Paris, Robuchon: Table or Atelier?

When in Paris, there are two ways of tasting Robuchon branded-food: one is the most famous Atelier, which I reviewed a few months ago. The other is the more discreet and conventional La Table, in the 16th. It is more conventional because, as the name suggests, there are tables. And you can get a reservation. And there is service. Some pretty excellent service, actually. I think what impressed me most is when they brought an extra pair of spoons, having noticed that we were tasting each other's courses. Oh, and also, they don't rush you out by sending you everything you have ordered at the same time.

Another significant appeal of La Table is the best of all Robuchon traditions: a very affordable lunch menu, including wine, water and coffee (and service of course) at 55 euro. Because I would do anything for you, I volunteered to try. It started with a very well done amuse of foie gras mousse, porto reduction, and parmesan mousse. It's testament to their style: great ingredients first, simple but subtle preparations -- back to basics.

Then there was a soup of green peas with three goat cheese raviolis inside. The dough of the ravioli was so thin that it was barely noticeable, so the course was really pea and cheese. It's an interesting pairing, underlining the light acidity of the cheese, playing on a contrast of temperature as well. But it is mostly interesting because of the perfect soup, a "velouté" they call it, and velouté it is, incredibly onctuous. Indeed they do it as should be, meaning that they actually peel the peas one by one. And they blend it over and over again. And they have some very nice crème fraîche, that can't hurt. In any case, it is a demonstration that was is precious about haute cuisine is the skill and the labour more than the ingredients themselves. In general, this menu is a brilliant demonstration that top cuisine doesn't need expensive ingredients. So much so that, quite frankly, I'm not sure I even want to try their "regular" fine dining, lobster and veal chop and all.

Then came an absolut Robuchon classic, the Merlan frit Colbert. It's just that great and simple -- hardly different from l'Atelier, though maybe even lighter. The fish flesh is melty and almost immaterial, the very thin crumb only protect the flesh, seasons it and, of course, crisps. Fried parsley is on the side is not lighter than air but lighter than thin paper. And the infamous Robuchon purée came on the side, as with each Robuchon course these days. There again, it felt less ridiculously buttery than at l'Atelier, where, as I wrote, it is more a sauce than a side.
My codiner, I should mention, has a codfish course that was very perfect as well, and that felt so healty that I suspect that eating it can replace fitness.

Dessert was a textbook clafoutis, not unlike the one at Jamin back in the days. One often associate clafoutis memories with guilty child memories, a rich sweet. But the Robuchon version is not too sweet, not heavy, just onctuous. Of course the cherries have their stones in, which is also part of the pleasure. Just yum.

Okay, okay, I confess: I added some extras that are a big charm of the Robuchon places, where you can order tasting portions of great recipes. There was a funny artichoke/langoustine dish, with cute little langoustines that made the same irresistible impression as baby vegetables, if you know what I mean. On an artichoke mousse, there were tomato and sweet pepper dices, squid and the langoustines. There again, very fresh, very healthy, though I am not entirely sure that it is the best way to put this seafood forward. It's more like a sophisticated version of shrimp cocktail.

And there was also the sweetbread -- because the one at l'Atelier is the best in town, I would not go to a Robuchon place without having some. The recipe, on laurel and with Romaine, is the same at both places. But the one at la Table is more brown and caramelised, while the one at l'Atelier is almost white and so melty that it is almost creamy. It is nevertheless thoroughly enjoyable.

So: l'Atelier, or la Table? Well, La table's cooking is lighter, gentler and more consistent. But l'Atelier, quite frankly, still has some wows like their sweetbread. Both are excellent choices, but in different circumstances: La Table is, as you would have guessed, for a real meal. L'Atelier, really, is good for high end snacking before or after theatre or concert (plus, those are the only times where you might get a seat). L'Atelier really does not do the work of offering fine dining experience, but only some teasers to the food component of it. But all in all, la Table is a place where I plan to go regularly, especially for lunch.

Bau, I don't know why

Great chefs make great meals. There are plenty of criteria which critics and food writers would like to use, ingredients, technique, style... but in the end it just comes down to this simple truth.

This 11th century castle is located close to the French and Luxembourg borders. It is also very close to an ugly modern casino – so close it actually touches it.

The young Christian Bau was born in the Black Forest, where he finished his training in the n°1 German restaurant, the Schwarzwaldstube of Harald Wohlfahrt. Like in any great and early success, his story is a combination of talent and luck – the owner of the Casino was looking to build a high end hotel-restaurant in the castle, Bau was a souschef at Wohlfahrt but his best friend was in the neighbourhood and teh Baus were visiting for the holidays. Long story short, the restaurant is built for them, and they end up with the third Michelin star in 2007.

I’d like to tell you that the restaurant has life-changing ingredients. Or it using never heard before techniques. Or that its style is redefining what a restaurant is. Ingredients were very good, techniques well mastered of course. Not all third Michelin stars come without reason. Yet all I can tell you is my meal at Christian Bau was wonderful.

It was a long tasting menu, but superiorly balanced. I’m a big skeptic about big tasting menus in general. Most of the time it is way too much food, and it is a roller coaster. There are plenty of little bites, some are good and you’re frustrated you can’t have more. All the more so since some are unpleasant and you’re sorry you had to use stomach space for them. In the end, they’re often exactly what they say they are: tasting samples so that next time you know what you like and you can have a good meal. Hopefully.

Bau’s meal was a perfect party. Every course was very good, some excellent, and it always felt like you had exactly enough. I did not feel frustrated at not having more, neither did I feel to full to enjoy the end of the meal.

Two things in particular made the meal party-like. First, as you can judge from the pictures, there’s a kind of stylistic melting-pot involved – you can see it in courses as well as in china and plating. For the foie gras course for example, there was a soup served in Chinese-like china, a minimalistic foie gras sorbet, and a very 1990s cake of foie gras and mango. One course looked like l’Astrance, one like Gagnaire, one like Wohlfahrt. There was generosity and there was minimalistic precision, as well as wild inspiration here and there.

Then dishes just looked georgous and party-like. See that dessert table, with one all-vanilla dessert on the front and a chocolate-passion fruit one on the side. It’s like some sort of culinary confetti. Before I actually went to Rochat, alas, I was imagining that his food would taste like Bau’s, because it looked so good. Both look like infinite skill and precision are used to make the dish look good while clearly expressing the ingredient as what they are. No square sweetbread or Euclidian plating here, but also not ingredients prosaically laid in the plate.

The meal had several highlights, but let me mention some: I particularly loved the simplicity of the pre-amuses of gressini just wrapped in high quality lardo. The idea is rustic and simple simplicity. But the execution shows great precision, a perfect match of the grissini and the lardo, balance of saltiness and texture in particular. The lardo was sliced recently so it does not sweat, and the grissini is not wet from the lardo.

