The Meal of a Lifetime. No, seriously.

Friday, June 13, 2014 

30 years ago, in 1984, I traveled to London & Paris on a solo vacation.  I had a great time, the weather was lovely, people were nice, blah blah blah.  The one thing – one thing – that has stuck in my brain from that vacation was the fabulous meal I had at a restaurant called Le Tour d’Argent.  I read up on restaurants and I close that one because at the time it was run by the Terail family and the son, Patrick, emigrated to America – Los Angeles in fact, and opened Ma Maison.  So I thought I’d go see “Pa Maison” if you please and  try the one that spawned the eatery in LA.  I had a fabulous meal, I was treated like a princess, it cost a pretty penny, it was worth every penny and then some and years later it really is one of the main things I remember from that trip.

I’m not sure why I didn’t suggest we try it 8 years ago when we spent 5 days in Paris, but oh well.  I suggested it this time, I made a reservation for lunch, we got a jacket from Goodwill that Gene could wear but that we could toss afterwards (found a place to donate it) so our luggage wasn’t overcrowded even more with clothing we didn’t need and I chose our final day in Paris to go.

We got there at noon and 3 ½ hours later, we floated out, in gastronomical heaven and once again a meal at Tour d’Argent became a high point of a vacation. 

Here’s what it looks like from the front.  The restaurant is on the 6^th floor, overlooking the Seine & the back of Notre Dame:

 

 

As I said, we got there at noon we were admitted and escorted into a living room, filled with memorabilia and autographs of people who had been at the restaurant throughout the years.  We even had a elderly woman bring her insane, but adorable dog who took great delight in rolling around on the fine carpeting.  She must be a regular or the owner of the building or something because she got away with having that dog with her in the dining room.  He had no leash and he followed her around.  I would guess something like a shih tzu? 

Anyway, eventually each group of us were led separately to the elevator and taken upstairs.   In 1984, the elevator guy asked me my name, practiced it and when the doors opened, he announced me:  Madamoiselle:______.  So when this elevator guy said “Comment allez vous”, I replied “Madam and Monsieur Holmerud”.  He looked confused, but repeated “holmerud” and I told him that was “parfait”

It was only after we stepped off the elevator and he didn’t announce us that I realized he had asked me “How are you?” “Comment allez-vous” literally means “how are you going” and I have been hearing that on my French tapes for about 3 weeks now.  But alas, in my excitement, I confused “allez” with “appellez”, I think.  Or maybe I’m just getting senile.  And so there was a young man, employed as the elevator operator in a fine French restaurant who, for the rest of the day, tried to figure out what being “holmerud” meant.  Was it good?  Bad?  Sickly?  Happy?  And what language was the word as well.  Sheesh.  Buy ya books, send you to school……..  (inside joke between the Gene-man and I)

We were escorted to our table by the window and asked if we would like an aperitif – perhaps some champagne, which we agreed would be heavenly and off our escort waiter went.  Then our head waiter approached with the menu and gently suggested that perhaps we would prefer that he speak in English?  I was able to pull together “Je ne parle pas bien le francais”.  He nicely replied “vous parlez le Francais tres bien” and then switched to English.  He told us about the different choices for lunch:  the prix fixe menu of 3 courses, the a la carte menu, the tasting menu and the super tasting menu, where the chef decides what to send out, although it would follow the tasting menu as well with maybe one or two more items. 

Our champagne arrived, along with a small plate of pate & veggies to nosh on while we made our choices.  We were already settling into the slow pace and tranquility of the place.  Here was our view:

Interestingly, the restaurant remains somewhat sexist:  My menu only listed the choices of food.  Gene’s menu listed that AND the prices.  I assumed the a la carte selections were off the table for me and Gene concurred.  The price for caviar in that section was the only item they DID show a price for --  210 euros (approximately $284 American).

After some back and forth discussion and what have you, we decided to go for it and do the “let the chef decide for you” menu.  As the head waiter went off to place our order, the Sommelier came with the – ha ha – wine list.  It resembled Elphaba’s book of incantations and spells, if you’ve ever seen “Wicked”.  About 11x14 inches, about 4 inches thick, 5 or 6 sections of various types of wine, some at 6900+ euros for a bottle.  We stopped looking at the names and started looking at anything we could fine that was only 3 digits.  Fortunately, there were lots of bottles of wine in the 3-digit arena with the first digit being only a “1”.  Still terribly expensive, but whew!

The Sommelier came back.  He was super.  He asked questions about what kind of wine we liked (pinot noir), he chatted with us, joked with us, put us totally at ease, made us feel like whatever we chose would be the perfect choice, and based on what we had told him, made a few suggestions he thought we would like and we chose a bottle.  He even left the book with us so we could take some photos:

Shortly thereafter the wine server came (different person than the waiter who escorted us to the table, the head waiter who gave us our menus or the sommelier).  She showed us the bottle, poured a little in a small glass, did that swirl, stick your nose in and sniff, and had a little taste.  SHE decided that the wine was good, not us.  And it made sense to me that someone trained would be able to tell if a wine was good or bad and not be afraid to reject it.  She put the wine in a basket server and left.  This is something we’ve never seen:  the wine was left to air.  She didn’t pour any for us at that moment.  The wine was brought to the table at a point where it would be perfect to drink just as the meal started.  Beside, we were still working on the glass of champagne (which, by the way, was soooooo good.  When Gene was sipping his too slowly, and I had almost finished mine, I switched them and had a sip of his.  He switched them back – grrrrr)

 

 At last, our first course arrived and, as we were told, it was described – a small bowl of puree veggies of some kind, over which they poured a tomato puree that I believe may have been the nectar of the gods.  We didn’t understand the description, but we know good gazpacho when we taste it and this gazpacho was heavenly.  I have a wonderful gazpacho recipe I learned about from visiting Spain 3 years ago.  Now I have to search for the Tour d’Argent recipe.  I believe it’s in the quality of the tomatoes and veggies, but man oh man, the groaning from our table started.  I neglected to take a photo of this course, but did for the remainder of the meal.

