Lady in the City of Lights (Part 2)
Blog: A Lady in London - 7 November 2009
The only thing better than going to Paris for a couple days is going back to Paris for another couple days the next day. While this week's first journey to Paris was a nostalgic trip, the second was most definitely a hedonistic one.
Using the last leg of our round the world trip (the gift that keeps on giving!), my boyfriend and I flew into Paris on Friday night and checked into our room at the Prince de Galles. Having already stayed there twice this week, my boyfriend made sure to nag them until they upgraded us to one of the Champagne suites. It was the first of many decadent things we experienced during the weekend.
The second was dinner, which happened to be at Taillevent. We realized a couple months ago after making reservations there and at two other three Michelin star restaurants that we needed a proper excuse for being so indulgent.
Lucky for us, we remembered that our three year anniversary fell sometime during that week, so we decided that three Michelin stars per day for three days would only be appropriate. (Yes, it's a bit of a stretch, but it was the best we could come up with.)
Our eight-course tasting menu at Taillevent took us from artichoke mousse to crunchy balls of foie gras to scallops with water cress to duck with a hint of cinnamon. Dessert was a parade of pistachio and chocolate mousse and petit fours. My stomach left the restaurant feeling like it had just swallowed the most delicious bowling ball in the world.
The next day we indulged our artistic whims with a trip to the Louvre. Cliche, you say? Not so. My boyfriend has now been to Paris five times and I am ashamed to say that I've never taken him to the city's most well-known museum.
We spent the afternoon at the Louvre hitting all the highlights. We gazed upon the Winged Victory of Samothrace and battled the crowds to see the Mona Lisa. We visited Cupid and Psyche, the Venus de Milo, Michelangelo's Dying Slave, and the Italian paintings in the Denon wing.
Exhausted by the seemingly endless halls of the palace, we headed to Ladurée for tea and a late lunch. The rest of the afternoon was spent sipping more tea at our hotel (my god, am I becoming English?) with a friend from San Francisco who was in town.
Dinner that night was at Guy Savoy, the second of our trio of three Michelin star restaurants in Paris. Our stomachs still recovering from the night before, we opted to dine a la carte that evening.
However, that didn't stop us from filling up on scallops covered in white truffles (ah Alba, how we missed you!), asparagus soup with black truffles and mushroom brioche with truffle butter, and fresh sole with young leeks.
We were too full for dessert. But. When the petit four cart came around and the server offered us no less than seven petit fours and three cakes, we found a little room for some decadent chocolates, lemony marshmallows, and pistachio macaroons.
Not wanting to go straight to bed after eating, we got a drink at a bar called Asian. Naturally, we were two of the five white kids there. Notwithstanding our two-of-these-things-just-doesn't-belong status, we enjoyed the live band and were amused by the rather bizarre "making of the Pirelli calendar" video that was playing in the background.
Sunday morning we dragged ourselves out of bed and went for a walk. After a brief croissant stop at the Paul chalet at the Christmas market on the Champs, we meandered by the Grand Palais and over Pont Alexandre III.
Throwing glances at the Eiffel Tower and the gilded dome of Invalides, we made our way down rue de l'Universite until we got to rue du Bac. We headed up a little ways and then turned off on rue de Montalembert for lunch.
The third of the three Michelin starred restaurants of the weekend was L'Atelier de Joël Robuchon. The style of the place was different from the others in that instead of sitting at a table, everyone sits at the bar. There is an open kitchen behind the seating area, so there is a great view of all of the food being prepared.
For starters we ordered serrano ham and Norwegian smoked salmon. Both were delicious. We moved on from there to mouth-watering lamb and buttery cod. On the side we were served a tiny Le Creuset pot of mashed potatoes.
As our server put the potatoes down, he informed us that they were the "worst mashed potatoes in the world." When we asked why, he told us that they would taste good, but that they would be bad for us. We had already eaten our weight in butter over the preceding two days, so we figured one more stick wouldn't hurt us.
When we took our first bite, I was surprised at the lack of buttery flavor. However, I immediately recognized another flavor that I had tasted the previous weekend at lunch with my boyfriend's grandmother in Dusseldorf: goose fat.
When the server came back to clear our dishes, we asked him if the potatoes were made with butter, potatoes, and goose fat. "Yes," he said. "Butter and potatoes." "And goose fat," we pressed. "Yes," he smiled sheepishly. "And goose fat." Mmmmmmm.
For dessert we ordered a duo of pots de creme, one chocolate and one vanilla. After my experience at the French Laundry, I wasn't going to let another top restaurant cheat me out of my pot de creme.* I was glad I didn't.
We left lunch and walked back to the Grand Palais, where we had tickets for the Picasso et les Maîtres exhibition. Talked about as the art event of the season, the exhibition featured Picasso's works alongside those of earlier masters that had influenced him.
After Picasso we headed to Opera so my boyfriend could see the giant Christmas tree at Galleries Lafayette. From there we went to the Marais, where we got sidetracked in the basement hardware store of the BHV. My boyfriend was in DIY heaven, picking out all kinds of things he "needed" while I played defense and made sure he didn't make too many impulse buys while waiting in line.
After our detour in the BHV we only had time for a quick stroll through the Marais before heading to the hotel to pick up our bags and head to the Eurostar.
We arrived in London around 11pm to be greeted by a friendly fox who followed us home. I think it smelled the succulent scent of the thirty sticks of butter and three cups of goose fat we consumed over the weekend. After all our hedonistic indulging, we most definitely would have made a tasty snack.
* Two years ago at The French Laundry:
Using the last leg of our round the world trip (the gift that keeps on giving!), my boyfriend and I flew into Paris on Friday night and checked into our room at the Prince de Galles. Having already stayed there twice this week, my boyfriend made sure to nag them until they upgraded us to one of the Champagne suites. It was the first of many decadent things we experienced during the weekend.
