffeney Trousseau from Arbois France

Potatoes and duck fat “paillasson” – A crispy hash of potatoes cooked in duck fat, garnished with fennel and turnip. There were also small drops of bitter orange and olive. This was a very balanced dish with almost no oily mouthfeel, despite having been fried in duck fat.

Paired with a 2008 Domaine Maume from Gevrey-Chambertin

Summer berries and cream - Summer berries, both roasted and raw with a lemon cream. Underneath the berries was a bed of açaí granite and yogurt sorbet. This was light and sweet with the cream sauce giving the dish some substance, but the lemon ensuring it tasted bright and refreshing.

Paired with a 2008 Pride Mountain Cabernet Franc from Sonoma County

Chocolate-caramel cremeaux – Dollops of chocolate-caramel cream with fleur de sel ice cream and a popcorn custard. I really don’t like chocolate-flavored desserts (I love pure chocolate) but this was pretty good. Mainly because there wasn’t much bitterness in the chocolate, and the popcorn added a buttery, nutty component that made this really interesting.

Paired with a 2009 Earl Champalou Les Tries de Champalou Chenin Blanc from Vouvray

The cheese cart – Bent river, Blond d’Espèce, Pleasant Ridge reserve, Amarello de beta spacious, Garden Variety’s Moonflower, Gabriel Coulet Roquefort, Redwood Hill’s Bucheret, Chèvriere Cendre, and Cypress Grove Midnight Moon.

We chose a few pieces from the cart: Roquefort, Chevrière cendre (concord grape ash), Gouda-style Midnight moon, Cow’s milk Pleasant ridge reserve, and Bent River.

By this point in the meal, we were left with a gorgeous gradient of wines.

Petits fours - Strawberry pâtes de fruits and chocolate madeleines. We finished the meal much in the same way we started, only with fruit instead of vegetables.

I loved my recent meal at Manresa. The cooking was consistently flawless, and the flavors balanced and delicious. While this was an incredible tasting, the meal really felt like two tastings in a single sitting, one of Japan and one of France and Spain. I’m tempted to return to try the shorter menu next time in hopes that it could be even more focused.

The overall experience was refined and comfortable: this restaurant has really transitioned from a local, neighborhood place to one that deserves a lot more international attention than it’s currently receiving. The restaurant currently has two Michelin stars, but if this isn’t a three star restaurant at this point, I’m not sure what is. In the meantime now is the perfect time to go; I have a funny suspicion the restaurant is about to get a lot busier.

Related Posts:

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• Favorite Dishes of 2011

Over the course of three meals, we were brought on a comprehensive and well-organized tour of Chef Dacosta’s cooking.  My first visit meal started with a dinner.  The following day my friend the ulterior epicure and I basically hung out all day at the restaurant.  We had two more meals.  I am writing about the second of those three meals, which was my favorite.  You can see photos of the other two meals here.

Amuse bouche – The meal started with a collection of amuse bouches and a glass of cava.  A rapid-fire succession of cinnamon basil, kalanchoe greens and oil, cold hibiscus tea with chicory, pickled raïm, snails, shrimp cakes, kumquats filled with flying fish eggs, and hazelnut oil.  The amuses hit all the spots on the palate: sweet, savory, salty, hot, and cold.

An assortment of delicatessens – Our first course was salty: a colorful gradient of cured roes and fish.  From left to right, we had salt-cured and sun dried fish roes of bonito, lingfish, and sea bass.  We were also served aged octopus with a drizzle of olive oil; the octopus had a bitter taste and the dab of sweet olive oil helped to temper it a bit.  The saltiness of this course seemed to increase my appetite, by the end I was starving.

Cereal paper - A thin crispy wafer of grains to accompany our salty fish roe.

Pickled spring onions - Served alongside the salted fish roes and cereal paper were sweet bulbs of spring onion.  The assertive acidity of the onions seemed to reset my palate between bites of the roe salty.

Dehydrated figs - Our second course, a crumble of dehydrated green figs served atop a fig leaf, was a light sweet and crispy snack.

Dew - Chilled salicornia and ice plant beneath a shaved ice caipirinha.  My dining companion, the ulterior epicure, immediately commented that the gelee tasted “leathery” and could possibly contain a dash of tequila or mezcal.  This dish was cool and refreshing with vegetal undertones.  The crisp of the ice plan bridged the gap between the gelee and the smooth sea beans.

Piquillo Pepper – After our first bite, our waiter asked if we knew what we were eating. Only  that point did I realized it wasn’t piquillo pepper. What we were eating was dehydrated watermelon re-hydrated with charred piquillo syrup.  The texture was indistinguishable from grilled piquillo pepper.  The dish was adorned with small whole mustard seeds which looked like pepper seeds that had spilled out.  The seeds even developed a thin albumin-like coating, really completing the effect.  The syrup was extremely sweet, but the subtle spice from the mustard seeds helped to temper that a bit.  The concept of this dish was brilliant.

Avocado - A smoked wedge of firm avocado bathing in a light bonito broth, topped with shaved smoked avocado seed.  The avocado was firm enough to require a knife, but still very creamy.  Its texture was very buttery but the shaved smoked seed helped cut through the fatty mouthfeel.  The dashi-like broth also helped bring out the latent meaty flavors in the vegetable.  This was a very simple but somehow very satisfying dish.

Chufas - Cocoa-covered foie gras and sliced tigernuts floating in a truffle-oil cream.  Tigernuts, or “chufas” in Spanish, are a starchy and fibrous nut with a crunch like watercress but a flavor like watered-down peanut butter.  They were a bit pasty when eaten raw (our waiter brought us a few to try) but when sliced thin they complimented the creamy truffle broth.  The cocoa-foie gras consisted of chilled chocolate just barely holding together a thin foie gras cream that spilled in the mouth.  The sweetness of the foie gras with the nutty flavors of the tiger nuts and the aroma of truffle oil made this dish intoxicating.  This course catapulted my view on the meal thus far from outstanding to awestruck; Quique Dacosta is not only creative and original, but has the palate and understanding of textures and flavors to match.  Just wow.

Tomato - Frozen shavings of distilled tomato snow covering sun dried tomatoes.  The dish was drizzled with what tasted like pepper-infused olive oil.  As a whole, it tasted like frozen gaspacho, with a subtle cheesiness coming from the pepper oil.

Peas - This plate embodies spring: a cool sweet pea cream broth with wasabi-infused tobiko roe and spring pea shoots.  The fish roe, which usually clumps together, dispersed evenly in the broth adding a short-lived spice to each bite.  I didn’t taste much fishiness from the roe, rather, it seemed they were used more for the textural component — miniature bursts of spice with each bite.  The fresh pea shoots amplified the dish’s apparent freshness.  This was one of my favorite courses of the meal, a dish that at first glance appears simple, but is far from it.

Local baby squid - Local squids dunked in boiling water to partially cook them, served with a concentrated shellfish broth.  The squids were creamy and mildly salted.  The concentrated seafood shot was very salty, and helped bring out the shellfish flavors in the squid.  I loved this dish.

Oyster - A plump oyster gently cooked in its own seawater.  The oyster was served on a bed of piping hot rocks with seaweed found from the area where the oyster was harvested.  This oyster had no saucing other than its own natural salty and briny juice.  This was simply delicious, perhaps the first time I truly enjoyed a cooked oyster.

Fresh spring onions - Three sheets of spring onion bulb acting as a bowl for a drizzled shellfish sauce.  This was a dish where the dominant ingredient was the sauce, and the onions merely a vehicle to collect it.  I didn’t understand the concept of this dish, and its flavor was not particularly exciting.

A tasting of local prawns - This is a dish where Quique Dacosta teases us with the local ingredient quality.  Denia’s shrimp, langoustines, and prawns are perhaps the sweetest I have ever had.  In this dish a single prawn is presented in three different parts:  first the tail, lightly blanched in its own seawater on a sauce made from its roe.  Then the deep-fried head and legs with part of the shell holding a reduction made from the brain.  The third part is a shellfish reduction with Cognac filled with a gelatinous liquid dumpling filled with juice from the shrimp brains.  This dish was exceptional, just the fresh taste of prawn presented from three different angles.

Arroz de galera - Uni-infused risotto with sage, crowned by thin layers of raw mantis shrimp.  The rice was firm and chewy giving it structure to support the sea urchin without it turning into a goey mess.  The interlaced uni had a clearly defined shape.  The mantis shrimp, unlike the Denia prawn, was not sweet, rather it tasted strongly of the sea.  There was also a temperature contrast between the warm risotto and cold shrimp.  This was one of the highlight courses of the meal, utilizing Valencia’s traditional rice recipes with local shrimp.

Seaweed stew - This was a repulsive course, that I actually enjoyed.  I hope that makes sense.  This was a stew made from algae and barnacles served with seaweed toast.  The stew tasted like licking a dock that had been submerged in the seawater for a long, long time.  It tasted slimy and salty, like algae from a wet rock.  I didn’t like the flavor, actually I hated it.  But I loved how, for a few brief minutes, I felt like I had gone for a swim in the adjacent Mediterranean.  Its flavor was very intense and concentrated.  It was very challenging to finish this course, two bites was more than enough.

Monkfish - Thick medallions of breaded monkfish in a shellfish broth with sheets of seaweed and a crustacean roe paste infused with mint.  The generous chunks of monkfish were pan seared making the surface crunchy and leaving the inside lean and moist.  The portioning was very generous making it tough to finish the entire course knowing we still quite a few to go.

Almonds - A Spanish ajo blanco of shaved frozen white almond milk with garlic.  The dish was generously seasoned with olive oil.  This course was light and refreshing without any sweetness.  Condensation began to form on the frozen plate as we ate this course, which made the course seem even more refreshing.

Beet root - By this point in the meal it was clear we weren’t going to be served much, if any, meat.  Maybe that’s one of the reasons I enjoyed it so much.  This next course, a deep red beet root violently splashed with a meaty beet sauce captured the essence of a heavier meat course without meat being the principal ingredient.  The sweetness of the beet and saltiness of the beef reduction went together quite nicely, creating a flavor much like during Thanksgiving when cranberry sauce brushes against gravy.  This was a pretty cool concept.

