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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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As I walked into the dining room, I was immediately turned off by its apparent chill that came from the cold tile flooring and vaulted ceilings. But as I sat down and probed the space around me, things began to warm up. I realized that unlike Les Ambassadeurs, this was not necessarily cold so much as it was understated. There were no gold ornaments nor heavy crystals to this space. In fact, in this room there were only five tables, which kept the feeling intimate. Only on my way out did I see that there was indeed a second dining room. A more ornate space with parquet floors and a grand chandelier, it seemed to be the more impressive of the two; but was not nearly so cozy. The decorative elements on my table, a simple pink rose and white candle, maintained a level of elegance while keeping a strong focus on the food and the other person.

The meal started with my waiter holding a plate full of gougères in front of me until I took one, while the remaining plate of two were placed on the table. This subtle coercion, a testament to the pastry’s time sensitivity, worked; otherwise, I would have been sure to take a picture first. And what a nice treat this was: relatively hollow on the inside with a thin layer of warm fragrant crust, not at all oily; but rich with the warm flavor of cheese. I was reminded that gougères do not have to be a dull requirement of haute French cuisine; rather, when as impressive as the ones I’d just tasted, they can really jump start one’s palate, setting a savory foundation to be contrasted with a sweet glass of champagne. I curiously awaited the next step.

Next came the amuse bouche, very lightly smoked salmon, potato strings, and a dill mousse. Two things struck me immediately about the salmon: the slightest hint of smoke, and its buttery texture. The salmon was so lightly smoked that the woodiness added a subtle hint of complexity rather than dominating the fish’s inherent flavor, something I feared after my initial disappointment when this dish was set before me. Nothing to be disappointed about here, though. The texture was lean and supple, so much so that it seemed to melt into the plate. Although the dill mousse was lighter, the flavor of this dish became redundant after a few bites. For me, this was too reminiscent of bagels and lox (you can take the boy out of New York, but…), without a significant enough difference to warrant serving it. The strips of crispy potato did help to break up the textural monotony; but the dish was overwhelmed by the one dimensional flavor of the cold and sour cream.

Things turned around significantly in the next course, a velouté de topinambours et noix de saint-jacques, émulsion de truffe. Oh god, how things turned around. Sitting in a velouté of Jerusalem artichokes were three round scallops topped with black truffle. There was no tableside truffle shaving here, a sure sign of L’Ambroisie’s confidence. But while there was no truffle show, the fragrance of these heat-activated thin black sheets was outstanding. My first bite revealed the complexity of this dish. The velouté was left grainy, a reminder that artichokes were involved. But more importantly, this texture was a nice transition to the softness of the scallop, supporting its smoothness rather than contrasting against it. As I dipped my spoon into the thick velouté, I noted how it took several seconds for it to fill the void. With these Jerusalem artichokes and scallops displaying such an impressive marriage of earth and sea, frankly I wondered why chef Guy Savoy’s soupe d’artichaut à la truffe noire gets so much attention. This was much stronger. Nearly all of my senses were immersed in this dish. Did it really have to end?

Next up was not only the highlight of the night; but also a course I am unlikely to ever forget: feuilleté de truffe fraîche “bel humeur.” As the waiter approached me carrying what seemed like rather large but simple pastry, I began to second guess my ordering decision. It was humbly placed in front of me, a golden brown puff pastry on a bed of puréed truffle. The dominant smell was of moist bread, a scent similar to walking by a bakery in the early morning. But what made this scent different was a gentle hint of truffle: I knew it was there; but it smelled as if it was hidden. And it was. I picked up my knife, and sliced the pastry in half to uncover a hidden treasure. With the first slice, a puff of steam was released revealing the hidden scent: so that’s where the fragrance of truffle was escaping from. The smell was so pleasantly strong and intense, for a brief moment, the entire dining room smelled of my dish. Perhaps that’s why this dish is titled “beautiful mood;” I certainly was in one. As I parted the now split pastry, I shook my head in astonishment. Was this for real? Inside this pastry were two layers of black truffle, each as thick as a generous hamburger patty. I’d never seen truffle in this quantity before. I laughed out loud. Separating these layers of truffle was a layer of creamy foie gras, adding a meaty component to this earthy dish. I could not wait any longer, and took the first bite. What immediately struck me was how I was able to actually feel the texture of the truffle. When truffle is shaved, its contributions are in the form of scent and flavor. Here, on the other hand, a third component was added: texture. I was shocked to feel this firm but surprisingly delicate ingredient fracture in my mouth with each bite. The truffle maintained its dryness, a necessity to enjoy its natural texture. The dish’s moisture was balanced by the creamy liver and the truffle purée beneath, the excess of which was absorbed by the light pastry. What a fantastic dish.

It was only after finishing this that I noticed a small mâche salad to my right topped with a light crème à la thousand island dressing. Hello there. Was that more black truffle on top? Frankly at this point, if it wasn’t so thick as a Pierre Hermé macaron, I wasn’t interested. I think the salad was more of an afterthought, or perhaps a social scapegoat to justify having eaten at least something green during this long culinary adventure. Nevertheless, I finished it. It should be noted that this was some wonderfully fresh mâche; something I would have eaten on its own without truffles or dressing. Though, the pleasure from this course was vastly skewed toward the truffle pastry, the sheer audacity of serving a truffle in this quantity left me in awe, and in a position where I will likely remember this course every subsequent time I see a truffle. I took a brief trip to the bathroom, glanced in the mirror and smiled to reveal my black teeth. I had officially become a truffle vampire.

