A Life Worth Eating

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953 W. Fulton Market, Chicago, Official Website

My recent meal at Next, Chicago, was extraordinary. The concept of the restaurant changes every three months, opening with Paris, 1906, a meal based on Auguste Escoffier’s legendary cookbook Le Guide Culinaire. All the dishes on the menu included the page number from Le Guide Culinaire from which the recipe came. Chef Achatz and Chef Beran’s precision and attention to detail made this meal as focused and delicious as the cuisine of the great chefs of traditional modern French cuisine.

After two meals at Alinea, one of my biggest complaints was the lack of progression and seemingly disconnected structure of the meal. Next’s Paris 1906 menu, on the other hand, was extremely concise and structured, telling a story and sharing the experience of eating in the city of lights at the turn of the century.

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9 Place Vosges, Paris, France, Official Website

I wrote about L’Ambroisie a few years ago here. At that time I wasn’t sure what to make of the restaurant. On the one hand, I experienced tremendous difficulty making a reservation. And when I actually showed up the night of my reservation: I was turned away. The staff didn’t seem that friendly. On the other hand, once I actually experienced the cuisine, the black truffle feuillantine haunted me for years after.

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

25 Passage des Panoramas, Paris, 2ème

Paris has a lot things, but great coffee sure isn’t one of them. It’s a bit counterintuitive to think that since Parisian café culture is so prominent. Images of sitting outside in wicker chairs in the cold winter under a gas heat lamp sipping a steaming hot drink in the smoke-filled air remind me very strongly of the city. Except that image is all about the ritual, not about the drink. Paris has a strong café culture, but lacks a coffee culture.

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

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

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A Collective Post of Multiple Locations Paris, France

Before I moved to Paris, I knew most of the stereotypes: cigarettes, fake dimples, accordions, and berets. And there are others, to say the least. Thankfully, with the exception of the cigarettes, they turned out to be inaccurate.

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

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

112 Rue Faubourg Saint Honoré, Paris, France, Official Website

The weather on my visit to Le Bristol, home of chef Éric Frechon, was impeccable: sunny and warm without a cloud in the sky. But then we arrived at the restaurant for lunch. Perhaps an error on my part, I did not call to check if the main dining room would be available. It turned out to be reserved for a private corporate event; so instead, we were led to a room where spring light quickly turned to winter night. This was the winter dining room, where the sun-worn curtains covered all windows keeping the cheer out and a more solemn coldness in. The oval-shaped Victorian room is lined with wood paneling, and covered with forest green, red, and patterned brown carpeting. Adorning the center of the room is a medieval tapestry depicting a pastoral scene in rural France. The daytime oppressiveness of this room, however, can be easily turned into evening elegance: just return when it’s dark and the candles are lit. But while dining at Le Bristol, overall, was a refined gastronomic experience I was left wondering, where was the passion and excitement?

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