“Which came first?” - An egg-shaped white asparagus gelatin carrying an amber-orange colored chicken stock “yolk” that poured out when eaten.  Halved blanched almonds dotted the yolk.  Despite looking and textually ”feeling” like an egg in the mouth, this tasted like an asparagus cream soup.  This was a remarkable concept.

Bone marrow – This was perhaps the coolest course of the night, even if it shaved five years off my life.  On the plate we saw what appeared to be a rather large veal bone filled with some kind of liquid.  In reality, it was a gelatin made from heavy cream and bone marrow shaped like a bone, filled with a veal stock.  Chef Dacosta really got the texture of the gelatin right — it glistened in the light as a bone would, even with the same color striations.  The plate was dotted with a concentrated licorice paste, and our waiter told us to taste a bit of the paste after eating the bone marrow gelatin.  The licorice’s concentrated stevia-like sweetness combined with the residual fattiness in my mouth to create an almost sweet meaty butter flavor.  I loved this dish; I just wish I didn’t have so much guilt for having finished it.

Matcha tea - A trio of matcha tea desserts: a green tea macaron, an apple foam dusted with green tea, and a compressed granny smith apple soaked in green tea.  Overall a nice transition from savory into sweet.

Orange blossom honey - A light and fluffy honeycomb-shaped spongecake drizzled with orange blossom honey.  Interestingly, the honey tasted more like citrus than it did like honey.  It also wasn’t overly sweet.

And just like that the meal was over.  Hardly any meat, lots of shellfish, and very light on the dessert.  This man was reading my mind.

This was a magical meal and certainly at the same level as El Bulli.  And when El Bulli closes it will be quite sad; but one door closed opens another.  I am confident that Quique Dacosta will finally garner the attention it deserves.

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Quique Dacosta, at first, seems out of place.  It’s in the center of a tourist town and the tourists don’t eat there.  During high season, a large portion of the town is foreign: most signs are in German.  Regular ferries carry young club-goers eastward to the Balearic islands, while older couples stay behind to enjoy the serenity of the Mediterranean.  Except the restaurant is in exactly the right place; it’s clear that the local seafood has had a profound influence on Dacosta’s cooking.

Though Quique Dacosta doesn’t receive nearly as much hype as his compatriot Ferran Adrià, I’d argue that his cooking is equally as exciting.  And he’s just getting started.  When I made it to Quique Dacosta in 2009 I was blown away by his creative use of local shellfish and vegetables.  When I returned in 2011, I was even more impressed.

Our meal began with Universo Local, the more extensive of the two tasting menus.

White truffle from montgo - A truffle-shaped dehydrated parmesan mousse with the strong fragrance of white truffle.  The concentrated aroma was noticible even before the truffle was placed on the table.  This was Dacosta’s version of a gougère, the French cheesy puff pastry.  The flavor of this dish was a bit too sweet for me, but its fragrance was intoxicating.  It was also light and fluffy — no more than two bites.

The Living Forest - A collection of mushrooms and greens laced with black truffles julienne growing from an edible dirt floor.  The dish was beautiful and evocative of a crawl through the forest floor.  It was an edible piece of art that transported us to the forest.  Despite its beauty, I thought this course too was a little too sweet.  I was beginning to get worried that Chef Dacosta had a heavy hand with the sugar.  Thankfully, this assumption turned out to be wrong.

Primavera - “Spring on the plate” – Lobes of foie gras mixed with raw local prawns, decorated with candied leaves and flowers.  Oh my god!  The creaminess of the sweet prawns blended with the fatty foie gras making them taste even richer.  The buttery taste of the liver amplified the prawns’ sweetness.  This was a dish where the very subtle sweetness from the candied leaves worked — they complimented the shellfish.  Overall this was an excellent dish, both beautiful and delicious.

Essential oyster - A thick slab of oyster atop an oyster leaf, topped with a transparent oyster gelee.  This dish took everything I like about oysters: the soft meaty texture, subtle brine, and sweetness, and amplified them.  The algae used to make the gelee seemed to pair perfectly; it extended the texture of the oyster making it taste like a single piece of enormous shellfish, without diluting the flavor.  The oyster leaf further fortified the briny taste.  This was a strong taste of the sea, fresh and briny without too much salt.  I loved this course.

Iceberg “evoking a hit of the sea” - Continuing with the shellfish theme, algae and sea barnacles covered by a crab and almond “cloud.”  This was another awesome dish, a play on textures concentrating on the taste of the ocean.

The Haze - A miniature sweet pea forest of almonds, mushrooms, small flowers, black truffle, and edible dirt.  The “forest” was served over dry ice creating a fog that covered our table.  The fog actually added to the fish by re-creating the wet damp feeling of walking in the forest in the early morning.  We were transported to the woods.

Our waiter brought a pair of specially made tweezers to eat this course item-by-item which heightened our appreciation for the ingredients; it forced us to eat carefully.  The diversity of textures on this plate, from crispy peas to soft mushrooms made it really balanced.  This was one of my favorite courses of the afternoon.  Every bite was different.

Wood - A generous lobe of roasted foie gras with the skin from toasted Jerusalem artichokes in a duck bouillon.  The toasted skins added a smokey flavor that helped counterbalance the fatty mouthfeel from the foie gras.  The duck broth helped to rehydrate the artichoke skin.  This dish ushered in a sharp transition from light seafood to creamy offal.  I thought the portioning of the dish was a bit large, but then again, can one have too much foie gras?

Ashes - A play on texture and colors in this dark dish.  The ink-black and charcoal colors combined with the crispy squeaking from the dehydrated chips made the experience of eating this dish feel like rummaging through a pile of spent firewood.  The landscape was fantastic.  The flavor was salty with hints of sweetness and a deep earthy flavor from the mushrooms.  The drying of the mushrooms to create this dish actually concentrated their flavor.

Denia shrimp - It’s worth visiting Denia just for this local variety of shrimp.  Gorgeous colors of red, orange, and brown streaked by green and lavender inside.  These prawns — lightly boiled in seawater — were sweet and meaty.  They were served by themselves — no garnish or saucing.  We were instructed to eat as much of the shrimp as possible — head, brain, tail, and even some of the softer legs.  The only thing this course was missing was a second round.  These were some of the sweetest shrimp I’d ever had.

Denia’s pink prawn - It was this course that showed me Quique Dacosta sure knows what he is doing, or at the very least, has an uncanny ability to pander to my palate.  The previous course introduced the raw natural beauty of Denia’s local shellfish.  This course improved upon it without distracting from the natural flavors.  Both courses and their succession showed that Dacosta has a very fine understanding of the area’s local ingredients, when to step in to enhance their flavor, and when to step back and let them speak for themselves.  The prawns were sauced in a broth made from the shrimp’s brain and decorated with local edible flowers.  This dish was stunningly beautiful and was probably the best tasting prawn I’ve ever had.  This was my favorite course of the afternoon.

Sea beet - Sea urchin in a beet root emulsion.  This presented sea urchin in a way I hadn’t tried before, with a sweet vegetal foundation.  This course was a bit heavy on the sweetness, and the cooked flavor of beet distracted from the sweetness of the sea urchin.  It wasn’t my favorite of the afternoon but I was still in ecstasy from the previous courses that I didn’t think much of it.

Coral - Sea urchin, crab, salmon roe, and algae.  This was a fantastic course — a collection of shellfish brought together by the subtle vegetal bitterness of algae.  A potpourri of textures from the sea.  This course was also served cool which made it particularly refreshing.  It was like a briney seafood palate cleanser.

Mark Rothko Saffron – If this course doesn’t represent “art on a plate,” I’m not sure what does.  A generous filet of pan fried red mullet with a puree of celeriac on a transparent glass plate.  Underneath the plate was a maroon-red color gradient used to visually turn the dish into a piece of art similar to the work of Rothko.  This dish tasted great too: smooth and juicy red mullet that developed a shellfish like flavor crowned by crispy skin.

Senia rice - Black rice topped with black truffle, braised woodcock, and black truffle caviar.  This was an incredible dish similar in appearance to the previous “ashes” dish except topped with gorgeous black truffle.  The aroma of truffle was incredibly fragrant, and this paired very nicely with the more mild senia rice.  The crispy “truffle caviar” added textural contrast making this one balanced dish.  This was another highlight of the afternoon.

Orange in the winter - Bright and sweet blood orange in various textures: foam, crisp, cold sorbet, whole fruit.  This was really refreshing and the acidity from the citrus completely reset my palate.

Litchis - A tasting of lychee with different textures: meringue, gelee, powder, foam, and cream.  The sweetness of this course was more pronounced, but the sugar helped to bring out the flavor of the lychee.  I loved this dessert.

Matcha tea - A matcha tea sponge with matcha tea ice cream.  There was a very subtle bitterness from the green tea which tempered the sugar making this a balanced dessert.

We finished this meal with a great big smile on our faces.  The creativity of the plating in combination with the clever flavor combinations made this one of the most memorable meals I’ve experienced.  Even more, the creativity wasn’t random: the dishes had a strong focus on local ingredients and the natural gifts Denia had to offer.

In just a few hours Quique Dacosta had jumped on my radar from a relatively distant chef to one with whom I was already planning a return visit.  I left the meal in awe of my experience and the flavors I had tasted.  There was something special here.  And I don’t think the restaurant is getting the attention it deserves.

But it wasn’t until my most recent visit last week that I discovered why, I believe, Quique Dacosta is soon to become the most interesting chef in the world…

To be continued …

Related Posts:

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Beige is essentially a restaurant by a high-end designer in collaboration with Alain Ducasse. The food is also pretty good. The menu highlights traditional French ingredients, most of which are flown in from Europe. The dishes read in Alain Ducasse style with a simple ingredient made bold by a bombardment of luxurious accoutrements. The restaurant’s dishes are consistent and familiar.