And this came next:

 

Little rolled-up something or others with cool filings in some, including caviar in a couple (I told you we didn’t always understand what they were describing).  Neither of us are caviar fans, but this was very tasty, not salty or fishy and went down nice and smooth.

Sometime during this period, our wine was served to us.  OMG, what a great choice of wine. I know from nothing about dry, sweet, whatever.  I do know this wine went down very very smoothly and then you got a little after-taste of what the sommelier called “gaminess”.  I called it “a hint of sherry”. The sommelier checked in with us – again, perfect timing” and when I told him the wine seemed to have a hint of sherry, he said “that’s right”.  I expressed delight and said “I’m right about that? And he answered with a perfect “The woman is always right”.  ß ya gotta imagine that one said with a perfect French accent is killer.

Each time we finished a course, the busboy (? Not sure what to call him but he hovered and took care) wasted very little time clearing our plates and sweeping up any crumbs from the table and laying down new silverware for the next course.  We were brought bread – one beautiful roll at a time and an entire stick of butter, already softened (viva la France!).  As we finished a roll or even almost finished it, another roll was placed on the plate – always perfectly timed so we never ran out of bread.  And never had to ask for another piece of bread or pout our own wine.

Next up was this:

 

This was mackerel POACHED? MARINATED? in a something or other for a while along with other goodies (perhaps the wine was kicking in because my memory is fuzzy).  Oh hell, I dunno.  But I thought “makerel ceviche”.  Cooked but cold.  Like the most wonderful makerel sushi you’ve ever had and in fact, I’m gonna try the mackerel sushi more often when I’m sushi-ing.

We were started to really become atuned to the place and relax into it.  I realized after we left:  1) no music overhead, 2) no kids making kid noises 3) no loud talking or a sudden way-too-boisterous laughter.  The atmosphere was one of calm, serenity, peace – the perfect atmosphere for focusing on and enjoying food.  When I got up from the table to go to the ladies room at one point, the waiter immediately indicated “this way” and walked me to the exit, where another waiter pointed where I should turn.  I never had to worry my precious little head about which way I should go.  They anticipated and made it easy for me, like it was their job to make sure you didn’t have to think about anything else but the food (and this time, they were equal opportunity guides – Gene got the same treatment when he got up to go to the mens’ room)

After we quit moaning over the mackerel – and don’t forget; when necessary we were brought a new roll and the wine was poured whenever our glasses got too low – this course came:

 

 

All’s I know:  best damned poached (I think) sea bass I’ve ever had.  Oh wow.  Oh yum.  And those little things on a stick are tiny artichoke hearts.  It can’t get any better than this, can it?  IT CAN:

 

 

This was a lamb something or other.  The lamb had been marinated in something or other for 8 hours, then it was cooked somehow and presented over potatoes with a truffle gravy.  And we were in lamb heaven.  I don’t like lamb.  I don’t ever cook lamb.  I don’t ever order lamb.  Yuck, lamb.  This dish, though, this dish?  BRING ME MORE LAMB!!!! WANT LAMB!!!!  JUST LIKE THIS.  This was when I started wondering if I could get away with running my fingers around the serving dishes and then licking them to make sure I got all the sauce I could. 

But wait!  There’s more!  Table cleared, swept of crumbs?  Check.  Wine poured?  Check.  Another roll for whomever needed one?  Check.  Time for this:

 

Goat cheese with lines of pistachio.  GOAT CHEESE WITH PISTACHIO!!!  Oh my, oh my, oh my.  Just sit there and think about that combination.  The bestest and creamiest goat cheese you’ve had and the perfectly crushed and seasoned pistachio nuts put together in one dish.  Oh mamma.

That cleansed our palate, so we could move on to dessert(s).  Yeah there were a bunch of them.  First came this:

A little piece of heavenly sponge cake topped with a strawberry/raspberry mousse and little pieces of fruit along the side of the plate.  That dollop of white is real vanilla ice cream -- you could see the specks of vanilla and taste what real vanilla ice cream is supposed to taste like.

We thought we were done with dessert and would be total happy if that was the end.  But it wasn't:

This is a chocolate crème brulee crust and when you break it, you find chocolate mousse surrounding chocolate ice cream.  Death by chocolate, indeed.  But very light chocolate; not the heavy over-powering kind of chocolate that gives me a migraine sometimes.  This just gave me a little smile.  Surely we were done now, right?  We thought so and ordered tea and coffee.  While we were waiting, this came:

 

 

A tray of chocolate and caramel something-or-others and a tray of small cakes -- coconut, lemon & raspberry.  We noshed a little more as we sipped our tea & coffee, which, btw, was the perfect ending.  I've been disappointed in the past to have a great meal only to then be served weak coffee. This was good ol' French coffee.  Robust but not bitter. 

And so our meal ended.  It was 3:30.  We were smiling, but sad that this was the end of going out to dinner for a while back home.  Because we know that every restaurant, even our favorites, will disappoint us.  So we have to put some space between eating out and this experience.