A starter of crab, scallop and citrus looked bland but was very artful taste wise. When you first bit it, the citrus and the seaweed are overwhelming and you thing that crab and scallops will only play texture, that their taste will be hidden. But after the first strike of citrus, the iodine and sweetness of the crab and scallop actually kicked in, like the sea would retire and reveal the seafood. The rice vinegar played an interesting transition between the first and second phase.

One very simple main, but very efficient, was the sweetbread and gambas. Both are rosemary roasted on rosemary sticks, both under a rosemary foam, both with a juice of veal breast (that’s right, not your common veal juice – this one has a richer texture and a sweeter taste). This is a puzzling dish, because it is so simple and it works. The seafood is the one with the intense taste, while the sweetbread brings meltiness. They don’t work so well if you mix them in one bite, but if you separate the bites, there is a “long distance relationship” going on with the two main ingredients – same preparation of different ingredients with different effects.

The preparation of the big sole was very exciting too, and I also don’t really know why. The sole was cooked at low-temperature, had a Parmesan crust, and was lying on artichokes and on parmesan raviolis. The sauce was very liquid, based on Bellota and olive oil – and was slightly reminded by a tiny roll of Bellota on top of the fish. As you can see, this was a big nice sole, which sure helps. On the whole there the fish and its sides were great matches for one another.

I should also mention that his a very tiny dining room, ten tables top, whose architecture reminds of the age of the castle. A young and pretty woman is in charge of wine pleasures, and as you would expect from the location, they are specialists of these wonderful Mosel valley Rieslings, which are also so easy to pair.

All in all, I just can’t tell you what’s so great with Bau. You’ll have to go. Looking at the pictures, you may share my point that it's hard to see why this would a restaurant worth a trip. Yet it is. The good occasion is a special, celebratory meal, because that is how this cooking is intended.

Ramsay, yeah!

So I just went to Ramsay's new mid-range restaurant IN VERSAILLES, "La Véranda". It has a view on the park of the castle, the part that looks like some very neat country-side, with horses, sheeps, cows and benches. And it was good. It was very good.

All I knew from Ramsay was "Kitchen Nightmares" -a show that I love and find admirable- and his autobiography. I admire the man, and I really hoped that his food would not disappoint. Now it is of course too soon for me to judge Ramsay on the whole (unlike Ducasse), and I hope to be able to report on the gastronomic restaurant soon. But meanwhile, the meal I and other bloggers had at la Véranda was very perfect.

I started with a dish that looked, I must say, quite English. But this tagliatelle with blue lobster was remarkably good. Pasta were very tasty, with this mix of melty and firm typical of good fresh pasta. Maybe the half lobster tail was a tad overcooked. But the mix of sage, saffron, parmesan and tomato was the trademark of a really good chef. It was subtle and powerful, and mostly, did I mention, very good. My young neighbour had a very good risotto with chorizo and parmesan, which was remarkably good too -- it's easy to have a dish named risotto in Paris, but having one that is better that boiled rice is difficult. This one was.


The star of the show was a veal T-Bone that could have reminded many French top restaurants what perfect and precise cooking means. Everything was simple and perfect, starting with the melty potatoes on the side, a salad of many herbs that was well sorted and joyfully fresh. The béarnaise was perfect too. Thyme and rosemary were actually fried and edable.

(The risotto kid had a lamb too, that was delicious.)

Desserts were no disappointment either, especially a vanilla crême brulée with granny smith apple that was super fine tuned and well made. It is a really thought through dessert, well implemented. Another star was the famous coulant au chocolat, let me show you. It was perfectly dosed too, with the exact amount of sugar that tames the bitterness of the cocoa but adds no sugar taste. The caramel ice-cream on the side was smartly and vigorously salted, presenting another approach to the famous chocolate-salt pairing that Conticini put forward.

My overwhelming impression was that there is a really good chef in this kitchen, one that could teach lessons to many of us arrogant frogs. This was all simple and well made. Plus there is tons of room. Couches could seat Horton the elephant, table of five could seat twelve, and there's that very pleasant view and light. The wine list is short but hard to chose from because of its careful selection. That was an 85 eur meal, including one bottle of Chateau Simone (80 euros) for five.

You know, on the one hand, it was so good that I want to try the gastronomic restaurant asap. On the other hand, I am not sure how it could be much better with the same style. Anyway, stay tuned

Gérard Besson: some things in France never die

There is a starred restaurant in Paris where you can still have quenelles in a white asparagus soup, where the chef cooks omelettes where the dessert tray still offers of Paris Brest AND Saint Honoré. Gérard Besson is an impeccably classic chef. A uniquely classic one, as I cannot think of any example of a comparable restaurant in Paris nowadays.

There is a really nice bargain for lunch. This season, there were also the only good truffles I had. The chef is obviously a truffle insider : he knows how to get them, choose them, negotiate them. Oh, and he also knows how to cook them, and that there are different many different, as his remarkable whole page of truffle specialties demonstrate. This is truffle that flavours the whole room – I was even told that some allergic woman just could not stay in the restaurant room one winter night.

It’s an old style of cooking, but it is not Rostang (or Escoffier) : it is actually clearly related to the Bocuse style, rooted in classic recipes and alliances, only with simplified recipes and clearer taste. Ptipois, from whom I unapologetically stole the title of this post, had thus a pigeon with foie gras that was overcooked by modern standards. But, in this recipe, it could not have been better, and a rosé pigeon would not just have been as good, strangely.

The red mullet dish was a celebration of spring, with its fava beans, mint, salad and olive. It is one of the most simply superb-looking dishes I ever had, as I hope that my picture partly reflects. I couldn’t help but thinking of the choc that this kind of recipe must have been in the early Bocuse or Troisgros days, when they were reinventing the traditional cuisine yet continuing it, and putting ingredients forward like never before.

This is a real foodie place. Of course you shouldn’t come if you’re looking for innovation. But if you like truffle or game, if you believe that the real classics, based on seasonal ingredients, flawless execution and yes, some tradition, never die, then you should enjoy Gérard Besson. We did and the table next to us, including a very famous and very drunk food writer did too, very explicitly. They had some specially ordered Dombes quail whose scent made me regret that I was not a part of their not-so-secret society.

Oh and I forgot to mention that rabbit in a blanket. I should have.

Les Ambassadeurs: hard working dilettante

Photos John Mariani

At the end of our dinner at les Ambassadeurs, we were alone in the room, and the remaining young staff offered us to take the coffee « in the lounge » in a way that made it a bit too obvious that they were anxious to have the room to themselves. As we complied with their unspoken request and were seating in that palace lobby, I could see through the glass doors those kids playing and throwing table cloths at each other. And in a way that strucks me as exemplar of exactly how fake, how cynical and desperate that place is. At no point during that whole, rather pleasant evening, did I have any feeling that anyone was actually genuinely trying to create a special moment for me.

It’s like it was all just a game. There seems to be a common belief of le Fooding and other Ratatouilles that fine dining is a ridiculous enterprise, impossible to take seriously, that in the end the only great food belongs to bistrots. It was like this belief had been fully integrated by Jean-François Piège and its staff, running the infinitely impressive restaurant of one of the most impressive palaces in the World.