Dining room of Beige, Tokyo – Floor-to-ceiling windows let in the glowing lights of Tokyo’s “Fifth Avenue,” the Ginza fashion district.

Cocktail room – Grab a drink before the meal begins

Gougères – Warm and airy cheese puffs, straight from the oven.

Preserved foie gras, sour apple, quince marmalade – A stick of foie gras pâté with sour apple and quince for acidity. This went great with the warm bread rolls.

Foie gras and chestnut-filled ravioli, sauteed vegetables, duck bouillon – Thin pockets of ravioli filled with creamy foie gras. The duck bouillon was a bit salty which was fine when eaten in combination with the chestnuts which needed the additional salting, but made the sweetness of the liver tough to taste.

Sea scallops, quickly seared, lettuce cream flavored with hazelnut butter, shaved white truffle – A giant sea scallop atop a bed of creamy lettuce puree and rich hazelnut butter. The combination of the hazelnut butter with the strong scent of the white truffle was intoxicating. The scallop was almost an afterthought, a small baguette with hazelnut butter and white truffle is all this dish really needed.

Farm-raised egg cooked “en cocotte,” butternut squash trompettes, mushrooms and white truffle – This was a dish that sounded better on the menu. There was too much “noise” distracting from the thick and runny egg yolks — they were barely detectable amongst the sea of crouton bits and cream sauce.

Langoustines roasted with black pepper, celery/pineapple flavoured in a coco/curry sauce – A firm tail of Brittany lobster over a coconut and curry-infused lobster reduction. This was delicious. The intensity of the sauce was much like a strong lobster bisque, only with a hint of sweet curry — almost like a nutty nutmeg flavor. The lobster was quite firm though not overcooked, a property of the Breton lobster.

Bresse chicken, seasonal vegetables, black truffle sauce with grated truffles – A thick chunk of Bresse chicken breast with turnip, carrot, and black truffle. The chicken was really dry which made it tough to enjoy this course. The truffles also lacked fragrance. This was my least favorite course of the night.

Cheese plate:
- Beaufort with dried grape, apricot, jujube palm, and fig.
- Roves des Garrigues, tappenade of black olives
- Bleau d’auvergne, endives, salad with walnut marmelade
- Munster, flavored with cumin, gewurztraminer jelly

Raspberry sablé with almond - A thin raspberry-flavored wafer with a weightless almond cake, topped with fresh raspberries, caramel, and a raspberry sauce. This was light and its hint of acidity welcome after a string of heavy main dishes.

Roasted apple with chestnut ice cream – This dish just tasted like the fall. Warm apples with cinnamon, caramel, nutmeg, and a generous scoop of chestnut ice cream.

Petits fours

Marshmallows

Pot de crème – laced with a fine layer of raspberry

Chanel chocolates – Dark chocolate embossed with the Chanel logo.

Take-home macarons – Green “matcha” tea, passion fruit, and raspberry.

The meal was a lot of fun and I left absolutely stuffed, but I can’t say the dishes were exciting or revelatory. The restaurant seemed a bit more about style than substance with most of the dishes being familiar flavors with expensive ingredients used for the sole purpose of making the dish seem more “luxurious” without adding much to the taste.

I think it’s worth stopping by to see the space because the design really is something special. Maybe for an appetizer or small snack from the à la carte menu. But it’s hard to justify a full meal here when there are so many more exciting and original places in Tokyo.

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Located in the basement floor of a nondescript building in Ginza, Sushi Kanesaka is unassuming.  Its thirty-something year old chef, Shinji Kanesaka, offers no indication from talking with him that he holds two Michelin stars.  He is both humble and friendly.

The restaurant only serves omakase.  However Chef Kanesaka’s palette seems to prefer shellfish, which is what I would mostly order anyway.  What made this restaurant so special aside from the freshness of ingredients was the fish selection: I wouldn’t have ordered anything different from what was served.  Chef Shinji Kanesaka read my mind.

Fluke sashimi – Thin slices of lean fluke with a glass of Sapporo beer.

Uni sashimi – Cold, firm, milky, and sweet.  Serving this so early in the meal was a sign that this was going to be a good night.

Chuo-toro sashimi – Medium fatty tuna.

Simmered ankimo – Monkfish liver in a ponzu sauce.  The creaminess of the liver, with a texture similar to firm foie gras, contrasted against the bright sauce.  This was exceptional.

Grilled kobashira – Small scallops dry roasted on a wooden skewer.  The roasting process gave the scallops a second skin that was tougher than the translucent inside.  It also added a hint of smokiness.  I really liked these.

Simmered abalone before slicing – Whole abalone simmered in its seawater.

Simmered abalone – Sliced and served warm, sashimi style.

Akamai – Lean tuna brushed with soy sauce.

Toro – Full fatty tuna.  This might have been the softest piece of Tuna I have ever tasted.  The cold creaminess of the fish in combination with the short-lived, nose-strong spice from the wasabi sent chills down my spine.

Hamachi – Yellowtail sushi.  It’s amazing how similar the texture was to the fatty tuna, only a little bit firmer.

Aji – Japanese jack mackerel.  Just a hint of skin was left on.

Ika – Firm and chewy.

Kohada – A bit fishy from the brining process, but in a really good way.  This was a bit more mild than saba (mackerel) and less salty.  The taste of vinegar was powerful, clearing my palate for what was to come.

Uni sushi – No frills sea urchin and rice.  Even the seaweed, which usually wraps around the rice preventing the urchin from spilling over, was left out.  This made the texture extra creamy and sweet, as the saltiness from the seaweed was omitted.  I can still taste this course in my mouth.

Akagai – Arc shell clam.  Sort of looked like an octopus grabbing hold of a chunk of rice.  (Or a scalp massager.)  My friend actually teared while eating this.  He said it was the best piece of fish he’d ever tasted in his life.

Miso cod sushi – Cod glazed and roasted in miso sauce.  This was sweet and served warm.

Tekamaki – Tuna roll.  Sometimes the best bites comes from a simple combination of super-crispy seaweed with warm rice.

Tamago – Egg omelette.  This was sweet and custardy, more like a pâte de fruit.

Chef Kanesaka and his assistant spent most of the night cracking jokes with us, switching modes between quiet and masterful sushi chef and someone who would be a lot of fun to hang out with.  This friendly and interactive demeanor really put us at ease, particularly when we had questions about the food or about sushi in general.  Chef Kanesaka got as much enjoyment out of us enjoying his food as we did tasting it.

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Located in a suburb of Torino, Combal is not the easiest restaurant to get to.  As I exited the subway and ventured towards the restaurant, I battled for thirty minutes against an intense downpour up steep and winding hills until finally, the large glass walls overlooking the modern art museum greeted me like a light at the end of a tunnel.  I arrived soaking wet, but the warm and friendly staff masked the squeak of my shoes with laughter and grace.

Panelle con gazpacho – An amuse bouche of small cubes of deep-fried Sicilian chickpea fritters with a cold, smooth, and thin tomato soup.  This popular street food was served in a paper cone to enhance the effect.  The soup was salty and had a touch of cream.  The wooden sticks were a hint to dip the cubes into the soup before consumption.  These weren’t my favorite bites of the night, but I was so hungry after my hike that I wasn’t complaining.

Tonno di coniglio con verdure e salsa brusca – The first course of the night was a classic Piemontese dish where rabbit is prepared to develop the texture of lean tuna.  It was pretty convincing, and delicious.  This was served with carrots and zucchini julienne.  The meat was very lean.  Most remarkable was the loss of the chicken-texture that rabbit often has.  This really tasted more like a fish, than a piece of meat.

Crochette di baccalà mantecato, chips di patata violetta, tisana al Pastis – Small deep fried white fish croquettes with a mixed herb salad kicked up with crispy slices of blue potato.  The salad was delicate and full of colors, but I can’t say it tasted better than a dry bundle of tinted parsley.  The fish croquettes were dense and creamy, the flavor of fish quite strong.  I though this course was uninteresting.

And now, the wines for the night as part of our tasting:

• Brut Zero 2000.  Podere Rocche dei Manzoni di Valentino.
• Fiano D’Avellino, colli di Lapio 2006, Celia Romano
• Chardonnay Bouchet 2003, Moccagatta
• HY Super Beer 11 1/2 Vol.
• Bianco Kaplya 2005, Damijan
• Ribera del Duero “Valdeatives”
• Domino de Atauta 2000
• Josephine Rogue 2004, Marco de Bartoli

Langaroll – Veal “sashimi,” foie gras, deep fried potato, scallion.  This was outstanding.  What an original idea.  Pink layers of lean veal wrapped around foie gras filled with crispy potato and scallion strips.  This was a play on a sushi roll, a Japanese maki without the rice and with meat appearing almost identical to fresh tuna.  I loved the combination of the fatty foie gras and crispy potato; the potato salted the liver while adding a hint of earth.

Raviolone “George Cogny” - A large egg-yolk and potato raviolo topped with shaved black truffle.  The yolk poured out of the paper-thin pasta with the slightest pressure from my fork.  The potato absorbed much of the yolk, but ultimately the flavor was bland.  The portion was also quite large.

Riso Aquarello Vialone Nano, fegato grasso d’oca, carciofi – Gorgeous grains of rice with foie gras and artichoke.  The rice was sticky, giving way to an initial subtle crunch and a grassy aftertaste.  This went surprisingly well with the artichoke.  The foie gras was the icing on the cake, its creaminess bringing all the ingredients together.  This dish had a clear focus on the quality of each individual ingredient, although apparently simple in preparation.

Zuppa di piccione, foie gras, asparagi, composta de cipolla – I’m pretty sure every part of the pigeon was used in this dish.  In terms of appearance, the plate looked a bit like a pigeon getting hit by a car.  The flavor and textures, however, were another story.  This was some of the most tender pigeon I have ever had, without a single trace of fat underneath the skin.  The flavor was gamey with a subtle hint of wine and asparagus.

