The cuisine at La Colombe is to die for. And it better be. Our cab hugs perilous curves in the pitch black night with a practiced precision, not that there's another option as the crashing sea beneath leaves no margin for error.
I should also mention that we're traveling through a downpour. Visibility is next to none as the rain flies, drenching a city that thirsts.
I'm thirsty too. Thirsty for experience, starving for what the chefs voted as the #73 best restaurant in the world.
With just one bite I start to see what the other chefs saw. The amuse bouche of Hibiscus Water hides in foliage, a cocoa butter casing best consumed with the mouth fully closed. The water inside is only slightly viscous, washing over every place on the palate, priming it for the flavor-flood to come. The volume of liquid is overwhelming at first, but the light floral overtones are refreshing, like an ant that swallowed a giant drop of morning dew.
They bring out the bread to start, a ball of crusty Sourdough, steaming soft, waiting to be smeared with "natural" butter; pork lard with paprika. The lard dances with slick chorizo slices, and the savor sneaks itself in, engulfing the senses mere moments after it sinks into the crevices of the supple sourdough.
Parmesan Breadsticks crunch in contrasting tones. These are a delightful combo of salty olives sprinkled on butter-sticks.
Tuna 'La Colombe,' A dish so signature the chef does not allow it to be described. It is sealed in a cheeky, chicken-of-the-sea, pull-tab can, the contents of which are inscribed on a playful label. The tuna is meaty, a raw red so tender the avocado chunks almost match it in softness. The "umami broth" is much like a sweet soy sauce, not quite teriyaki. Clean, classic, perfect.
The Mozambican Langostine and Kerala Style Sweetbreads merges the land and sea. The langostine is so tender it's just unreal; it finishes just slightly gooey like Japanese sweet shrimp, as it slathers itself across your tongue and seeps sweetness into every crevice of your mouth. It's a foil to these firm, no-nonsense sweetbreads.
Far East meets Middle East in the Korean Style Beef Tataki. A dukkah crust disrupts a smooth-as-silk wagyu roll, aided by an earthy romesco and a perky hoisin glaze.
The Seared Scallop is peerless, a pliable disc whisked off a sizzling saute seconds before it begins to char. It steeps with radiant rows of sweet corn and attends a gorgeously glazed pork belly, practically dissolved from cooking sous vide.
Life began on this continent, and a theatrical inception gives rise to this primal palate cleanser. Steam rises through this Eden-esque forest floor, engulfing the tablecloth to create a misty mystery without spilling a single drop.
The vapor clears, and eggs materialize from the mist. A sorbet of sorts, a citrus yolk sends fine shards of tang through a light, creamy white. Lemongrass clashes with assertive ginger, and pomelo moderates the skirmish.
Cod sleeps on a comforter of creamed mussels. The dish runs afowl as a pearly piece of chicken steals the show in spectalar fashion. The egg may come before the chicken on this menu, but this chicken is more memorable by far. I've never had chicken so tender, texture that rivals even the best braised belly of pork.
Lamb Loin. Every bit as tender as expected, full of its famed game-flavor...and then the braised neck. The neck is indisputably the best piece of meat I've tasted today, maybe ever. A nonchalant circlet sits beneath a showy shallot, it hides until it hits, until the very essence of lamb shines through every sliver and there is no going back. The lamb is the best kind of intense, and there are satiating slips of broccoli, turnip, and pickled red onion to give your palatal emotions a break.
The storm rages outside this peaceful paradise, the rain tumbling down in unfolding sheets. The Borenkaas takes a stand, as organized ribbons of bold, nutty, slightly pungent waves roll against the chaos. Set against subtler sugars of spongecake crumbs and fluid pear, this cheese course segments a meat-heavy slew seamlessly.
Roasted Ivoire Namelaka sits silky in the center of a lively surround. The rest of the plate is pulsating with activity as spongecake soaks up honeycomb and sugary pineapple collaborates with chamomile. The dance of the salted caramel ribbons ebbs and flows with the alternating warm and cold, liquid and solid, sweet and bitter, a finale for the beginning of the end.
A couple more tidbits while we await the check. Shells of dark chocolate release a flood salted caramel; I am floored by these Truffles.
The almond and blueberry Financier makes my knees shake; the amount of pure, decadent butter they hold is the purest sin.
I used to think there was no magic in the world. I am no less cynical now, but places like La Colombe have adjusted my view. For me, real magic lies not in white knights and unicorns. It is not necessarily inexplicable or coincidental. For me, magic lies in creations like La Colombe. It's the vision of a wide-eyed child who realizes his dreams as a seasoned chef. A man who creates a culinary haven to house his vision and allow him to share it with the world. La Colombe offers a glimpse into a brilliant mind and bares the heart and soul of an incredible human being, and that is truly magical.
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