So the only resource they have left is to be at the same time ironic and cynical about their business. So most Piège dishes are based on something else than making a good dish, a good meal, something pleasant. Here first courses pretend to be like a “TV platter”. There desserts are inspired from pictures in old books, when pastry was a subdiscipline of architecture. Somewhere else, spaghetti carbonara are on the menu – such a transgression!

Of course there’s nothing wrong with these ideas in themselves, and I am the last person to think that a good restaurant needs to be sad and pretentious. Thierry Marx did something really interesting when deconstructing the spaghetti carbonara. Loiseau used to serve stuffed cabbage. But I think it should be good, offer a valuable experience, not a post-modern parody of one.

Take this infamous “blanc manger d’oeuf à la truffe”. On the website of the Crillon, you can actually see Jean-François Piège prepare the dish. It shows an incredible technical mastering. The white are whipped at the exact right consistency, put in a cylinder, the yok is somehow inserted inside so it just floats in the middle. This is cooked with nano-precision, and a rosace of truffle, as you can see, is added on top, and a truffle sauce around it. Of course when you start the dish, you go into the white with your spoon like into thin air, but then you reach the yok and it somehow is just warm and runny. How do you that, O master Piège? Will I, young Padawan, pathetic Karate kid, ever reach that level of sophistication and skills?

Photos Steve Plotnicki

The dish is nothing but impressive. Really. Impressive. Nothing else. Truffles are of limited quality, though they have some of the magic smell. The course lacks any sort of oomph, or wow, or aaahh. No crisp, no acidity, no peps. It would be kind of zen if it was something.

Of course nothing is bad here. One of the best things to my taste was the sweetbread “white and brown”, a very sophisticated construction, which is quite tasty, though by no mean otherwordly. The cooking is precise, though not perfect. And the presentation forces you to be creative – and careful – when eating it. A lobster dish was maybe one of the best things of the evening, inside a crispy cylinder, with a great lobster bisque on the side. It’s like a reminder that they could do great things if they wanted to.

But, you know, they’re over it, beyond that. They have menu holders and plants actually in pots, alive, for herbal teas at the end of the evening. So who needs actual top ingredients as long as they are fancy enough? Truffles were very tasteless, culminating in that double truffle salad dish. Cheeses, though from Master Anthony, were not great.

It’s too bad because they have incredible assets: this room is by far the classiest in town; it feels incredibly good. It is not as pretentious, pseudo-royal as le Meurice or Le Cinq, but it is genuinely, you know, grandiose. The wine list is full of classic wonders at reasonable prices (for a palace, that is). Dinner prices are as high as anywhere else, but the lunch menu features the same absolutely luxurious courses for an incredible bargain. If you’re interested in virtuosity for the sake of it and genuine fanciness, that is.

Desserts, plenty, not bad

It was nevertheless a very pleasant evening that we shared with the great Steve Plotnicki and his friends. He was kind enough to let me use his pictures of the dishes we had. I praise his name... and thank him.

Exquisite and nostalgic Ledoyen

So Vedat Milor loves Ledoyen. In Gastroville, he puts is in the same league as l'Ambroisie. And I value Vedat's opinion. And I had never been to Ledoyen, mind you. So we went together for a wonderful evening. One evidence of how wonderful the evening is our surprise when we went out, that it was 2 a.m. already, and not before midnight as we had imagined. Staying home with the kids, my mother also was surprised by the late hour. So: sorry Maman, and thank you Vedat. Special thanks also to Cathy Ho, who happened to be dining at Ledoyen that night too and was kind enough to let me use the pictures that you see in that post. 

Those pictures will no doubt show you how refined and exquisite that place is. It is like the ultimate romantic, Parisian dinner spot, with its location in the park of the Champs Elysées, both in the middle of the city and country-like. The place started 1791 and, while it is perfectly decent, you sure can feel the history. In the daytime, how used the place is may even show too much. But in the evening, it is like a dream, and sure would expect Rita Hayworth and Orson Welles to come in any time. It makes it all the more surprising and, frankly, odd, that there are so many business tables.

That ultimate refinement is also very apparent in both the amuse and the mignardises. If you take a close look, you will see that, like in some sort of symphony, they actually have a formal similarity. Both are four different bites, the first one like a lollipop, the fourth one on some sort of triangle. Taste wise, the amuses are particularly impressive. As Cathy noticed, they resort to molecular cuisine techniques, like this liquid mozzarella ball, or the lollipop which actually hides a delicious, juicy redmullet. But those techniques, as should always be the case with great chefs, are only used to improve the food experience, and, in that case, highlight the ingredient.

Indeed Ledoyen has top notch ingredients, on par only with l'Ambroisie or Le relais Bernard Loiseau. This was exemplified by what I considered the highlight of a very good meal, the mise en bouche of first (in the season) green vegetables. This was actually exemplary, intense, an experience that opens horizons. Those peas in particular, so incredibly fresh, so crunchy, so full of spring flavours, demonstrate what truly exceptional ingredients cooked with infinite precision and care can be. "Premier matin du monde", they could call it.

Another schockingly good ingredient (among other) was to be found in that infamous langoustine course. There are two different preparations, but the star of the show is the mayonnaise that they spread on the warm langoustine, and which dissolves slowly, strangely moving from the bland, unsurprising taste of Mayonnaise to something more subtle. There again, molecular-like techniques are used for a dish which does not try to play the wow effect usually associated with them. At the same time, this is indeed a non-wow course, and mostly, while it is very interesting and subtle, I am not sure that it brings anything to the exceptional langoustine itself.

Now the same is true, in my opinion, and to a wider extent, of that equally infamous sweetbread. It is roasted on lemongrass and has the most amazing flavours in itself. Serving it on some salsifis also makes a lot of sense. But then the whole subtlety of that dish is overshadowed by a ridiculously strong sauce based on seven different herbs, and also on a very generous use of vinegar. It's not that this sauce did not bring anything to the sweetbread. It actually damaged it.

Truffle is a must in this kind of restaurant at this time of the year. And Ledoyen probably got the best truffles you can find. If that is true (and my experience this year says no different), then it is confirmation that this was a bad season. Mostly those truffle smelled great but tasted close to nothing, not unlike the ones we had earlier in the month at les Ambassadeurs and at La Régalade. That said, I don't think that such a top restaurant should serve truffle at all when they are of unsufficient quality. And at any rate, they should definitely warn serious clients like us. Indeed two truffle based courses were disappointing: a puff pastry one, with an incredible smell at the first bite and nothing after that, and a scallop one that was unremarkable. Expensive disappointments.

(crispy pineapple dessert)

Those disappointments also have to do with a service who does not seem to worry too much about the time sensitivity of dishes. On many occasions, I barely ate warm because we were waiting for the courses of others to arrive or for the explanations and preparations to end. Now this is no major drama, but this reinforces the idea that this is not a food nerd place, unlike l'Ambroisie, l'Arpège, Gagnaire or les Elysées.