Lingua di vitello, puree di patate di Ratte – A giant block of veal tongue over mashed potatoes with a red wine reduction.  Another all-star course, albeit a meal in itself.  The meat was soft and supple, its honeycomb of fat visible with the slightest tug.  The mashed potatoes and red wine reduction filled every pore.

Hot chocolate in the wind – At first glance this appears to be an ordinary chocolate custard.  But the mint-flavored “lip balm” is to be applied to the lips first simulating drinking a cup of warm and thick hot chocolate on a cold winter night.  This dish is exemplary of the simple yet out-of-the-box thinking for which Scabin truly has a gift.

Our final dessert was a handful of petits fours served on what appeared to be a plastic shelving unit designed specifically for this purpose.

The beginning of the meal started out quite slow, but quickly picked up and shot forward about half-way through.  Only at the end of the meal did I learn that Scabin was not in the kitchen this evening, which is consistent with the tameness of this meal compared to others that I’d read about.

While the dishes were executed perfectly, demonstrating the skill of his highly talented team, there was a spark missing.  Not that there was anything really unenjoyable about the meal, I just think that this restaurant has the potential to be one of the most innovative in the world.  It felt like someone hit the mute button.  I’m going to have to return again when chef Scabin is in the kitchen.  The meal can only get better.

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To start, the restaurant only accepts reservations via their website.  Starting from 10am, spots fill up in a matter of seconds.  This got pretty frustrating after the first two weeks.  I wrote a small python script to automatically find the next available reservation and to book it.  Except it didn’t work.  In some cases the day opened with no available tables.  Other times availability lasted just an instant. In other words, people were clicking so quickly that even automated attempts were stressful and futile.  I gave up after a few weeks of trying, until one day, I saw the green check of availability.

To further complicate things, the lower east side restaurant is easy to miss: it looks like a shop with the security gates permanently locked.  The entrance is completely encased in a ragged metal mesh which blocks out most daylight, reminiscant of the eletromagnetic mesh cage in which Gene Hackman‘s extremely paranoid character worked in Enemy of the State.  It’s fenced up like a prison.  It’s very unwelcoming.

The service was laid-back yet distant.  It seemed like the staff was playing out a more formal service than perhaps they were accustomed to.  The interior was silent and scary.  It was as if they secretly hated everyone there; but couldn’t decide just how much right away.  The chefs, or at least the one working in front of me, were like David Chang robots.  When I asked about the strict no-photo policy, I was hammered with a verbatim recitation of David Chang’s interview with Anthony Bourdain–complete with identical pauses and sighs.  His trained response was “it’s just food … [pause to build suspense] … man.”

In spite of David Chang’s intense disdain, I wrote down notes about what I was eating.  The maitre’d sneered at me throughout the meal.  I felt like I was doing something wrong for wanting to remember my meal accurately.  I didn’t even think about asking for a printed menu after seeing the intense dislike directed towards a guy a few seats down from me asking questions.

However, despite the serious service problems, and overwhelming feelings of coldness and discomfort, the 19-course tasting was overall delicious, filled with bursts of genius.

Crayfish arancino: a baked rice ball coated with breadcrumbs and filled with chunks of crayfish.  This was served warm, like an Italian gougère.  It could have used a pinch more salt.  I was so worried this would burn my mouth, but it was just the right temperature.

Pomme soufflé, crème fraîche, hackleback caviar: a miniature cylindrical tube of pomme soufflé filled with crème fraîche and topped with caviar.  The caviar acted as the salting element, combining earth and sea, making this a very balanced bite.

Greenmarket radish, salted butter: a mid-sized mild radish without much burn.  The butter was on the sweeter side.  In general I prefer saltier, stronger tasting butters like Beurre de Bordier served at l’Arpège or Manresa, so I wasn’t crazy about this one.

Island Creek oyster, hackleback caviar, lime, chive: this was served sashimi-style on a cube of packed ice in a wooden stand. Just like at Masa or Urasawa.  The lime was generously applied, cutting through much of the brine.  Overall this tasted exceptionally fresh and clean.

Kanpachi, lemon jam, white soy sauce, daikon sprout: the freshness of the amberjack was apparent immediately by the crunchy texture with a subtle sweetness.  The lemon jam was used very sparingly adding just a hint of acidity and brightness to the fish.

Long Island fluke, tobanjyan, picked scallion, chive blossom, suba stem, two-year-aged soy sauce: at first this dish sounded overly complicated; but the combinations of sweet, salty, and spicy all came together really well with the fresh fish, providing a generous range of textures.  The slightly fermeted chili sauce on here added a level of complexity.

Diver scallop, meyer lemon juice & zest, freeze-dried soy sauce, shiso, watermelon radish: a chunky diver scallop salted by coarse flakes of dehydrated soy sauce.  The meyer lemon brightened the entire dish, particularly the crunchy slices of water-laden radish cubes.  This provided an overall fantastic aroma and flavor making it my hands-down favorite dish of the afternoon.  This was the last dish served on the block of compressed ice.

Uni, yuba, puffed black rice, horseradish, suba stems:  the yuba had a smooth tannic quality that complimented the sweet creaminess of the sea urchin.  Small puffs of black rice added textural contrast while a hint of horseradish lifted the sweetness.

Soft-shell crab hand roll, sugar snap peas, XO sauce, kewpie mayonnaise, dried shrimp: a very crunchy crab shell that crunched with each bite.  It was pretty spicy.  What killed this dish for me was that the hand roll was left sitting on the counter a little too long making the nori soggy.  Seaweed surrounding a hand roll has a shelf-life of about 15 seconds.  After that the dry seaweed crunch yields to wet sogginess.

Warm sliced octopus, mustard-cured cabbage, sea beans, lime, espelette aioli, buckwheat croquette: the octopus was sliced so thin that it melted on the buckwheat croquette.  It developed a fatty texture not unlike lardo.

Puffed egg, Benton’s bacon dashi, kombu soaked in soy sauce, bagel stuffed with bacon-chive cream cheese:  this was awful, the least enjoyable dish of the afternoon.  It was kind of like a soft wet omelette dumped in a bowl of dashi.  The fluffy egg began to disintegrate in the broth almost instantly, like the remnants of a breakfast buffet trolly.

Pea soup, housemade soft tofu, morels, bacon salt, radish sprouts: a very soft tofu sitting inside a thin broth of peas.  Like the soggy puffed egg above, this was a mix of textures that I didn’t find appealing.  The flavor of the pea soup was also bland.

Turbot poached in cherry blossom broth, hackleback caviar, hearts of palm, cucumber, lemongrass oil, swiss chard: a firm nugget of overcooked turbot served in strips that had been rolled before poaching.  The fish was a bit under-salted despite the addition of hackleback caviar.

Cannelloni of rabbit leg & liver, rabbit bacon, fennel frond puree, minced fennel, pork cheek sauce: I liked how the licorice flavor from the fennel brought out the sweetness of the rabbit leg.  However the pasta became spongy very quickly, perhaps from a second cooking in the fennel frond puree.

Shaved foie gras, lychee, pine nut brittle, riesling gelee: this was a brilliant dish, turning the foie gras into a creamy accompaniment that lasted as long as each bite on the plate.  The frozen foie gras melted in my mouth like snow.  The saltiness of the shaved liver with sweetness of the lychee swirled together in balance.  This is a recipe I will certainly be trying at home, although the idea of shaving frozen foie gras gives me chills.

Long Island duck stuffed under the skin with vadouvan-spiced duck sausage, grilled rice & baby leeks, cassis & vadouvan sauce: this was excellent.  The duck was uniformly soft and juicy crowned with a thin crispy layer of fat.  The meat itself was somehow lean but not dry at all.

Manchester cheese from Consider Bardwell Farm, compressed pineapple, pistachio praliné, ground pistachio: the sweetness of the pineapple overwhelmed the delicate flavor of the cheese making the entire dish too sweet.  I did like the crunch from the chunks of candied pistachio, but the cheese was almost an afterthought.

Parsnip ice cream, grapefruit, hazelnut nougat, fudge: the frozen nougat had an elastic texture that was both chewy and crunchy at once.  It tasted like the grapefruit had been soaked in sugar water as it had no bitterness.  Overall, a nice dessert.

Arnold Palmer sorbet, ice tea gelée, lemon cake crumble: A tart sorbet sitting atop a crunchy lemon cake.  The ice tea gelée had a surprisingly crunchy texture as well.

My take-home gift was a small jar of pickled carrots and radish that made a surprisingly nice snack later that night.

Of all the Momofuku restaurants this is certainly the most refined, rife with bold and innovative flavors.  A little tweaking of the menu could lift some of the roller coaster lows making the tasting even stronger. Based on food alone, this is probably the most interesting restaurant in the city right now.  It sort of hurts to say that since the service and atmosphere is just terrible; but it’s the truth.

So while I probably won’t return, that doesn’t mean that Ko doesn’t warrant a first-time visit.  Just leave your camera at home, and bring a lot of patience.

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But at the same time, an ingredient’s source should never supersede flavor. Just because hand-picked moss comes from the high hills of northern Hokkaido, or if tomatoes come picked this morning from a farm nearby, doesn’t mean they will necessarily taste good.

Unfortunately, there are few restaurants that combine an ingredient’s unique naturalness with an inventive cuisine that doesn’t take the spotlight away from nature. It’s usually a tradeoff. Noma has both. The unique flora and fauna found in Scandinavia provides a full spectrum of ingredients with which René Redzepi, chef of Noma Copenhagen, can paint into sophisticated flavor.

Noma, a play on the words “nordic” and “food” in Danish, is located seaside in a 250 year old industrial complex now converted into lofts and large open spaces.  The decor is minimalist nordic warmed by exposed wooden beams.  Though open and uncluttered, the small windows can at times make the lighting dim if not seated directly next to a window.

