Taillevent (September 7, 2001)Paris I'm expecting this to be the highlight of the trip. Last year's visit to the French Laundry was an epiphany, particularly for a guy who once claimed, repeatedly, that any meal over $20 was a ripoff. What I didn't fully realize before, and what I understand now, is that you are paying not only for the food, but for the experience. Since that dinner, I've become very interested in all aspects of cooking, and my routine trips to Borders find me bringing back a significant percentage of books relating to food. French cookbooks. Mediterranean cookbooks. Indian. Asian. Ruhlman's wide-eyed books on being a chef. Bourdain's dark, self-absorbed, and yet humorous dispatches from the trenches. I want to know about all of it. Most importantly, I want to know where to go in Paris, and Patricia Wells' guide, a book guaranteed to break any dieter's will, provides detailed information. I gain weight just turning the pages. There are numerous possibilities for obtaining the definitive three-star meal, but I am most intrigued by Taillevent. Thomas Keller, chef at the French Laundry, did an internship here. The host is said to be gracious to any and all. Most importantly, the food and wine is supposed to be as good as it gets. How am I going to get a reservation, you ask? You just know I'd have to know someone or pay someone off, right? You'd certainly believe it, from reading any number of negative Usenet posts about the impossibility of getting a table at any of the great restaurants. But, if you're not picky about lunch or dinner, then I can personally verify that this approach works: send email a few months in advance with dates you'll be in town. Two days later, I receive email from the proprietor, indicating a lunch date. Fine by me. All I have to do is confirm by phone the day before, which we do. We change into our formal wear, which we've been lugging all over Europe specifically for this meal, and believe me when I say that a fine meal is the only acceptable reason for wearing a suit on vacation. We decide to walk, which in retrospect was probably a mistake, since we end up going from the 6th arr. over to the 8th, a brisk 45-minute walk on a semi-warm day. This just further exacerbates our already aching feet, and we arrive a little after 12:30, our reservation time. Taillevent is tucked away on a side street. We are greeted at the door, and escorted to our corner booth. It's a formal setting; wood paneling everywhere, relatively quiet, with numerous waiters gliding between tables tending to diners. For a moment, it looks like we're the youngest people in the room by at least twenty years. Shortly thereafter, however, a group of four people roughly our age occupies the table next to us. We are greeted by our primary server, Yann, who presents us with the menus. These are physically imposing, easily 24" x 18" when closed. The front of the menu lists courses, the back desserts and suggested dessert wines, and the interior sides of the menu constitute the wine list, organized by location. Only 14 of the perhaps 300 wines do not come from France. Surprisingly, at least a few of the wines in each category are in the $20-30 range. But for the most part, we are in rarefied air. If you've ever wanted to try that 1953 Chateau Latour, you can do so for $1200. And while it is the most expensive wine on the list, it is by no means the only four-digit wine available. We review the menu, and while it's entirely in French, my study of the glossary in Wells has paid off, as I'm able to translate the bulk of the menu. It all sounds great. But as soon as we see 'Menu-Degustation' at the bottom, we know what we're doing. A five-course tasting menu, for maximum indulgence. Yann comes over to take our orders, and I ask for suggestions for a Bordeaux to go with the tasting menu. I want to try one of these "big muscular hedonistic reds" all the wine critics talk about, whatever the hell that means. He is, as you would expect, well informed, and describes a few options, without resorting to the aforementioned wine speak. I opt for "bold" over "fruity", and make my selection. I have no idea what to expect, and I'm hoping it won't be too dry for Stacey's tastes. We start with a glass of the house champagne, to go with the first course, and I am shown the bottle of Mouton for my approval. Let's dig in, shall we? Foie gras de Canard de Chalosse confit au Poivre No fooling around here; a generous slab of foie gras, flanked on one side by a fruit jelly, on the other by gleaming black dots of pepper sauce. Moments after this arrives on the table, toasted slices of Pain Poilane (the definitive Parisian loaf, according to the gourmands) arrive. It is very good, although I still think the French Laundry version is creamier and even more decadent. The pepper sauce is pretty amazing, very sharp and biting on the tongue, and contrasts well with the richness of the foie gras. 1989 Chateau Mouton Rothschild (Pauillac) While we're eating this, a little performance takes place in the center of the room at the serving station. Our bottle is now being decanted into a flask, using a flame underneath the bottle to watch for sediment as the wine is aerated into the flask. The gentleman doing this has also poured a small portion into a wine glass, which Jean-Claude Vrinat, the proprietor, swirls and then sips. I notice he doesn't spit this out, nice job if you can get it. He is absorbed in the tasting for a few seconds, and then almost imperceptibly nods and grins in my direction. OK, so I should expect goodness. Wine glasses appear on our table, and I am poured a small sample for my approval. I swirl, and then take a big sniff. Whoa. Oaky, vaguely fruity, almost an acetic musty odor. It's a potent smell, not one I'm used to, and to be honest it makes me a little hesitant at first. I take a sip and slosh it around. Wow. A lot. Wow. It's approximately like a cabernet, but with much fuller flavor, and although calling it fruity would be misleading, there are noticeable elements of cherry and raspberry. But the most noticeable aspect is that the taste just lingers on the tongue, for a good half-minute. It's a gentle burn, not unlike the burn you get from strong alcoholic drinks, but without the pain that usually accompanies those drinks as you swallow. I signal my