I spent a lot of time thinking about this dish. Pretty much nonstop for the next week. While it was certainly the ingredients that made this dish special, it also seemed to be technically flawless. The wonderfully moist pastry could have stood up on its own, and I would certainly wait in line to have one as hot and fresh as this. It also seems difficult to me to have baked two ingredients of completely different texture: truffle and foie gras, together in a single pocket of pastry without sacrificing one of the ingredient’s textures for the other. Somehow, they both just came out as if cooked independently. Even the truffle purée was a nice addition to the mixture, seeping into the soft pastry and adding an earthy salt. As I finished up this course, I noticed the table next to mine just cutting into theirs. I first heard the chuckle of astonishment, which was quickly followed by the scent of black truffle. For another moment in time, the dining room belonged to them.

Following this pinnacle was another wonderful course, a fricassée de homard sauce civet, purée Saint-Germain, a large lobster tail served over a bed of gently smashed Saint-Germain peas. The sweet red wine with the salty pea purée was a combination I’d not experienced before, but would certainly be a welcome dinner guest anytime in the future. Delicious. My only complaint was that the lobster seemed slightly overcooked, with a texture that would have been even more inviting to absorb the red wine reduction had it been slightly softer. This could, however, be due to the type of lobster: bretagne blue.  The purée made for a nice bridge between the lobster and reduction, soaking up the sauce while clenching tightly to the lobster. The three of these together made for quite a few nice bites.

Finishing the savories, a scoop of pear ice cream was served before dessert. The graininess of the pair was obfuscated by the creamy texture of the glace, teasing my mouth with the flavor of pear; but never quite tasting it. I would have liked something stronger. This was disappointing and I expected something either more creative, or with a purer flavor. This was also texturally dull as there was nothing to break up the monotony of the cold crème.

For dessert, there were quite a few appealing choices. And since I had done my exercise for the day by walking to the restaurant, I chose all of them. I was slightly surprised, and perhaps a little embarrassed, that all the desserts were brought out at the same time. There was hardly any room on the table! But more importantly, it made me concerned about time sensitivity of the dishes. I triaged the plates, and started with the most critical: ananas “victoria” rôti, crème glacée au lait de noix de coco, a cluster of pineapple sided with ice cream, mango vanilla reduction, almond tuiles, and garnished with a few raisins and a peppermint leaf. This was an appreciated appetizer for the dessert tasting. Nothing exquisite, just a light dessert with bright tropical flavors.

Next was undoubtedly the highlight of the dessert course, tarte fine sablée au chocolat, glace à la vanille, an ultra-light chocolate tarte with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. This was, without a question, the lightest slice of chocolate cake I’ve ever had. It had the airiness of a souflée without any runny or creamy textures on the interior. But while it was light, it was still substantive and was not overwhelmed by the vanilla ice cream. The flavor bordered on bitter, taking much of its sweetness from the vanilla glace. This was fantastic.

The final dessert was a little less memorable, palet de chocolat lacté aux marrons glacés, sauce moka. A chocolate mousse surrounded with dark chocolate squares, with a mocha sauce and a candied chestnut. I was reminded of how much I dislike candied chestnuts; their dry pastiness gets redundant and boring after the first bite. Although they appeared to be flawless, these chestnuts were unfortunately no different. With the mocha sauce, the coffee flavor was so light that it did not bother me. In fact, the flavor of chocolate was at the same level of intensity, allowing the coffee, chocolate, and crème flavors to meld together nicely. I found the dish texturally boring and the whole chocolate exterior somewhat annoying — it always takes extra time to chew chocolate at a cold temperature, and it so it always lingers unnecessarily long in the mouth. I probably wouldn’t order this dish again.

Last was a small plate of mignardises: almond tuiles, granny smith macarons, cannellé, pieces of chocolate with hazelnut, and wedge-sized apple tartes. Of the collection, the tuiles stood out as fantastic: a fragile web of pastry and almond. The flavor of the tuiles had an essence of nearly-burnt caramel adding another element of complexity. I also really enjoyed the macarons; despite not having a traditional ganache center, the tartness of the apple confiture was pleasing. The cannellés were kind of dense, almost like gelatin; I didn’t enjoy them that much. The chocolate at this point was superfluous and seemed kind of taxing on my palate: half of one was more than enough. Lastly, the wedge-sized apple tartes could have used a tiny sprinkle of fleur de sel for balance, I think, as they were very sweet.

And just like that, it was over. A special meal with two dishes that stood out so strongly, the velouté de topinambours et noix de saint-jacques and feuilleté de truffe fraîche “bel humeur.” I will certainly not forget them anytime soon. I’m glad I was able to return despite some confusion the first time; in my mind, it was certainly worth the trouble. Were I to return only able to order one course, it would undoubtedly be the feuilleté, and that is what I would highly recommend that other visitors here try. I only hope it impacts you so profoundly as it did me.

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