Service was exceptional from the very beginning, when I was greeted by name as being the last member of a party of four to arrive.  It could be because I was eating with a well-known Parisian restaurateur and two established food bloggers; though, glancing around the room revealed the restaurant’s unique ability to feel as if each table is the only table in the restaurant.  The staff in general was extremely proud of the food it served and genuinely wanted guests to feel at home and to enjoy the experience.  This was one of the warmest and most genuine lunch services I’ve ever experienced.  I felt at home throughout the entire meal.

Amuse bouche – savoury cookie; speck, blackcurrant.  These were crispy and salty with a hint of sweetness.  It was a nice accompiament to a glass of champagne.  These bite-sized portions served in a tin can.

Amuse bouche – rye bread, fava beans, chicken skin and smoked cheese.  This was also salty with hints of chicken stock and no detectable fat whatsoever.  Beans were added texture to the paste, like potato skin in pommes purées.  Smoked cheese gave depth and emphasized the saltiness.

Amuse bouche – smoked quail egg. For me this was more about the texture than flavor.  It was a lot of fun to eat.  The warm egg bursted in my mouth like a little explosion.  There was a stark contrast from white to yolk, this was cooked just enough to solidify the shell while keeping the inside fluid.  The flavor was rich and creamy, like an intensified egg yolk.

Amuse bouche – radish and turnip, soil and herbs. Cool concept.  A radish was buried in a ceramic pot full of edible “dirt.”  It literally felt like I was literally eating dirt as some parts of the soil were even hard to chew, like they contained little pebbles.  The imagery of this dish was very powerful, like stopping for a quick snack in a friend’s greenhouse.  The flavor was light and clean with a hint of burn as found in very fresh radishes.

Amuse bouche – toast, herbs, beurre noisette and vinegar. Gorgeous presentation; a lot like fresh snow fallen on a pile of greens.  There was a slight acidity on the vegetables from the vinegar as frequently seen in Nordic cuisine.  For me this was prettier than it tasted, but it did feel like talking a hungry walk through an herb garden.

Squid and white currant; cream and dill. This was absolutely breathtaking both in flavor and presentation.  The highlight of the meal.  The squid was chewy but nothing like the pencil eraser texture some varieties of squid can develop.  This was a different type, translucent and snippy.  I’ve had similar squid before in Kozue (こずえ） and Sukiyabashi Jiro (すきやばしじろ) where it was referred to as Monga-ika (もんがいか).  I’m not sure what that’s called outside of Japan; but I’d like to hunt it down and buy some.  The chewy squid complemented very nicely with the pristine white currant.

Apple, walnut, walnut milk, marjoram.  This had a very subtle flavor and the thin slices of walnut and apple did not help in tasting the ingredients.  This dish was more about the texture than the taste, which was crispy and cold.

Shrimp and seaweed; rhubarb and herbs.  The pickled rhubarb was astringent and gave a tannic-sensation when combined with the raw shrimp, highlighting its sweetness and milky texture.  The fresh sea lettuce added a hint of bitterness resulting in an overall balanced and fresh dish.  I really liked this as it felt clean yet unconventional.

Sea urchin and grilled cucumber; Dill and cream.  To say that I enjoyed this dish is an understatement.  Big chunks of firm and cold sea urchin jumping out of of a frozen grilled cucumber granité.  The granité not only amplified the urchin’s sweet taste of the sea; but served functionally to keep the texture solid and dense.  The dill brought the whole dish closer to shore by adding a hint of the garden.

Tartar and wood sorrel; rromatic juniper and tarragon.  When I first saw this plate, I was immediately struck by the ordered chaos throughout the dish.  While the wood sorrel was disordered and densely packed, like a wild meadow,  it still remained confined to a rigid square.  The sorrel leaves sat atop a coarsely ground square of Danish beef tartar.  The clover-shaped leaves were large enough to serve as utensils for bite-sized portions of beef, so forks and knives were neither necessary nor given.  The sensation of eating this simple and pure dish with your fingers added another sense to the dish: touch.  This immersive experience powerfully evoked imagery of cows grazing on an open field.  The flavors of the dish were simple and unalloyed.  I wouldn’t call this  the best tasting dish of the meal; but I would certainly call it the most interesting.

Langoustine and seawater; parsley and rye.  A plump langoustine sat atop a warm basalt stone taken from a local field, not unlike a cold-blooded reptile basking in the sun.  The texture of the langoustine was firm and stringy, the flavors unaided by spicing.  This dish was also eaten without a fork and knife.  I liked the langoustine; but, would have preferred it to be slightly undercooked.

Steamed spinach and tea; swedish cheese, elderberries and pickled rose hip.  This dish was prettier than it was flavorful.  The melange of ingredients didn’t seem to have much coherency and the flavors were unfocused.  Most distracting was the strong taste of earl grey.    The tea foam made the greens a bit soggy, like a salad that had been sitting around for awhile.

Local, wild mushroom (pied de boeuf/amador); skate sauce, nasturtium, elderberry capers.  Our waiter brought this dish out from the kitchen to get a glance at the sheer size of the mushroom before being plated.  One of the biggest I’d seen.  He brought this out in part to prevent the mushroom from dying out, but also for a small show, as the mushroom was continuously sauced in front of us.  The mushroom was full of water which diluted the flavor, leaving behind the strong sour and acidic taste of the elderberry capers.

Onions from Læsø; chick weed and onion bouillon.  This was a beautifully presented dish with a well thought out mix of playful textures.  Contrasting against the crispy sweet onions were gummy beads of tapioca.  The flavor was dominated by the light onion broth; but remained overall soft on the palate.  The pearl beads were really entertaining to chew, and broke up the monotony of what would be a normally crispy salad.

Salsify and milk skin; truffle from Gotland.  Another beautifully presented dish containing black truffles from northern Sweden.  The truffles were mild and really required my nose to get close to the plate to smell them.  The flowers were pretty; but didn’t taste very good.  I brushed them to the side of the plate.  The milk skin had a texture and flavor identical to yuba which was creamy and pliable but dull.  The truffles in theory should have carried this dish; but since they were not the most fragrant, the overall effect was of warm milk.  Not my favorite dish of the afternoon.

Pickled vegetables and bone marrow; herbs and bouillon.  Very attractive presentation; a collection of greens and marrow sprouting out of the plate.  The pickled vegetables, however, were to strong and overpowering, adding an overall sour taste to the dish.  I also did not like eating lukewarm marrow with colder vegetables as there was too much of a contrast.  However, this light salad did manage to make the fatty marrow taste clean and delicate.

Sweetbread and bleek roe; Söl and sea salt.  This was outstanding.  Milky and sweet sweetbread resting in a briny and salty bleek roe broth.  The oceanic taste cut through the fattiness of the sweetbread which, aside from the texture, made it taste like something in-between meat and fish.  The roe, and what seemed like a hint of lemon, added a touch of acidity to an otherwise flat dish.

Lamb and horseradish; fresh salad and pickled ramson onion.  Another exceptional presentation screaming garden fresh.  The lamb however was quite firm surrounded by a very thick shell of fat which I separated from the meat before eating.

Carrots; buttermilk and anis.  This might have been the first time I’ve seen carrots used as the dominant flavor in a dessert.  It worked nicely, with the exception of the frozen buttermilk in the middle which was very cold without an easily detectible flavor.  I think that was the point as to let the carrots dominate; but something a bit stronger and more complimentary would have carried this dish further.

The snowman from Jukkasjärvi; cloudberries and wild thyme.  I didn’t particularly like this dessert.  It tasted like a snow cone of powder, just without the syrup.  The dish had the strong scent of thyme which was too intensely vegetal at this point in the meal.

Walnut powder and ice cream; Dried cream and dried berries.  This dessert was outstanding.  So much so, in fact, that the table unanimously asked for a second serving.  Our waiter laughed; then realized we were serious, happily returning with a repeat round.  Conceptually unique, this dessert had a mix of textures that gave me chills: crunchy, squeaky, slimy, creamy, and brittle.  The dried berries added a touch of astringency which complimented the walnut powder and ice cream.  Wow.

I left this lunch with a deep and sincere appreciation for the sheer number of new vegetables and mushrooms I’d tried, as well as how chef Redzepi took a step back to let their natural flavors come through.  Most of the ingredients just aren’t accessible anywhere else.  The staff was full of smiles the entire meal, proud and extremely knowledgable of every ingredient on every plate. A handful of dishes were phenomenal, the rest require a bit more refinment to compete with the all-stars.  I would definitely go back, in fact I can’t wait to return; but, I think the restaurant needs a little more time to experiment and polish its massive ingredients list to better identify what works and what does not.

Noma humbly accedes to the need to continue research and experimentation.  After the meal, Chef Redzepi was kind enough to give us a tour of the research facility next door, the Nordic Food Lab, whose purpose is to document and catalog the flavors found in new Nordic ingredients they encounter for which there is not much information.  The food lab floats on a converted house boat with a full kitchen and a hotel-like setup designed to host foreign chefs so they can share their culinary experiences with Noma.

Noma is incredibly innovative and brave enough to experiment and take risks.  With time and patience, I have no doubt Noma can only perfect itself.

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The restaurant is located on a small side street in Roppongi.  The area used to be a bit seedy but after the construction of Roppongi Hills (六本木ヒルズ) completed in 2003, the neighborhood perked up.  Now it is known for its sophisticated nightlife including a handful burgeoning restaurants eager to collect their stars.  Yet despite being in such a lively neighborhood, RyuGin remains humble and quiet having just under twenty seats.

The service at RyuGin, like the service at nearly every other fine dining establishment in the city, was flawless and graceful.  The staff spoke with tremendous knowledge about the menu yet remained impressively humble.  The stage was set for a fantastic meal. Everything was ready, that is, except the food.

I was the only one at the table who enjoyed the first course, Atelier RyuGin’s home made bottarga served with daikon radish in yuzu flavor.  A thin slice of cured tuna roe served atop two smoked logs.  The dried roe was salty and firm, with a texture not unlike leather.  The flavor was intensely salty and of intense dried fish.  I thought this was a nice accompaniment to a glass of champagne.