approval to the wine guy, who transfers the flask back to the serving table (and as he does so I pray he doesn't drop it). Another sip, and I can say with confidence that this is the best wine I've ever had, and I'm really happy when I think about how much wine is left in that flask after mentally subtracting Stacey's typical one-glass limit. Ravioles de Champignons de Paris aux Truffes Do you like mushrooms? Do you like cream of mushroom soup? Then this is what you need. Three nice sized ravioli, stuffed with mushrooms and resting in a morel-infused cream sauce, sprinkled liberally with minced black truffles. The aroma wafting from the bowl is just amazing, and the soup is just as good, earthy, meaty, with loads of mushroom flavor. During the post-meal analysis, I concluded that this was the best course of the meal, and I regretted that I didn't pick up the bowl and lap out of it to get every last bit of goodness. Much like the French Laundry, numerous servers are responsible for providing our dishes and managing our table. Somehow, this never gets intrusive, although I do notice that they are always monitoring the room, scanning each table repeatedly, in constant crisis management mode. Rouget de Roche en Filets braisés The fish course. A braised filet of red mullet, lightly seared and accompanied by a fennel and tomato confit with lemon vinegar. The fish was prepared perfectly, crisp on the outside, tender inside without being watery. The confit was very acidic and lemony, contrasting well with the fish. It also didn't hurt that the vinegar sauce contained a sprinkling of black truffle. I notice that I'm starting to get full; each course is a reasonably-sized portion, and it's adding up quickly. I make a conscious effort to eat slowly and savor each bite, fighting my usual instinct to shovel it all in as fast as I can. Somewhere during this part of the meal, at the table next to us, two older men select cigars for an end-of-meal smoke. Shortly thereafter, Stace quietly mentions that the cigar smoke is unfortunate. To me, quietly, with no waitstaff in the vicinity. Seconds later, a discreet portable fan is placed next to their booth, blowing the smoke elsewhere. Is it part of the plan? Is our table bugged? Agneau de Lozère rôti aux Aromates The meat course, roast lamb in what I think is a red wine and veal stock reduction, with asparagus and sweet peas, and showered with minced black truffle. I think I'm beginning to understand Taillevent's modus operandi. The meat is very nicely done, and the vegetables are tasty, but the wine and truffle sauce is killer, the kind of stuff you happily mop up with bread, and I do. As you might imagine, the wine goes best with this course, and I take my time working through the lamb, sipping wine, sopping up the sauce with bread, and just generally enjoying life. Brie de Meaux affiné aux Noix torréfiées Up to this point, every course has fallen squarely within the bounds of classic French cuisine, and I'm expecting the cheese course to be no different. And that's somewhat true, with a creamy Brie cheese, sprinkled with minced nuts. However, it's accompanied by greens and curried apple, julienned into fine strips. The presentation is French, but the taste borders on Thai. The apple is still crunchy, but infused with curry flavor, and somehow this goes with the cheese. Inventive, tasty, and refreshing after three comparatively heavy courses. Mille-Feuille à la Vanille Bourbon Dessert time. This is layers of puff pastry, interleaved with vanilla bourbon cream. The puff pastry is buttery and flaky, and the cream is decadent in the way you want all desserts to be decadent, but is still surprisingly airy and light. Creme au Chocolat et à la Pistache This is Taillevent's signature dessert, a chocolate mousse with a pistachio sauce. It's smooth, without that vaguely gelatinous texture some mousses get, and I'm a sucker for pistachios in any dessert. But it's also a lot of dessert, particularly after having one full dessert already, and I've still got a glass of wine to work through. Midway through this, it becomes clear we're not going to be allowed to stop eating, as a tray of tiny pastries and chocolates arrives. There are seven kinds, two of each so we can each try them all. Chocolates with gold leaf, hazelnut chocolates, raspberry tart, kiwifruit tart, and some kind of yellowish creamy fruit tart with a tropical taste. I can't identify it, but when Yann returns at some point, Stacey waves him down and asks what it is. He asks what she thinks it might be, and she says passionfruit. He looks surprised, and says "Very good! Most people don't know what fruit it is. Do you like it?" We do. This may have been a mistake, because less than a minute later, a second tray of tarts and chocolates arrives, this time with extra passionfruit tarts. I use the word "mistake" very loosely here, of course. Now really, there's no way this can all be eaten by two people. But it has to be done, so we work carefully, precisely, without any unnecessary motion that might upset our distended stomachs. Somewhere in here, Jean-Claude stops by, and asks how our meal was, and how we are enjoying our visit to Paris. Every bit the gracious and dignified host he has been advertised to be. As we slowly deal with the chocolates and pastries, the dining area has emptied out. Yann stops again and asks how our meal was, and what brought us to Taillevent. I explain that it's our anniversary celebration, one week late. He congratulates us, and slips away to take care of another table. Perhaps two minutes later, Jean-Claude comes back with two glasses and a bottle of 20-year old cognac. "On the house", he says, pouring us each a too-generous glass. Can we possibly be any more pampered. Yann returns, and now we are the last occupied table in the house. We end up talking with Yann about a number of topics; what it's like working here, life in Pittsburgh, the French Laundry, yadda yadda yadda. He gives us his card. Yes, that's correct; the waiters here have cards. We ask to keep the wine bottle as a memento, and they provide a bag for it, as well as our menus. We are accompanied to the door with a handshake, and we begin waddling back through the streets of Paris. I look at my watch. 4:30pm. Now that's a lunch!
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