While ingredients and technical quality are at the highest level, recipes are more refined than intense, and they are clearly more geared towards being pleasant than maximising their impact. They actually make for a gentle, subtle, very civilised way to accompany an exquisite moment. In that way, Ledoyen is the ultimate super-date, proposal dinner. It is impressive yet warm, high quality yet not distracting. It is a unique place that seems to prolounge an old conception of fancy dinner, using exceptional ingredients and state-of-the-art techniques. At stratospheric prices (count 300 to 400 eur per person).

Desserts were extraordinary. In particular that caramel based one was incredibly intense and subtle -- actually too strong at the end of a degustation meal, but the whole table ended up sharing it. The pinapple iced soufflé was, on the opposite, incredibly light and flavourful.

Les Magnolias

Les Magnolias is the restaurant of Jean Chauvel, a 33 year-old talented chef who has an exemplary and fashionable background (the Conticinis at la Table d'Anvers, Christian Constant at le Crillon), and claims to deliver a "creative version of the French gastronomic cuisine". He is abundantly talken about as he offers a clearly creative menu for 55 euros. I finally had a chance to visit the place and taste its funny-named dishes.

In a way, the amuses were very representative of the what the meal would be: there was a cylinder of beet jelly with some sparkling powder on top, and a leaf of parsley. It sure is funny when it pops in your mouth, reminiscent of childhood memory. But this bit was not interesting in any way. It came with a pumpkin a mozzarella soup yet, which was very good and very subtly made, the liquid mozzarella creating an unexpected perfect match with the sweet pumpkin soup, giving it the little oomph that it naturally misses.

I mentioned funny named dishes: take this starter of snails, the highlight of the meal. As you see, it is designed as a little walk of snails. The walk (sortie) is called "risquée" (risky), which I guess reflect on the fact that the snails are now dead. Now those snails are in a fried ball, under their shell. The shell is filled with some sort of garlicky vegetables in mayo. It is lying on a "sod": cubes of brocoli in jelly. The whole thing is "under a rain of lettuce": they come with a little watering-can and pour lettuce juice over your plate. On the side is a lettuce soup with snails inside, and an additional fried snail ball.

Now this is a funny idea. But it is mostly a very good dish, based on a now very classic recipe -- snails with green. Remember Loiseau's nettle soup? Well, that's very close. And it is well made, with very fresh, very well cooked broccoli, decent lettuce juice. So the design does not impact the quality of the food overall. That is, if you except that it is very complicated to eat (brocolis cubes to big for a bite, while you off course have to take those big snail balls in one bite), and it is so big that by the time you reach then end of it, it is cold and soggy.

Then came another example of how a funny idea, even well executed, does not necessarily make for a good dish. They call it "sandwich jambon beurre à boire", and it is served in a funny glass including a straw, on which they spectacularily grind some toast. It does taste of ham and butter, and vaguely bread. It seems to be some ham-infused cream thickened with butter. It is funny and hard to not drink entirely, especially since you have to drink the whole think before you reach the crumbs on top, since your straw comes from the bottom. But honestly, it is just disgusting.

The main was called "violent passion of a guinea fowl". No idea what is violent or passionate about this course. The main theoretical attraction is the "émulsion de gratin dauphinois", a liquid potato gratin. In effect, it is a creamy sauce with a vague potato flavour. It mostly demonstrates, a contrario, that the "Gratin dauphinois" appeal is largely about texture. But it comes on top a low-temperature cooked guinea-fowl breast. Very good meat there, maybe very slightly undercooked. The rice chip on top is a great idea, more so than the celery slice at the bottom and the citrus confit. With the "liquid gratin", the chip and the tender and juicy meat, this course has a nice balance of texture. More interesting is the second plate: the dark meat (more tasty of course, perfectly cooked) lies in a bergamot juice, the same liquid gratin and fine rice chip on top.

The whole thing is served with a very traditional, very unsurprising potato purée, with little potato bites inside. And then, as a final note, there is that green tea with spice and oranges, and finally a simply brilliant sweet macaron with mustard, finishing on a hot and sour note, bringing together two unlikely flavours.

The dessert was less interesting, if at all. Small cylinders of chocolate and passion pudding are hidden under bits of thin white and dark chocolate, with coconuts. The whole thing lies on a bed of passion fruit and a ball of very good sorbet. It's good, nothing noteworthy. Very nice, very personal wine list. The whole place is located in an unlikely suburb. All in all, it is a good restaurant, at good prices, with some uninteresting manierism.

Acajou: très bon, pas cher

On mange vraiment très bien au restaurant Acajou, 35 bis rue La Fontaine, 01 42 88 04 47. C'est un joli petit restaurant d'angle, avec des décorations par l'artiste des rues qui a aussi fait l'hôtel des académies et des arts. Il y a un menu à 40 eur avec un verre de vin et un café. C'est une très belle cuisine de produits, où des ingrédients très frais et de très belle qualité s'expriment superbement, tous bien identifiés et mis en valeur par des combinaisons bien maîtrisées.

Ce jour-là, une brochette de Saint Jacques avec des tomates cerises, des petits champignons de Paris, des courgettes et des échalotes sur un nid de roquette parfaitement assaisonnées. On ne peut pas manger de tout dans une seule bouchée, mais toutes les combinaisons marchent superbement.

Ensuite un pavé de bar parfait, juteux et brillant, avec un petit coulis d'épices qui, en fait, laisse le poisson intact en bouche mais interagit superbement avec la purée de carottes jaunes qui accompagne. Celle-ci a tout le goût de fruit du légume cueilli la veille, et toute l'onctuosité de la purée de pomme de terre de Robuchon, qu'on attend aussi bien avec des carottes et presque pas de beurre. Des jeunes feuilles de betterave amène un contrepoint sucré presque génial.

Le dessert, c'était un financier maison, croustillant dessous et riche mais pas gras dedans, un sorbet de citron superbe, et une très jolie rosace de quartiers à vif de pamplemousses jaunes et rouges. C'est très joli mais il y en a trop par rapport au financier. Le tout est posé sur un jus au basilic qui unit intelligemment le tout.

Bref, c'est une petite maison pour de la grande cuisine pas prétentieuse. Je ne lui connais pas de concurrent à ce niveau de cuisine et de prix.

Olivier Roellinger, Cancale

Click here for English

Roellinger, à mon goût, présente l’accord parfait entre une cuisine délicieuse et une cuisine intelligente, innovante, et qui raconte une histoire.

L’histoire, c’est d’abord celle du chef lui-même, telle qu’elle est amplement racontée dans les journaux, le films, les émissions: c’est celle d’un étudiant en chimie, peut-être pas très content de sa vie, agressé “à la Orange Mécanique”, dit-il maintenant, un soir sous les remparts de Saint-Malo. Pendant un année, il ne savait pas si il remarcherait jamais, et ce choc l’a mené à repenser sa vie. Une fois rétabli, il ouvre un restaurant dans la maison de sa maman pour recréer l’ambiance qui y existait quand il était enfants, quand son père était le grand médecin de Cancale et leur maison un haut lieu de la société locale.