Special oyster from Akkeshi, Hokkaido served with smoked oyster purée and ponzu vinegar with céleri-rave.  This was the first disappointing course.  The oyster was very salty and its only flavor that of unpleasant fish.  The ponzu vinegar was too assertive distracting from any sweet components the oyster may have contributed.  The portioning was purportedly for one bite; but that was impossible unless your mouth looks like Shrek’s.

Ankimo, monkfish liver, served with ark shell clam, winter vegetable in apple vinegar, miso, and mustard.  Another disappointment.  The liver was completely covered with a cold, flavorless paste that prevented any flavor from the monkfish from surfacing.  This did not taste like miso pastes that I was used to; this had no character.  The miso paste was also unnecessarily jelly-like.  Unfortunate, as I love monkfish liver.

Hot soup of matsuba brand Tanner crab from Port Shibayama in season’s greetings style.  The title of this dish made me chuckle inside a little.  This was delicious and perfect for a freezing cold winter day.  The subtle clear and lightly salted broth extracted and enhanced the sweetness of the crab.  The quality of the shellfish was immediately apparent as despite sitting in a hot broth for several minutes the stringy texture remained in tact to the end.  The crab added a subtle shellfish flavor and scent to the pristine broth, just enough to make it interesting and different from most Japanese clear broth soups.

Assorted sashimi “RyuGin style,” feel free to serve this to me anytime of day or night.  There is nothing but praise that I have for this course.  The freshest fish in the world were prepared in a way that allowed 100% of their natural flavor to come through.  A lightly seared scallop topped with osetra caviar, red snapper from nearby Osaka, lean tuna, and homard bleu.  An assortment of flavors and textures from crunchy to smooth, lean snapper to rich scallop.

Deep fried shark fin in cone,  a surprisingly enjoyable mix of crunchy fried breading and stringy shark fin.  I’m used to eating shark fin in soup; this was the first time I tasted it dry.  I loved this cone … textures were all over the place.  The salty batter somehow made the shark fin taste sweeter.

Crispy chargrilled “Akamutsu” with vinegar flavor on egg pudding, smooth taro potatoes.  As good as an egg pudding can taste, I suppose.  I have Japanese friends who go crazy for egg puddings like chawanmushi, as this is a very traditional dish.  Being a New yorker, I don’t have the same nostalgic connection.  (I can, however, enjoy mustard on my hot dog.)  The smooth taro potatoes made this entire dish have a texture of smooth pudding.  The textural monotony required that the flavor and temperatures be perfect: this dish was served just under room temperature and the flavor uneventful.

Venison with wasabi mashed potatoes and matsuke mushrooms. A thick cut of lean venison exquisitely cooked.  There was no cooking gradation from surface to center, all uniform.  The beautiful pink color glistened in the light.  But the real highlight of the plate was the wasabi mashed potatoes crowned with shaved black truffle.  The truffle was some of the most fragrant black truffle I have ever seen, easily detectable from across the room.  The squeaky matsuke mushroom was grilled just enough to remove the water and intensify the flavor without overcooking.  This was the highlight course of the night.

Steamed rice with cherry blossom tea topped with aromatic sakura shrimp from Shizuoka.  Another incredible course.  These tiny shrimp were eaten whole and had a very subtle flavor of shrimp.  Since they were so small, most of the flavor and texture came from the crispy shells.  The heads were the most flavorful part, I really wanted more.  These were served on top of rice cooked so perfectly that each grain developed a springy texture.  The rice stuck together without sacrificing its shape, a clear sign of perfect cooking.

The rice was also served with a bowl of miso soup and pickled vegetables.  There’s something really satisfying about pickled vegetables and rice at the end of a meal.  I haven’t figured it out yet.  It has the same closing effect that a sweet dessert has; except without the sweetness.  It leaves me with a very clean mouthfeel.

Fresh pear compote in Gewürtztraminer aroma and three citrus in maple syrup.  I got a little worried when I saw a ball of grapefruit pulp.  After the first bite I waited for the bitter acidity to attack, much like waiting for the pain after stubbing your toe.  Except it never came.  The bitterness was completely neutralized; perhaps the pulp was soaked in some kind of sugar water before. The dish was very refreshingly bright and sweet.

Fifth year anniversary special, ice cream of chocolate truffles, accompanied with fresh orange jam.  I don’t like chocolate ice cream and this was no different.  The flavor was infinitely stronger than any of the previous courses, completely erasing them from my palate.  This entire course, I believe, should have been skipped.  But my friend seemed to enjoy it.

Ultimately light Warabimochi cake in coconuts, genmai tea, and kinako powder.  Light cakes to close off the meal.  These went nicely with hojicha.

My meal at RyuGin was lackluster; though, it did certainly have its highlights: the assorted sashimi, shark fin, and venison were my favorite courses.  It was immediately clear that this was a very talented chef.  But the rest of the meal was a blur; nothing really jumped out as memorable.  And frankly, of the three courses I did enjoy, once was enough.  When I returned home I saw the meals of my friends Chuck and Cathy, both of whom seem to have had very different experiences.  Their strongly positive opinions aside, just from looking at the photos, it’s clear that they had a different experience.  Could it be that RyuGin is not what it used to be ?  Or simply that I had a single forgettable meal ?  I’d like to return at some point; but, I’m in no rush.

Wine pairings for the night:
- Arbois, Grand Elevage Vieilles Vignes 2006
- Mersault Vieilles Vignes 2006
- Pinot Blanc Vin d’Alsace Domaine Weinbach 1999
- Maison Louis Jadot & Domaine Ladoix 1999
- Clos Windsbuhl Gewurtztraminer 2005

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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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Perched on the second level of the luxurious Two Rodeo shopping center, Urasawa sits above some of the most famous designers in the world: Fendi, Cartier, Tiffany, Prada, Cerruti and Versace to name a few. But unlike the downstairs world of fashion and style, upstairs, flavor rules. But it’s not like the outside world is hidden; in fact, sunlight pours in through the large windows overlooking the most famous shopping street in the United States. Rather, the simplicity of the space combined with Chef Urasawa’s humility, sense of humor, and genuine good nature encourage pretense and entitlement to be left downstairs. Without a doubt, the combination of Chef Urasawa’s personality, skill, and selection of ingredients made this my best sushi meal in the United States.

Shortly after being seated Chef Urasawa introduced himself and asked Aaron and me for our names. While his soft-spoken sister Yoshi was taking our drink order he jotted them down on a piece of paper so he could address us each personally, an endearing gesture that would we certainly wouldn’t have seen at Masa most other sushi restaurants. He asked us if we had dietary restrictions or if there were fish we particularly didn’t like to which we happily explained: we eat everything. No; everything.

A few minutes later we got started with live Hokkaido botan ebi (spot prawn) with yuzu zest, shiso, and shiso flower atop a small bed of sweet daikon radish. While the placement of the small decorative flowers atop this dish may seem random, don’t be fooled — each petal was placed by Chef Urasawa with exacting precision. This was a very sweet dish, particularly because of the fresh shrimp and the shiso. The refreshing watery crunch of the daikon radish combined with the fresh shrimp’s firm chew made for a nice range of textures. I would have enjoyed a slight pinch of salt to lift the flavors of each ingredient a bit, but that would have masked the incredible natural sweetness of the shrimp.   We weren’t sure whether we should consider this dish an amuse bouche, or the first of the thirty three ”courses” that were to come.  But I guess that’s all a matter of who is counting.

While finishing the shrimp, Aaron and I began to hear small rhythmic crunches, like someone was jumping on a pile of leaves. In fact, Chef Urasawa was crunching the bones of a hamo, or king eel, a creature notorious for its abundance of tiny bones that, if improperly cut, can make the fish inedible. The eel was deep fried, marinated in a sweet and sour sauce, garnished with minced shiso and grated carrot, and served cold. The texture was meaty and firm, similar to a thick cut of turbot. The flavor was clean and refreshing; the dish lacked salting of any kind.

The next course exemplified Chef Urasawa’s modesty and devotion to seasonality: a single wedge of misu-nasu, or water eggplant, with what he called “a very special soy sauce.”  Sometimes a perfect vegetable needs neither cooking nor garnish. What an interesting texture this eggplant had: slightly more crunchy than a typical purple eggplant yet not at all starchy. We ate this with our hands which allowed us to feel the smooth, but not slimy, skin. A quick dip into the delicious soy sauce added just the right amount of salt, which worked to balance out the previous two sweeter dishes. I was tempted to ask for some more of this; but unsure of the quantity of food to come, I savored the moment and awaited what was to come.

If heaven came in a bowl, it would likely be the course that came next: a warm edamame custard with chilled Santa Barbara uni and live Botan ebi, topped with a sea of sweet ikura and garnished with miniature chives and gold leaf. Chef Urasawa insisted the gold leaf was good for the stomach, as well as visually beautiful. After the first bite Aaron and I began to laugh. This was the freshest salmon roe we had ever had: where was the salt?! Each bite was a burst of sweet nectar that made eating the sea urchin and shrimp not only incredibly flavorful, but fun! Urasawa explained that he marinates the roe himself. Not sure how he achieves this magical texture; it was as if the ikura would burst at the slighest pressure of the tongue … the “shell” was almost non-existent, like a bubble about to burst in air. The crunchy chives added textural contrast to the smooth custard. Basically, this dish had everything: sweet and salty, warm and cold, crunchy and smooth. This was dish I will likely continue to taste for a long time.

I never thought I could enjoy bouquets as gifts; but I was proven wrong. Sashimi bouquets from Urasawa are welcome anytime. Chef Urasawa served us otoro (fatty tuna) from Boston, kanpachi (yellowtail) from Toyama, and tai (red snapper) from Kyushu. Slices of these three fish sat among a lovingly prepared arrangement of fresh flowers, assorted seaweeds and freshly grated wasabi. This was all placed upon a hand-carved solid block of ice that Chef Urasawa explains he carves himself every morning. Both functional and beautiful, the block of ice resembled a rotating star. The white frosting around the ice made it look like origami from afar yet the temperature told otherwise. Butter-soft tuna was the first bite; the fat gently melted as it warmed in my mouth. The red snapper was surprisingly light. But the highlight was undoubtably the kanpachi, whose texture was in between crunchy and smooth, Aaron put down his chopsticks for a moment (a rare occurrence) and exclaimed “Oh god” — a sure sign of enjoyment.

