AND IF YOU DOLLAR-COST-AVERAGE WITH A DOZEN MEALS AT THE PAPAYA KING, YOU MIGHT POSSIBLY GET DOWN INTO DOUBLE DIGITS -- BUT I DOUBT IT: Matt's post about his trip to the UK reminded me that I never got around to posting about my dinner at Alain Ducasse at the Plaza Athénée (SYTYCD's Jesús may have taken a few weeks to earn proper spelling, but I figure that M. Ducasse warrants his accents aigu from the get-go) in Paris a few weeks ago.
This having been a business trip, the whole experience was rather different than it would have been with my beloved restauranting partner Mr. Cosmopolitan. For starters, one of my dinner companions - the adorer of fine dining who decided we had to eat at Ducasse in the first place - was all bummed because Ducasse at the Plaza Athénée didn't have the same delicious risotto on the menu that he'd had at Louis XV, Ducasse's Mediterranean restaurant in Monaco. I exerted extreme force of will, for which I should be heartily commended, when I refrained from asking whether he thought we were dining at Le Jardin d'Olive.
The room itself was quite lovely in a simple and restrained way -- with the exception of a couple of astonishing chandeliers from which I could not rip my eyes away. I can't find a photo that really does them justice; instead, I will just note that they looked as though Professor Dumbledore had done a number on them, causing hundreds of crystals to drift away from the chandeliers and float about them in a shimmery nimbus. And the chairs had that too-too-precious handbag shelf that I remember reviewers getting all cutesy about when they reviewed Ducasse's New York restaurant -- although, looking at the handbags carried by my fellow diners, I could understand why one might not want to place such items on the floor.
As for the service: it was suitably attentive and french, although Ducasse had made some interesting choices. The example that leaps to mind is that the menus were placed upright in these little placecard holder doohickeys on the table. One need not sully one's fingertips by touching one's menu while selecting one's dinner, but one also could not see one's dining companions over the top or around the sides of one's menu, which struck one as rather weird. My risotto-deprived colleague asked for olive oil in which to dip his monumentally delicious bread (which was just about the most insane thing I'd ever heard, given the array of artisanal butters on the table), and instead received about a pint of olives in a lovely crystal bowl. (Language barrier notwithstanding, they meant well.)
Oh, and the food. Perhaps weirdly, I have less to say about the food than about other aspects of the restaurant. I had the lobster appetizer, which was prepared with the freshest spring peas and asparagus the soil has ever produced. I adore lobster, and this might have been the best I've ever had. Come entree time, I decided to try one of the classic Ducasse specialities -- Volaille de Bresse, morilles et asperges vertes en fricassée (aka chicken) -- figuring (a) I was already really full from the (many) yummy breads I'd been nibbling, the various amuses bouches with which we were showered, and the heavenly lobster; and (b) that this was probably a good opportunity to try the best chicken ever cooked. And yes, the chicken was very good. But -- and now I'm cutting to the punchline a little bit early -- permit me to disclose the price of said chicken dish. Ready? 130 Euros. 130 Euros! You're probably thinking, "wow, $130 is an insane amount of money to spend on an entree, and especially on chicken!" And of course you're right, but you're also forgetting the Euro-to-dollar conversion, which is less than favorable for Americans travelling in Europe right now, which brings the cost of this tasty morsel of chicken to 177 dollars. I am not one to balk at an expensive dinner, but holy shit.
One gushworthy cheese course, several bottles of wine the identities of which I cannot recall (I am usually an unabashed label-requester, but somehow it didn't seem like an appropriate request), a "chocolat en géométrie de goûts et de textures" comprised of about 20 different varieties and formulations of chocolate, and some hand-trimmed jasmine-infused marshmallows later, we dragged ourselves off to our hotel and passed out. I (fortunately) was not tagged with the check, but by my calculation, the tab for my food alone ran about 350 euros. Much as I adore my husband, I think it's safe to say that this one will be reserved for expense-account meals only.
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