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.