Chef Urasawa’s dobin mushi came next, a warm therapeutic soup of matsutake mushroom, botan ebi, uni, tai, and ginko nut to contrast the cold sashimi we’d just eaten. This was served in a clay tea kettle with a cup so that all the ingredients, particularly the broth, could be enjoyed a bit at a time. Aaron sat back and waited for me to be the idiot to burn my tongue; this was hot. I was very happy with my bite of the red snapper which somehow neither fell apart nor became firm after sitting in this broth. The ebi’s firmness increased and became similar to a miniature lobster tail. There was also a wedge of yuzu bathing in the broth to add a citrus element to the flavor… a really nice addition to brighten things up. Two cups of the broth was enough for me; but a glance at Aaron’s kettle revealed a light blue pattern at the bottom, only visible when empty. I wish there had been some more gingko nuts… after marinating in the teapot they became chewy, aromatic and delicious.

Next came two small slices of lightly battered tender northern California awabi (abalone). Urasawa explained that he boils the abalone in sake and soy sauce for over six hours before deep frying them — this is how he gets the texture so succulent. The abalone was served on tempura paper with a small wedge of yuzu to cut through the oily mouthfeel. I tried to keep this in my mouth for as long as possible, though the amazing tenderness wasn’t making that easy. It was absolutely delicious — salt, citrus, brine all at the same time — and I didn’t want it to end. I tried to distract Aaron by telling him that his idol favorite chef David Kinch had just walked in; but he wisely ate his abalone before looking. Maybe next time.

Our waitress placed two hot stones in front of us with several cuts of grade A-5 Kobe beef. There was no pedantic instruction on how to use the stone, or a lesson on “how things are done here;” rather, Chef Urasawa’s sister quietly and lovingly cooked each slice for us, lifting it from the hot stuff at just the right time. The room filled with the mouthwatering aroma of smoking fat. The stone was hot enough that it locked in the moisture of the meat while nicely searing the edges. A bite of this meat revealed its true secret: tender enough to you know it is meat yet subtle, melting and juicy enough that you know it has to be Kobe. When I asked Chef Urasawa what makes this Kobe beef so tender compared to others, he explained that, “nice people make good beef.” A statement that not only reflects his contageous positive outlook on cooking but his desire to follow the ingredients from his kitchen all the way back to the source: the rancher is a close friend of his.

Next came a miniature shabu-shabu of ebi (shrimp), hamo (king eel), Kobe beef, foie gras, and hotate gai (scallop). The foie gras was dropped into the hot broth first since it takes the longest to cook through. It’s also the fattiest and the deposited an amazing richness that enhanced the broth.  After the foie went in, the hamo, scallop, shrimp, and fatty beef each took turns jumping into the pool. When ready, each slice of meat and fish was removed from the boiling broth held in a thick paper bowl and placed in a small bath of vinegar, soy sauce ,and scallion to cool. I found the scallop a little bland in flavor but with an interesting texture. The hamo became surprisingly firm when cooked this way, and its rough edges became more pronounced. The foie gras was smooth and silky. The beef was sliced fairly thinly in order to cook quickly, and as such it was not quite so juicy as the previous course. But by now little bubbles of unbelievably flavorful fat popped up around the surface of the broth, and Aaron and I were given spoons to finish every last drop of this liquid gold that had now collected flavors of foie gras, kobe beef, scallop, eel, and shrimp.

To accompany the sushi I ordered a half bottle of Chassagne-Montrachet 1er Cru from Abbaye de Morgeot. This slightly acidic and bright wine left a slight trace of vaseline on the tongue. The wine was light enough so as not to compete against the subtle flavors of sushi to come. A young girl to our right asked Chef Urasawa if it would be possible to leave out the wasabi (Aaron learned his lesson last time). He responded that he would be happy to leave out the wasabi; but suggested that she try it first since it was freshly grated and not so poignant as powdered substitutes. She tasted it and chose to leave it on.  A great chef, and a great role model to future generations, this guy.

Our assortiment of sushi emphasized seasonal fish. In order we had: otoro, kanpachi, grilled otoro, aji, tai, maguro, shima aji, ika, shitake mushroom, kohada, uni, mirugai, abalone from Chiba prefecture, kuruma ebi, grilled pike mackerel from Hokkaido, negitoro, unagi, and tamago. Despite being eighteen courses, the smaller portioning of rice (180 grains/piece, he said) made it all incredibly enjoyable.

The kanpachi made another appearance, thankfully, with its chewy crunch — perhaps this unique, but welcome, texture is a factor of the season. I have only been to two other places in my life that serve ika (squid) like this: Kozue at the Park Hyatt Hotel in Tokyo, and Masa in New York. I’m not sure what makes this consistency so chewy; but it is absolutely my favorite sea creature to eat raw. It could be its ice cold temperature or the knife scores realized by expert chefs such as Chef Urasawa. Whatever it is, it is unlike any other squid I have tasted outside of those two locations.

While we were finishing up the giant clam we saw Chef Urasawa’s brother-in-law beginning to prepare the live kuruma ebi (tiger prawn). And by prepare, I mean behead. I became aware that those shrimp needed to be on my plate ASAP before they die a moment of respect and awareness was in order at this stark reminder of the circle of life. They were lightly brushed with a sauce made from the shrimp brains — no part of the creature was wasted.  And every part was utterly delicious.

The giant collection of Santa Barbara sea urchin roe firmly overflowed the edge of the rice. Our friend dining next to us from Refined Palate summed it up nicely: “can you just inject the uni into my veins?” With only one bite, this was a tease. An utterly delicious tease.  The tamago was also particularly interesting with a subtle sweetness and a texture more like pound cake than egg.  ”The most important test of a sushi chef”, Chef Urasawa told us, is the tamago.  If that’s the case, he passed with flying colors.

Dessert was to follow the sushi, an asian pear gelée with umeboshi (pickled plum) and goji berries. The gelée had a smooth but mildly grainy texture on the tongue that immediately gave it away as pear. This dish was sweet by Japanese standards, but it wasn’t excessive — the sour umeboshi prevented the dish from becoming cloying. The gelée melted in my mouth rather than breaking apart. The mix of sweet and sour was well-balanced, making this simple dessert engaging and pleasurable.

My favorite dessert of the evening came next, black sesame ice cream with red bean paste. It’s hard to describe this dessert as ice cream since the texture was so creamy it almost didn’t want to melt. It was more like an thick, cold, black sesame butter that was so nutty, the fragrance of sesame could be detected from several feet away. A small dollop of red bean paste rested on top adding a coarse contrast to the smooth ice cream. This dish was served with warm matcha green tea, whose subtle bitterness synched in harmony with the sesame’s sweetness. This was one of the finest drink-dessert pairings I had ever had. This was so good, in fact, that it pushed me over the decorum edge: I asked for another round. Unfortunately they had run out, but we were very kindly given some assorted wedges of mochi ice cream and very hot toasted houji tea, instead. The sad realization had come: this was the end of the meal.

Chef Urasawa prepared a meal that can easily stand against some of the finest French and New American dining establishments in the country. However it was only afterwards when I realized just how ridiculous that really is. Chef Urasawa does not have a huge kitchen brigade — this is a one man show. And to prepare such unique and delicious meals (not to mention the worldwide acclaim he receives) without letting it get to his head is truly a special quality of the highest regard. Chef Urasawa responded with a gleaming smile to all of our questions no matter how trite. He encouraged the use of cameras and even held up some fish for us. He somehow got complete strangers talking to each other like close friends after just a few courses. I have never felt so comfortable in a place with this quality of food before.

Comparing Urasawa to Masa is not such an easy task. Objectively, if all external variables are removed, the quality of food is nearly identical. Both Masa and Urasawa serve the freshest most flavorful sushi in the country. However, when considering warmth, comfort, presentation, and enjoyment of the experience of a whole, Urasawa is the clear winner. It was just so enjoyable to eat there.

I anxiously await the next opportunity to return… like, tomorrow.

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I expected to be seated amongst other foreigners as I was in Paris; but surprisingly, in all the times I’ve eaten here, I’ve never heard any language spoken other than Japanese. There are a handful of hightop tables adjacent to the bar, all of which seem to be second choice to a front-row seat at the counter, where diners get a first-hand view of the intricate plating each dish involves. Many of the dishes were similar to New York and Paris; but there were a handful of new dishes, all of which I was determined to try.

Service started with shavings of cured ham, the source of which was hanging above Paris’s counter but hidden here in Tokyo. Bridging the gap between source and plate is not nearly so important here as it is in Paris; more important is refinement, and hanging pigs in a gourmet restaurant would materlize as crude and uncivilized. But after a few bites, my mind stopped thinking about Japanese cultural nuances and focused on the smokey and salty strips of dried meat that nicely brought out the sweetness of of my Chablis. I do think that salty is the way to begin any meal, as sweet too early can prevent the sweet subtleties of savory courses from naturally progressing.

Next came an individual basket of bread, a collection of five different rolls, the freshness of which was startling. Even the miniature baguette, an item whose freshness quickly deteriorates after baking, was rife with moisture. It was a little excessive to give me a basket of ten rolls, particularly because I ate all of them. But no worries; there was still plenty of room left for the evening.

The amuse bouche was a shot glass filled with a red pepper velouté topped with a tomato foam. I didn’t care much for this: I found the texture repetitious and unchanging, with the flavor of cooked red pepper, something I despise, dominating every bite. It was interesting how the red pepper’s sweetness was synchronized with that of the tomato’s without any acidity; but ultimately, this was a flavor I just didn’t like.

