There is nothing I can say to prepare you for an experience like Alain Ducasse. It's impossible, it's improbable, but somehow if you wind up at the Plaza Athenee, no amount of research prepares you for something like this.
I step in from the uneven Parisian sidewalk and freeze as I feel the luxury of this place descend into my pores. It's sensory overload, and my brain is frantically processing the lights, the sounds, the smells. The hostess takes my gross black fleece without flinching, and the servers whisk us into the most beautiful dining room I've ever seen. They are the most beautiful people I've ever seen, the staff, and they serve impeccably, smiling politely at my nervous jests, believably missing my frequent faux pas.
I'm trying to walk straight and steady on my heels, but I'm sure it's obvious that I rarely dress up. I'm hiding my momentary blindness from the twinkling lights of the most elaborate chandelier. Crystals dance around the gilded candelabras, throwing rivulets of illumination in every direction. And they don't just have one of these chandeliers; they have three.
It's like dining in the hall of mirrors in Versailles, with all the imagined splendor of Louis XIV. Turns out, they do source some vegetables from the gardens of Versailles so it's not a far cry from the glamorous days of poufs and ballgowns, back when the men wore the heels.
The somms waltz over with an enticing recommendation. Start like Louis...with Louis; a pink champagne from Louis Roederer of Reims, a 2010 vintage. The bubbles surface with a gentle lilt, and the glass glows, a glimmering goblet that starts on the sweeter side and finishes crisp and smooth.
It goes well with the amuse bouches, starting with a light fall-apart conglomerate of sunflower seeds and grains. The basil juice washes it down, green like a morning lawn. A sugar-fruit prune sorbet follows (not pictured), borrowing a bright tang from an elderberry lake.
Fried Sea Bass Skin floats and melts before you know it's gone. It leaves a lingering salty savor to balance a meaty morsel of mullet.
A Fried Sardine shimmers in a vibrant tarragon sauce, melt-in-your-mouth viscera light and bright.
An earthy Chickpea Mousse gets a contrast of citrus with lemon caviar. The sea bass tartare seasons it with unexpected dots of fishy flavor.
The bread is usually just an accompaniment, a sponge to soak up all that champagne. There is a gluten-free Rice Bread that has a moist texture of comfort, and a Olive Focaccia is fluffy with bursts of salt.
The chef's choice menu officially starts with Schrencki Caviar, shimmering black pearls that pop inside buckwheat crepes. Fresh cream adds a velvety texture, and a dense bed of lentils adds a flat and hearty balance.
They barely cook their seafood at Alain Ducasse, a new technique I've never tasted before. And after this impossibly tender Grilled Swordfish, there is no turning back. The half-cooked, half-practically-raw style turns a steak-y fish that usually rubberizes into something so juicy and soft, like a pillow of plush.
These Gamberoni are the sweetest crustaceans to ever graze my lips. The under-cooking gives them a gooey texture, and the combination is mesmerizing with ripe melon and figs.
It's hard to tear your eyes and taste buds from the shrimp, but the Black Rice is a hypnotizing flavor-craze. The squid infuses into the rice, and the stone pot gives it that crispy crust. Sea asparagus lightens up the butter, crunchy sticks of briny green.
The cheese course comes next, but it's all a blur. I remember the nutty, full-flavor Comte, clearly benefiting from 14 years in a cave. The other cheeses are smoother, but each asserts its own profile of firm fruit and nut. The Stilton is gentler than I expected - this one is a creamy, less abrasive bleu.
The cheese cart comes next, though we're almost too full to enjoy it...ALMOST. There's an incredibly fresh goat cheese that has the texture of soft curd. Add some olive oil and pepper to make it milky perfection. There's a textbook chevre as well, but nothing quite steals the show like this superb soft-rind goat cheese that combines cool, sweet, and clean. We end with the Camembert, a flavor so ripe that you can taste the pungency from behind your eyes as it wafts up in a cloud of delightful funk.
This isn't fair. Dessert is Figs. I can't control myself around figs, and these are peak-season. The juiciest, ripest bulbs of slick sugar sit in shavings of milk, and they even add freshly roasted ones for a contrast in temperature and texture. The somm brings a 1997 Sauternes, and it's heaven like I've never known.
There's a Fig Leaf Cake on the side, a burnt, spun batter that finishes light and fluffy, like a souffle without the air-holes.
The signature Baba au Rhum is soaked with alcoholic sweetness, a moist slice from a golden ring, wet with a cloud of Chantilly cream.
To finish, there is also a simple bowl of sweet Grapes.
The Chocolates are the finale. Dark squares full of crunchy roasted seeds and nuts.
They send us off with another assorted box, every piece filled with something different for us to savor over the next few days.
It took me days to fully process what happened to me at Alain Ducasse. I can only describe it as the Disneyland of dining, but instead of cheesiness, they have fromage. This Plaza Athenee restaurant is the most magical place I've ever seen, and for foodies, it has to be the happiest place on earth.
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