The second was dinner, which happened to be at Taillevent. We realized a couple months ago after making reservations there and at two other three Michelin star restaurants that we needed a proper excuse for being so indulgent.
Lucky for us, we remembered that our three year anniversary fell sometime during that week, so we decided that three Michelin stars per day for three days would only be appropriate. (Yes, it's a bit of a stretch, but it was the best we could come up with.)
Our eight-course tasting menu at Taillevent took us from artichoke mousse to crunchy balls of foie gras to scallops with water cress to duck with a hint of cinnamon. Dessert was a parade of pistachio and chocolate mousse and petit fours. My stomach left the restaurant feeling like it had just swallowed the most delicious bowling ball in the world.
The next day we indulged our artistic whims with a trip to the Louvre. Cliche, you say? Not so. My boyfriend has now been to Paris five times and I am ashamed to say that I've never taken him to the city's most well-known museum.
We spent the afternoon at the Louvre hitting all the highlights. We gazed upon the Winged Victory of Samothrace and battled the crowds to see the Mona Lisa. We visited Cupid and Psyche, the Venus de Milo, Michelangelo's Dying Slave, and the Italian paintings in the Denon wing.
Exhausted by the seemingly endless halls of the palace, we headed to Ladurée for tea and a late lunch. The rest of the afternoon was spent sipping more tea at our hotel (my god, am I becoming English?) with a friend from San Francisco who was in town.
Dinner that night was at Guy Savoy, the second of our trio of three Michelin star restaurants in Paris. Our stomachs still recovering from the night before, we opted to dine a la carte that evening.
However, that didn't stop us from filling up on scallops covered in white truffles (ah Alba, how we missed you!), asparagus soup with black truffles and mushroom brioche with truffle butter, and fresh sole with young leeks.
We were too full for dessert. But. When the petit four cart came around and the server offered us no less than seven petit fours and three cakes, we found a little room for some decadent chocolates, lemony marshmallows, and pistachio macaroons.
Not wanting to go straight to bed after eating, we got a drink at a bar called Asian. Naturally, we were two of the five white kids there. Notwithstanding our two-of-these-things-just-doesn't-belong status, we enjoyed the live band and were amused by the rather bizarre "making of the Pirelli calendar" video that was playing in the background.
Sunday morning we dragged ourselves out of bed and went for a walk. After a brief croissant stop at the Paul chalet at the Christmas market on the Champs, we meandered by the Grand Palais and over Pont Alexandre III.
Throwing glances at the Eiffel Tower and the gilded dome of Invalides, we made our way down rue de l'Universite until we got to rue du Bac. We headed up a little ways and then turned off on rue de Montalembert for lunch.
The third of the three Michelin starred restaurants of the weekend was L'Atelier de Joël Robuchon. The style of the place was different from the others in that instead of sitting at a table, everyone sits at the bar. There is an open kitchen behind the seating area, so there is a great view of all of the food being prepared.
For starters we ordered serrano ham and Norwegian smoked salmon. Both were delicious. We moved on from there to mouth-watering lamb and buttery cod. On the side we were served a tiny Le Creuset pot of mashed potatoes.
As our server put the potatoes down, he informed us that they were the "worst mashed potatoes in the world." When we asked why, he told us that they would taste good, but that they would be bad for us. We had already eaten our weight in butter over the preceding two days, so we figured one more stick wouldn't hurt us.
When we took our first bite, I was surprised at the lack of buttery flavor. However, I immediately recognized another flavor that I had tasted the previous weekend at lunch with my boyfriend's grandmother in Dusseldorf: goose fat.
When the server came back to clear our dishes, we asked him if the potatoes were made with butter, potatoes, and goose fat. "Yes," he said. "Butter and potatoes." "And goose fat," we pressed. "Yes," he smiled sheepishly. "And goose fat." Mmmmmmm.
For dessert we ordered a duo of pots de creme, one chocolate and one vanilla. After my experience at the French Laundry, I wasn't going to let another top restaurant cheat me out of my pot de creme.* I was glad I didn't.
We left lunch and walked back to the Grand Palais, where we had tickets for the Picasso et les Maîtres exhibition. Talked about as the art event of the season, the exhibition featured Picasso's works alongside those of earlier masters that had influenced him.
After Picasso we headed to Opera so my boyfriend could see the giant Christmas tree at Galleries Lafayette. From there we went to the Marais, where we got sidetracked in the basement hardware store of the BHV. My boyfriend was in DIY heaven, picking out all kinds of things he "needed" while I played defense and made sure he didn't make too many impulse buys while waiting in line.
After our detour in the BHV we only had time for a quick stroll through the Marais before heading to the hotel to pick up our bags and head to the Eurostar.
We arrived in London around 11pm to be greeted by a friendly fox who followed us home. I think it smelled the succulent scent of the thirty sticks of butter and three cups of goose fat we consumed over the weekend. After all our hedonistic indulging, we most definitely would have made a tasty snack.
* Two years ago at The French Laundry:
My Server: For the next course, we have a chocolate pot de creme for the gentlemen and a creme brulee for the ladies.
Me: Excuse me, could I ask you a question?
My Server: Of course.
My Server: Is there a reason why the desserts are gendered?
[My boyfriend hides his face in his hands. My friend starts laughing. My boyfriend's friend looks bewildered.]
My Server: Um, uh, well...in all my seven years of service here, it has been my experience that the gentlemen prefer the pot de creme and the ladies prefer the creme brulee.
Me: Okay, thank you. I was just wondering.
I kindly force my boyfriend to hand over a generous spoonful of his pot de creme, my favorite dessert. I have always wondered whether they still serve the desserts in a gendered fashion.
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