Ca fait un restaurant qui n’est comme aucun autre. C’est littéralement la maison de quelqu’un, une maison bourgeoise et familiale au coeur de Cancale. Pas de facade glorieuse, d’enseigne lumineuse: chez Roeliinger, on sonne à la porte après avoir poussé le portail et traversé la cour. Mme Roellinger, ou Rodolphe le maître d’hôtel viennent vous ouvrir et vous souhaitent la bienvenue.

(Un dessert au café. Ils l’appellent “de M. de la Merveille”, du nom de celui qui a introduit le café en France)

Roellinger, c’est surtout un des meilleurs restaurants de France. Il utilise les meilleurs produits, en particulier bien sûr ceux de la mer toute proche, qui sont merveilleusement frais, et pour la préparation desquels il peut même utiliser de l’eau de mer, de la vraie. Les recette sont en même temps accessibles, parfaitement finalisées, subtiles et incroyablement complexes.

C’est avant tout l’histoire de la région telle qu’il la voit, que Roellinger raconte. C’est une histoire de voyageurs de Cancale et de Saint-Malo, qui ont parcouru le monde, découvert des contrées lointaines, et ont rapporté des saveurs nouvelles comme les tomates, le café, les épices. Les Maisons de Bricourt (i.e. celles de Roellinger), en ce sens, sont l'extrémité occidentale de la route des Indes.

Parfaitement emblématique de ce style était la barbue au kumquat confit, un plat assez semblable à celui qu’Atahan Tuzel discutait récemment dans Gastroville. Il y a d’abord la cuisson parfaite d’un poisson parfait, qui souligne le goût caractéristique de la Barbue. Ca ressemble à du Turbot, mais sa chair est plus ferme et son goût a une petite amertume caractéristique.

Il y a ensuite la complexité incroyable de la composition de ce plat. En fait, ce n’est incroyable que parce que cette complexité ne se sent pas en bouche. A goûter, c’est l’évidence même, délicieux et équilibré. La Barbue a une croûte de sésame et de pavot. Elle est servie avec un sirop de kumquat et du kumquat confit, une sauce au curcuma, des lanières de peau de courgettes et du soja germé. Et ça marche! C’est le plat de poisson parfait, et même plus que parfait, poussant la barbue au delà de son meilleur. C’est un poisson des mers froides qui rencontre des goûts du soleil, heureux comme un suédois sur la côte d’azur, découvrant le soleil et y exposant sa peau d’albâtre.

Bouillon d'automne, petits ormeaux, foie gras

Autre grand moment: le homard au cacao et au vin de Xérès, “dans l’esprit du XIXème siècle”. Il y a, bien sûr, un homard de première qualité, chassé il y a peu, très ferme et très goûteux. Mais là encore, il se dépasse lui-même grâce au talent et à la délicatesse de Roellinger. Roellinger est le saucier de son restaurant. Il finalise effectivement toutes les assiettes, et est donc directement responsabe de chacune, d’autant plus que les sauces sont la pierre angulaire de son style (ce en quoi, d’ailleurs, la cuisine de Roellinger est très traditionnelle).

Les plats de Roellinger ont la subtilité et la complexité des grands vins. Comme eux, ils réalisent une unité improbable et parfait entre divers goûts et parfums. Pour ce homard, la poudre de cacao et a douceur du vin n’écrasent pas les fragrances iodées du crustacé. Il prolongent au contraire l’effet de la texture, serré, légèrement fibreuse, mais juteuse tout de même du homard, grâce à une sauce parfaite et à des légumes d’accompagnements qui servent exactement le propos, transitions en goût comme en texture.

Et de fait, malgré un sommelier intéressant (le frère de celui de Bras), les vins jouent un rôle secondaire chez Roellinger. Il y en a des suprenant, inattendus, il y a aussi les grandes stars habituelles, dans une carte des vins qui n’est pas trop longue, et les conseils du sommelier sont toujours avisés, ce qui est déjà une performance avec une cuisine comme celle-ci. Mais il ne faut pas s’attendre à la transfiguration mutuelle des vins par les plats, comme chez Senderens ou chez Winkler par exemple. On peut faire un repas à l’eau chez Roellinger sans rater grand’chose.

(Des assiettes de fromage qui sont plus que des assiettes de fromage)

Une autre chose formidable avec Roellinger, c’est que les repas sont parfaits d’un bout à l’autre, entièrement satisfaisants, bien composés, énormes et pourtant pas excessifs. Il y a le meilleur café que je connaisse et des mises en bouche souvent éblouissantes. Mêmes les mignardises sont stylistiquement cohérentes: des cubes servis dans une boîte à épices, chocolat/gingembre, chocolat blanc/citron, marshmallows à la fleur d’oranger... Même les cigares sont choisis et traités avec le même soin que la nourriture, donnant le même sentiment de brillante simplicité.

Agneau de l'aubrac au Tamarin

Il y avait aussi des maquereaux au feu de bois en amuses-bouches, magiques, et un remarquable Samousa d’andouille au Curry, le curry transfigurant la charcuterie bretonne, lui donnant de la durée et de la subtilité.

Roellinger est, en un sens, un restaurant français très traditionnel. D’abord parce que l’histoire de la cuisine française est précisément faite de cette intégration maîtrisée et personnelle de produits et de techniques d’ailleurs. C’est sa grandeur et son identité. Mais aussi, en un sens plus large, parce que le restaurant en France, traditionnellement, est le reflet d’un mode de vie.

(Variation sur Saint-Pierre cru: mariné au gingembre, avec de la carotte, de la mangue verte, un trait de sauce au gingembre, un peu de “vinaigre celtique” - une réduction de cidre et de pomme)

Le restaurant en France, ce n’est pas seulement un endroit où on mange, où on sort, où on drague. C’est une part intégrante de notre culture au sens le plus fondamental. Il s’explique à la lumière de la relation des gens au monde dans lequel ils vivent, à la façon dont ils vivent leur vie (voyez le livre de Meneau, organisé selon les fêtes de l’années), les structures sociales, les hiérarchies... Avec Roellinger et quelques autres, ce pan de la culture se porte bien.

Bernard Loiseau

La version française est ici

Being (or having been) a Bernard Loiseau afficionado does not make it easy to judge today’s Relais Bernard Loiseau in Saulieu. The place is incredibly luxurious, really unique. It is now what the great chef intended it to be: a country side palace. There’s a spa, an attention of tha staff to every detail, noble yet rural matters abund, the garden is somptuous. It is a country house for happy billionaires.

But what about the restaurant itself? As a “before” and “after” regular, I am often asked how the restaurant survived its master. Leaving aside the unprecedented level of luxury I just mentioned, I would say that the main difference between Bernard Loiseau and his successor Patrick Bertron, who was has been his sous-chef for twenty years, is simple: Patrick is a cook, Bernard never was.