My first dish ever at L’Atelier Tokyo was Le Haricot Coco en fin velouté au fumet de truffe et lard fumé, a bright white bean velouté with smoked lardons and shaved black truffle. Though perhaps a bit crude, the smokiness of pig fat with the earthy aroma of black truffle is a beautiful combination for the nose, one that is both complex and soul-satisfying at the same time. The texture of this soup was creamy with a slight grain from the beans, with the light foamy layer floating on the top acting as a link between the velvety soup and the weightless truffles hovering on top. The foam also kept the texture of the truffles as it held them above the broth, preventing them from going soft. The taste of this dish was the weakest part, though, as the velouté tasted more like milk than anything else — it was undersalted and underflavored. Too bad; this had potential.

Another dish I didn’t particularly like was Le filet de boeuf granité avec une pomme purée truffée, which essentially is a fancy name for beef surrounded by soggy breadcrumbs. The texture of this couldn’t help but remind me of fried and breaded beef. It was not a pretty thought. There was no textural coherency between the granité and the steak, and with a swipe of the fork, I was able to scrape off all the offending topping. The breadcrumbs were also astoundingly salty, making this steak really unenjoyable. The truffled potatoes, however, were outstanding as always, the earthy flavor of the truffle adding an earthy fragrance to an ingredient that normally lacks much scent. The potatoes stole the show for this dish, and my plate was sent back rather lopsided.

The last dish of those I did not like was Le Saint-Pierre cuit à la marinière aux fines herbes, something I disliked in Paris as well but was curious how different it would taste here. Of all the dishes that varied between L’Atelier locations, this was one that did not. It was nearly identical to le saint-pierre in Paris, and it was equally disappointing.

Now that those three dishes are out of the way, the rest of the dishes were very impressive. Le thon onctueux et épice d’un velouté de brocolis was new; I hadn’t seen it on the menu in Paris or New York. This dish had a surprisingly interesting texture, with the bottom of the glass containing a light and airy tuna purée, supporting an even lighter broccoli velouté. These two layers were garnished with smoked tuna and small heads of broccoli. The dish was certainly balanced texturally, but regarding flavor, it seemed a little one-sided: fishy. The salty fish flavor dominated the broccoli, as if I were eating vegetables out of a bowl previously used for a fish course. Though, as I looked around the counter, I saw other diners enjoying this dish, making me wonder if this savory fishy dish was created particularly for the Japanese palate. While it worked here, I’m not sure it would have done well elsewhere, perhaps explaining why it was only on the Tokyo menu.

As for the next dish, Le Foie Gras de Canard sauté aux figues et une glace verjuté, this dish was nothing short of beautiful. I certainly know what I think when I see fig and foie gras on the menu: boring. But note that there was no fig compote or other variant of fig, just the pure fruit sautéed so as to preserve their original texture, adding a chewy contrast to the buttery foie. The figs were much more savory than I had expected: no additional sugar was added. This indicated a clear desire to keep the flavors as close to nature as possible, something which worked nicely to differentiate this dish from other fig and foie variants. Ironically, this dish’s originality came from its connection to nature. Delicious.

Citrus, particularly grapefruit, and meat is a combination I pretty much never enjoy. I find that the cutting acidity of the fruit sidetracks my palate from the comforting saltiness of the steak. I ordered Le Canard Challandais rôti avec des endives glacées aux sucs d’orange mainly because it was a new item for me; but, also because I was curious to see how chef Robuchon saw these two ingredients working together. Frankly, I started laughing to myself while eating this — the hilarity of how well these three ingredients: the bitter endive, the acidic orange, and the savory steak worked together. It was like a high school chemistry experiment: the endive with orange was too bitter by itself; but somehow, when mixed with the steak, the bitterness became undetectable and, in fact, highlighted the latent sweetness embedded in the rare duck. Not only was this delicious, it was fascinating! I’m pretty sure this can be explained scientifically; but for me, it was magic.

Next came my five favorite words: “a gift from the kitchen.” And a special gift it was; normally this was a full course on the menu: La Langoustine en papillote croustillante au basilic, L’Atelier’s version of langoustine tempura. I wondered if La Langoustine would change as, after all, this tempura-like dish was to be served to some tough critics. But confidently, this Robuchon special was identical to that served at the other locations, a testament to this dish’s universal tastiness. The first thing that struck me was the lack of oil in the langoustine’s brik pastry crust. Most of the moisture came from the succulence of the moist crustacean. While the tail was removed from the shell a new dough-based crust was given, adding a delicate crunch that also helped to lock in humidity. Although not technically tempura, this could easily compete against langoustine tempura found in the most famous of Tokyo’s tempura houses. Delicious.

Another new dish was Le Paillard de Volaille relevé de citron et tomates confites avec des artichauts à la plancha, a thin slice of grilled chicken breast covered with artichoke, sun dried tomatoes, rocket, parmesan shavings, and black truffle shavings. While there was nothing particularly bad about this dish — except perhaps that the chicken was dry — there was nothing special either. Why was this dish even on the menu? This seemed almost like spa cuisine. The truffle shavings were frankly uncalled for; I couldn’t even taste or smell them. Sitting on top this chicken breast was a giant nest of superfluous ingredients, all of which seemed to tangle together so that I could brush it off to the side, eat the chicken, parmesan, and truffle, and cut my losses.

La Saint-Jacques au beurre d’algues acidulés was something that I didn’t enjoy in New York, but enjoyed more here. Unlike in New York, this rendition served two scallops instead of one, and with about two-thirds less butter. This was no butter bath, so to speak. The scallops were also slightly undercooked, something essential, so that the texture remained soft and absorbant rather than firm and chewy. The spicing seemed a bit arbitrary; but this dish was so driven by the flavor of the natural ingredients, so long as the textures weren’t off, it’s hard for this not to be enjoyable.

By this point, my sister was in awe at the quantity of food I ate. “I’ve never seen someone eat like this,” she exclaimed. Thankfully Aaron wasn’t with us this night … she might have passed out. But responsibly sensing a hint of fullness, I ordered three additional courses that were slightly lighter. I started with the well-known L’Oursin dans une délicate gelée recouverte d’une onctueuse crème de chou-fleur, a martini glass filled with a sea urchin gelée and covered with a cauliflower crème. The cauliflower crème was bordered with equally sized and perfectly round dots of basil oil. I ate this dish while watching the basil oil being set, drop by drop, under the spotlight in front of me feeling slightly guilty that it took me only a few bites to undo all the pain-staking minutes that went into making all these drops perfectly sized and aligned. But while the presentation was highly styled and certainly artistic, the flavor was simple and fresh, the cool gelée encapuslating the oceanic flavor of the urchin and the crème preventing that flavor from tasting hollow. The urchin was firm and held its shape, despite being in a gelée, a clear indication of its freshness. But while the urchin was firm, the dish overall was texturally monotonous — everything was soft. A slight crunch, as nori typically has when uni sushi is served, would have gone a long way. Nevertheless, this was very flavorful.

Next was a dish I’d enjoyed in New York, and was happy to find that it was delicious here as well. La Caille au foie gras caramélisée avec une pomme purée truffée is two pieces of caramelized squab with Robuchon mashed potatoes topped with black truffle shavings. Aside from the incredibly tasty potatoes, which is essentially butter with essence of potato, the squab held its own very nicely. The lightly caramelized skin gave a honey flavor to the succulent meat which seemed to go really nicely with the more salty potatoes. This sensation was heightened by the aroma of trufle. What a nice dish.

Noticing that my sister had stopped eating over an hour ago, I declined another look at the menu and decided this would be my last course … well, savory course. Next came Le Homard rôti puis accompagné d’une fricassé de champignons au vin jaune d’Arbois, half a roasted lobster with a wild mushroom fricassé. Delicious; but, boring. The stringy texture of the dry roasted lobster soaked up the yellow wine into its small crevasses, making each salty bite slighty sweeter. Something about this dish seemed a little sloppy to me — perhaps the fact that there were three different sauces mixing, but not complimenting, each other. I appreciated this dish as I love lobster; but ultimately, this is not something I would order again.

Time to cleanse my palate, or to warm up for dessert, depending on your point of view. I was handed a small shot glass with raspberries and blueberries suspended in a lime gelée and topped with a lime and basil ice cream. I really like basil when it’s turned sweet: it has a fresh flavor not too far off from mint. The acidity of the lime was a little too strong, however, making my tongue cringe in bitterness preventing it from feeling refreshed from the basil.

My first dessert was a Pomme en feuillantine croustillante avec une glace d’une pomme au four, several thin layers of pastry sandwiching poached apple and crème fraîche, with a side of apple ice cream accented with dried apple chips. This dessert was wonderful. The sweetness of the apple was tempered by hints of salt and the milky crème. It was texturally balanced as well, as each bite of soft apple, crème, or ice cream, had crispy pastry and dried slices of apple. The apple inside the pastry layers was also lukewarm, and as we all know, warm apple and ice cream is quite delicious. Mmm.

But last of the desserts was also my favorite, an updated rendition of my favorite dessert Le Sucre, which for some reason has been taken off all the L’Atelier menus. This dessert was Les Fruits Rouges en soupe avec une gelée de framboise et une fin tube de glace mascarpone, a thin crispy sugar cylinder filled with mascarpone ice cream, served on a bed of strawberries and red currants with a raspberry gelée. With the first crack of the tube, tiny crispy bits of sugar were released into the soft ice cream, making this dish not only beautiful and delicious; but balanced as well. The natural sweetness of the fruit was brought out by the slightly sweet gelée, yet made more rich and subtle by the creaminess from the mascarpone ice cream. Very delicious.

I was happy to see that the Tokyo branch of my favorite international restaurant brand had remained impressive from location to location. Though this may have been the original location, it seems like most of the inventive dishes were still happening in Paris and from there, trickling their way onto the international menus. Yet the consistently delicious fare at L’Atelier knows no geographical bounds — one can expect a well-executed meal at any location worldwide. I look forward to returning the next time I’m in Tokyo since it seems like the handful of dishes that make this location unique can all be tasted in one seating are original and, from my experience, certainly worth trying.

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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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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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