Of course, he was a cook – he cooked. But he had no interest in the art of the cook, the techniques, the traditions. He was above all an exceptional palate and insatiable perfectionist (as Chelminski showed well in his book). He wanted food to explode in your mouth, to be dazzling.

(Those are pig trotters fried balls, very warm and runny inside, made on order, yum)

From that point of view, the chefs he was closest to were Pacaud and Passard. The endless complexity of the simplest ingredient, when carefully picked and prepared, was his focus. There is undoutedly something left of that spirit today in Saulieu.

See for instance this soup of Jerusalem artichoke. It is pure Loiseau style: only the vegetable, water and salt, and a lot of work. There is a drop of hazelnut oil, mostly for décor, and Jerusalemen artichokes chips, because no one can stand the excessively simple soup. Yet the soup is the culinary demonstration. The texture would make you believe there is foie gras inside. The soup captures the flavors, which are sophisticated and numerous. Hazelnut, chestnut, artichoke, foie gras… what’s not in the topinambour?

Senderens for instance has the same focus on the sublime brutality of the sheer ingredient. But sophistication and the art of the cook kick in under the form of unexpected and wonderful little “enhancing” or “highlighting” details, like those dices of celery and walnut with the yellow wine foie gras. Loiseau complexity comes from simplicity only. There are no secret spices, no taste enhancer of any sort.

(The hotel-restaurant across the street is very nice too)

Bernard Loiseau was not a cook because his specialties were not recipes: they were sunny side eggs, graded carrots, vegetable soups. “Fuck you” he said to those who mock his non-mastering of traditional techniques, “I can’t make a Béarnaise but I am the best”. Indeed. And those who mocked his skills included such incredible cooks as his former boss Jean Troisgros in Roanne, who once said that Bernard was as much as a grand chef as he, Jean, was an archbishop. I guess Jean was somewhat of an archbishop after all.

(Contemporary micro toast of Jambon persillé – typical burgundy charcuterie, with a hint of mustard)

I am pretty sure that Patrick can make a Béarnaise. He can probably make anything, just like Alléno or Troisgros. He’s a real cook. One who, for over twenty years, made sure that the food coming out of the kitchen in Saulieu was in that punchy, ignorant and genial style which the boss liked.

Patrick’s style is not that rude. It sure does rely on exceptional ingredients, like only few restaurants in the world actually use. And he also respects the basic principles of “Loiseauism” like the use of vegetable purées to thicken the sauces, the exclusion of butter, cream and flour, and some reduction of the number of ingredients.

See for instance this porcini toast, a Bertron creation: a very simple slice of pain de campagne is soaked in porcini juice, toasted. A porcini marmelade is spread on top of it, fried porcini and poeled porcini, and then a little salad. There’s some reduced porcini juice and pinenuts in the plate. Now this is very good, but it is also much refined and sophisticated than some actual Loiseau. The theme is only one ingredient, but there is at least five different textures. And there are actually four ingredients and distinct tastes: bread, pinenuts and salad are also instruments in this mushroom symphony.

(That’s the new interior style. To each its own. But it is ugly)

Another recipe that would have been too complex for Loiseau is that incredible Lièvre à la Royale. People sometimes argue as to which is the “real” lièvre à la royale: the one that is boned, stuffed with foie gras, and looks like a big sausage (often referred to as “Ali-Bab” because he codified the recipe”); or the hare stew sometimes called “du sénateur Couteaux”. Well you don’t have to chose here. Betron offers both, and they are just amazing.

The stew is the more intense one, it is somewhat sweet and almost scary. But the “paté” is no rabbit either -- . It is gamey, by which I mean it tastes like death. In a good way. Both sauces are thickened with blood, which reinforces that aspect. On the side are trompettes mushrooms (my favorites, but don’t tell anyone) wrapped in a crispy beet cylinder – it brings both the traditional sweet on the side of a game dish and the crisp which this recipe lacks.

And there are mashed potatoes. You don’t realize if you eat it with the hare, for which it is just some sort of funeral pillow. But if you eat it by itself, it is an unexpected return of the Loiseau style: it is intense and actually quite moving, tasty without the whole lot of butter used by others. It expresses the potato, its natural, non reinforced, onctuousness, the fruit of the earth. The texture is not as light as the famous Robuchon thing, but it is also easier to digest, and mostly it is a real “purée”, not a potato-based sauce. And it is just the best I ever had.

This synthesis of modernity and tradition is in my opinion the best of the Bertron style, building on both the Loiseau basics and the tradition in order to create his own style, sometimes wonderful (like with the hare or the toast), sometimes merely admirable (like with this quince-based dessert, sweet red pepper, Garam Massala spices and a laurel icecream).


Unlike Loiseau in his last years, Bertron is still on the move, still inventing his own style. He is obviously in the process of inventing his signature dishes. Meanwhile, he offers a mix of masterful dishes and “palace-y” recipes which do not enrich our lives.

(A pre-dessert: figs, frozen hibiscus, mint emulsion)

I’d like to talk about another Loiseau signature dish which is still on the menu in Saulieu: the Saint-Honoré cake. It is a very classic French cake, made of profiteroles filled with cream. How could you reconcile that and the Loiseau style, which strives for dazzling and explosion? You can’t of course. Saint Honoré is, in and of itself, bland.

Well, Loiseau’s Saint Honoré is no exception. There’s nevertheless a crème anglaise which seems to be made with low fat milk and tons of vanilla bean, much tastier than it usually is. But Loiseau compensated the lack of taste of the cake by a play on texture, and the textures here express absolute freshness. The cake is cooked on order, and it has the unique onctuousity of pastry that has just been cooked (and is yet somehow cold). Same with the biscuit bottom of the cake, and the whipped cream in the middle. You don’t feel the butter in this Saint Honoré. It is replaced by freshness.

Patrick Bertron, Eric Rousseau: show must go on

Grainer, grands vins et très belle maison au fin fond de l'Allemagne

Click here for the English version

Vous l’aviez peut-être perçu suite à mon post sur Acquarello : l’été dernier, je n’attendais plus grand’chose de la haute gastronomie bavaroise. Mais ce week-end d’Août, j’ai dîné chez Christian Grainer à Kirchdorf. C’est une très grosse, très vieille maison en face de l’église, dans un village rural 70km à l’Est de Munich. La campagne par là ne ressemble pas du tout à celle du Sud de Munich, au pied des alpes. C’est une campagne agricole, pas touristique – on s’en rendait bien compte ce weekend avec les effluves d’épandage.
Les Grainer sont aubergistes dans cette même maison, depuis cinq cent ans. Et en effet tout dans cette maison parle de grand âge : les portrait de Louis II, les crânes de cerfs, les très vieux meubles, et surtout les très vieilles bouteilles de grands vins français d’une cave extraordinaire. L’épaisseur des murs et les proportions des pièves témoignent aussi de l’âge respectable de la bâtisse. Il n’y a que deux toutes petites salles à manger, trois ou quatre tables chacune. On se croirait dans le film de Visconti, à attendre dans le relais de chasse l’annonce de la mort mystérieuse du roi. Le château de Neuschwanstein ne sera jamais achevé.

Christian Grainer a été formé chez Alain Chapel. Au mur, il y a encore le dernier menu qu’il servit à Mionnay. Il a travaillé aussi à Bareiss, qui vient de recevoir une troisième étoile, et il est revenu au bercail en 1991 pour reprendre l’auguste maison familiale. Sa cuisine n’est pas spécialement bavaroise, certains ingrédients le sont. Des recettes françaises classiques, allégées et épurées, reposent sur des ingrédients de grande qualité. On sent qu’il y a quelqu’un en cuisine, un gars qui vérifie bien chaque assiette avant d’envoyer. Ça paraît banal peut-être, ça n’est pas si courant en fait.

La modernité de l’endroit (s’il en faut une), c’est que, comme à L'Astrance, il n’y a pas de carte. Vous n’avez ni le choix ni la connaissance de ce qu’on va vous servir. Votre latitude, c’est de préciser vos goûts et allergies éventuelles, et de dire combien de plats vous voulez : 3, 4, 5 ou 6, c’est la géométrie variable. On peut aussi demander le maxi menu (quand on veut seulement trois plats mais beaucoup manger par exemple).


Mais pour les vins, là, vous avez le choix. Et quel choix ! Nous, on a pris un Vosne Romanée Pasquer Desvignes 1961, embouteillé au Danemarkl, pour 99eur. La carte des vins inclut toutes sortes de trésors comme un Pétrus 1994 pour 950eur, un La Tache 1995 pour 890eur, ou un Mathusalem (6 l) de Richebourg 1979 pour 7500eur. Bien sûr, pour l’accord avec le menu surprise, il faut s’en remettre à la maison… ou s’en moquer, avec des vins pareils. Un délicieux Riesling de le Moselle et une Prosecco à l’apéritif témoignent à quel point on peut leur faire confiance pour choisir des vins.

La Vosne-Romanée, donc, a le même âge que la troisième femme de mon père, et elle est encore plus instable et complexe. On laisse la bouteille dans la cave entre deux verres, pour que la température ambiante n’attaque pas ce vin fragile et délicat. Au début, c’est très anodin – un peu comme un très jeune Volnay. Ensuite il y aun explosion de truffe. Et puis dix minutes plus tard, des tanins puissants. Au cours du repas, des saveurs et des senteurs de marrons glacés, de cerise, de confit, de cuir, de viande rôtie traversent ce vin improbable, cette grande parade. Au bout de deux heures, l’honorable bouteille est épuisée, elle ne contient plus que du vieux vin. Mais quelle fiesta ça aura été ! Et puis l’accord avec les deux plats de poisson et la caille rôtie était très bien.

En parlant de ça, des mises en bouche : une grande assiette de mousse de poisson, terrine de girolles et des dés de pomme, qui révèlent à leur tour le caractère sucré du poisson. Du beurre mais aussi du fromage frais et de la tapenade pour nos tartines. Et puis encore une démonstration que le poisson peut être une douceur avec un omble servi avec des tomates et des betteraves, de la mâche et une écume d’huile de truffe. Le poisson est parfaitement cuit, brillant et même fondant. On dirait un peu du saumon sauvage. Le goût de truffe est intense mais bien maîtrisé et le jeu entre la tomate crue et le poisson gras est la partie la plus intéressante.

Une formidable caille rôtie suivait, désossée et farcie au foie gras et aux lentilles. C’est pas de l’innovation, mais c’est quand même de la haute gastronomie, chair tendre et juteuse, peau croustillante, et le caractère terrien des lentilles, à peine adouci par le foie. En fait, la lentille, c’est la truffe du pauvre, et ce plat le démontrait bien. Il y avait un mignon œuf de caille sur le dessus, dont le jaune était peut-être utile pour capturer ces arômes. Mignon en tout cas. Un plat bien carré, servi dans une assiette qui ne l’est pas moins.

C’est pas un repas si il n’y a pas de soupe, hein ? Celle-là, c’était du homard de Bretagne dans une délicieuse soupe de homard toute robuchonienne (c’est-à-dire passée autant de fois qu’il le faut et montée au beurre pour une onctuosité parfaite qui met en avant les saveurs). « Un peu plus ? » nous proposent-ils. Tu parles, Charles, bien sûr qu’on en reveut.

Et ensuite un plat de lièvre. En Allemagne, on ne rigole pas avec le gibier. Il y en a toute l’année, de différentes sortes, et parfois avec des parcs à cerfs. C’était un plat de Noël, avec des épices dominées par la cannelle, une rosace de pommes de terres prétentieusement (et inexactement) appelées « Maxime », des dés de pommes, du chou rouge, des cèpes, et une écume de morilles sur le dessus. Le lièvre était juste un peu rassis, pas au point de devenir déplaisant, et l’harmonie avec tous les éléments de l’assiette était frappante.


Et là encore, on nous en propose une deuxième assiette, cette fois avec de la purée qui compense bien la légère surcuisson du lièvre qui a attendu au chaud. Là encore, l’attention portée à chaque assiette est magnifique.

Vous aimez une coupe de champagne avec votre salade de fruits et un peu de sorbet de fleur de sureau ? Ne vous fatiguez plus, Grainer a versé la salade de fruit et mis la glace dans la coupe de champagne. C’est aussi bon et ça fait moins de vaisselle. C’est un agréable pré-dessert, et je découvre ) cette occasion la coutum d’échanger café et fromage : on nous sert le café avant ou avec le dessert, on nous propose le fromage après.

Le dessert, c’était un riz au lait avec des fruits exotiques, construits comme une espèce de Babel gastronomique : sur une galette de riz et de coco, un disque de riz au lait à la vanille, roulé dans la noix de coco, sur le dessus une quenelle de sorbet passion-mangue (hélas trop petite pour durer tout le plat), le tout comme emprisonné par une grande spirale en biscuit. C’est léger, sans crème ni sucre ou presque, et c’est un bel équilibre de textures. Ça concluait parfaitement ce repas très très appréciable dans ce restaurant qui est vraiment la maison de quelqu’un. 280 eur pour ce dîner pour deux, boissons comprise.

Roellinger

Roellinger, of all restaurants, offers in my opinion the perfect balance between a food that is extremely good and a cooking which is smart, innovative, interesting and tells a story.

There’s first the story of the Chef himself, widely available in videos and newspapers articles: a chemical student, he got wildly assaulted when he was 20 (“a la Clockwork Orange” is the description which is always used), spent one year unsure whether he would ever walk again or even keep his legs. This made him rethink his life plan and, once recovered, he decided to open a restaurant in his mother’s house to recreate the ambiance he remembered from childhood when it was a high place of the social life of the city.

As a result, this restaurant is like no other. It really is a bourgeois house in the middle of Cancale. At Roellinger, there is no glorious façade or window. You enter by the garden and you ring at the door, and Madame Roellinger or Rodolphe, the Maitre d’, will come to open the door and welcomes you.

Some coffee based dessert. They called it "de M. de la Merveille" because he is the one who introduced coffee in France, apparently

But Roellinger is first and foremost one of the best restaurants in France. It uses the best ingredients, with a very natural focus on local seafood, incredibly fresh. It offers recipes which are at the same time accessible, perfectly finalized, fine tuned, and incredibly complex.

It also tells a story of this region the way Roellinger sees it, i.e. a story of adventurous travels. This is a story of the travelers from Cancale and Saint Malo, who went to discover distant countries and brought back new flavors such as coffee, tomatoes, spices... Les Maisons de Bricourt are, in a sense, at the western end of the spice route.

Perfectly emblematic of that style is the barbue fish with confit kumquat, a dish similar in principle to the turbot which Atahan Tuzel discussed in Gastroville recently. First there is the perfect cooking of this super fresh fish. This ensures that the specific taste of the fish is patent and obvious. Barbue may look a bit like turbot, but its flesh is less firm and has a characteristic bitterness.

Then there is the incredible complexity of the composition of the dish. Actually, it is only incredible because it does not feel complex at all, but only perfectly balanced and delicious. The barbue has a crust of sesame and popseed. It is served with kumquat syrup and confit kumquat, a curcuma sauce, strings of zucchini skin and sprouted soy. And yet it feel like the perfect fish dish, and all those flavors, bitterness, smells only serve to express the fish, not at its best, but rather beyond its “natural” best. It is a cold sea fish, happy like a Swede visiting the French Riviera, discovering the sun and exposing its white skin to it.

Bouillon d'automne, petits ormeaux, foie gras

Another highlight of that meal was the cocoa and Xeres wine lobster. There again, an ingredient of first quality, a wonderfully firm and tasty lobster, “outtastes” itself thanks to the incredible talent and finesse of the chef. Olivier Roellinger is the saucier in his own restaurant. That is to say that he is directly responsible for every dish, which goes out of his kitchen, as sauces are the cornerstone of his style (in that sense, I guess, there is something traditional in Roellinger’s cooking).

Roellinger dishes have the subtlety and complexity of great wines. Like great wines, they bring several diverse tastes in an unlikely unity, while respecting their diversity. For this lobster the power of the cocoa, and the sweetness of the wine, leave room for the iodized flagrances of the lobster. They also prolong the effect of the texture, thanks to a perfectly executed, light and smooth sauce, and some vegetables as a transition between the textures.

Indeed, despite the presence of a very interesting sommelier, (he's the brother of the one at Bras’), wines remain a sidekick in the Roellinger experience. There are surprising, unknown wines as well the usual stars, a wine list which is not very long, and the advice of the sommelier always ensures a decent pairing, which I guess is already a performance at that level. However, there is no sense that the meal would be significantly less good when drinking water, less again a reciprocal transfiguration of the dish by the wine and vice versa, like you can experience at Senderens, le Bristol or Winkler for instance.

Cheese plates that are more than cheese plates

Another very remarkable feature is that meals at Roellinger are very often entirely perfect, satisfying from one end to the other. Roellinger has the best coffee list I am aware of, and the few mignardises in the end are absolutely consistent with his style: little cubes served in a spice box, on a bed of spices, such as chocolate/ginger, white chocolate/lemon, orange flower marshmallow… Even cigars show the same care in picking and handling than the food.

Agneau de l'aubrac au Tamarin

In the beginning there were also magical amuses of fire-place grilled mackerels, a remarkable samousa of andouille where the traditional charcuterie bretonne is transfigured by a special curry, resulting almost in a suppression of the strong taste of the andouille at the benefit of its fatty, melty texture. So it crisps, it melts, and it has that musked, curry scent.

In a sense, Roellinger is a very traditional French restaurant. First because the history of French cuisine is all about integrating foreign ingredients and influence – that’s its greatness and specificity. But also, in a wider sense, because restaurants in France traditionally testify to the life of the people.

Raw John Dory variations: ginger marinated, with carrot, green mango -- a line of ginger sauce, "celtic vinegar" - a reduction of apple and cider

The restaurant in France is not only a place to eat, to go out, to date or to have business meetings. It is part and parcel of culture in the most fundamental sense. It must be understood in regard to the relationship of people to the world they live in, how they live their life (e.g. Meneau’s cookbooks is organized by “fêtes” – there are menus for all the different holidays of the year, celebrating Christmas, harvest, or carnival), social structures and hierarchy. With Roellinger (and some others), this tradition is alive and well.

Bernard Loiseau, tu me manques!

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Etre, (ou avoir été) un inconditionnel de Bernard Loiseau ne rend pas l’appréciation du Relais Bernard Loiseau d’aujourd’hui aisée. Très objectivement, l’endroit est unique et somptueux. C’est vraiment maintenant ce que le maître décrivait à la fin de sa vie : un palace à la campagne. Le spa, l’attention du personnel à tous les détails, les matériaux nobles mais ruraux, le somptueux jardin : c’est une étape, ou une maison, à la campagne pour heureux milliardaires.

Mais qu’en est-il du restaurant lui-même ? On m’a beaucoup demandé, étant donné j’ai connu la maison avant et après le drame, quelle était la différence. Outre l’augmentation du niveau de luxe, de calme et de volupté, la principale différence entre Bernard Loiseau et celui qui fut son chef des cuisines pendant plus de vingt ans est la suivante : Patrick est un cuisinier, Bernard ne l’était pas.

Bien sûr que Bernard était un cuisinier. Mais pas vraiment. Il ne s’intéressait pas à l’art du cuisinier, à la technique, aux traditions. C’était avant tout un palais exceptionnel et un inlassable perfectionniste (comme l’a très justement montré Chelminski dans The Perfectionist). Ce qui l’intéressait, c’était que ça explose en bouche, que ça éblouisse.

Ce sont des croustillants de pied de cochon, tout frais, tout chaud, croustifondants

De ce point de vue d’ailleurs, c’est sans doute de Passard ou de Pacaud qu’il fut toujours le plus proche. C’est l’infinie complexité et raffinement du produit le plus simple, quand il est soigneusement choisi et préparé, qui l’intéressait. Or il reste sans aucun doute quelque chose de ce geste dans ce qu’on mange aujourd’hui à Saulieu.

Voici par exemple cette soupe de topinambour. Elle est dans la plus pure tradition Loiseau : ce n’est que le légume, du sel, de l’eau, et beaucoup de travail. Un trait d’huile de noisette vient ponctuer la soupe, mais il est inessentiel. La texture ce cette soupe fait croire qu’il y a du foie gras dedans, tant elle est onctueuse. La soupe semble emprisonner les saveurs on n’utilisant que le « gras » du top