Ippudo - Paris, France

What exactly does one crave after a 17-hour visit to Versailles? Ramen. Obviously ramen. It is only natural that a steaming bowl of protein, floating fat, and comfort carbs should come after a day of 30,000 torturous steps. 

Ippudo is a chain, a wildly successful one that's gone all over the globe. It’s one I’ve always wanted to try, and this branch sits only two blocks from my Paris hotel. 

There's no line at opening time, and the food comes out fast. I'm staring at the strips of fatty pork belly glistening on these Hirata Buns. They mesh well with a layer of mayo and a leaf lettuce, which cools down each intense bite of fatty pork folded between fluffy, steamy bun-sheets.

Their specials list advertises Tokyo Tsukemen, available only in limited quantities.

Snag one if you can but only if you're a fan of fish. The bonito splices fifty-fifty with a thick tonkotsu broth, clinging to each ropy noodle, dripping with porky potential. It's exactly what tsukemen is supposed to be.

First the buns, then the ramen dip. A couple of cult classics followed by a blistering bowl of their "modern" Akamaru Ramen. The noodles can be customized, ranging from soft to almost-raw. I like the middle-man al dente, and the garlic oil adds a pungent edge to a golden broth. 

If you've never had ramen, Ippudo has what you need. Their broth has the right mix of creamy fat and balanced savor, and their adjustable noodles cater to all. It's clear why they're wanted all over the world, and I imagine they're the reason so many people got hooked on ramen.

BFF Trip - Paris, France - Day 5

Versailles. Few tourists are more intimately acquainted with Versailles than I. I say this with conviction because few tourists have actually spent 17 consecutive hours in Versailles when they were not hopelessly lost or drowning in a fountain, of which there are 26. 

Et voila, the saga begins. Day 5 of our bestie trip: the death march of Versailles.

We started with the bike tour. Blue Fox travels staffs friendly Frenchies, full of fun, energy, and sarcasm. Cecelia is our guide, and she is spectacular. A bubbling fountain of knowledge, she knows all the stories and scandals and keeps us entertained. She's so good, you almost forget you're learning something. 

The tour starts in town. There is an extensive market, a line of stalls snaking through multiple streets. We throw it all into saddle bags and ride towards a picnic near the Grand Canal.

The picnic is horrible. The food is fantastic, but eating it in a field of wasps is not what the brochure described. And they're not harmless bumblebees. These things are bloodthirsty - they buzz right by the sugary desserts and go straight for the meat. One stings me while I'm not even moving, and the welt swells, inflammation that travels downward for several days. 

Still, the food is fantastic, what few bites I got to have. The jambon de bayonne is the French cured ham, and there's nothing better on a baguette. There is also a lip-smacking saucisson sec with hazelnuts. 

Our cheeses have melted, but it just makes them more like fondue. There is a Rocamadour chevre that is more pungent but still soothing. There is another little nub, but I can't recall what it was called. And finally, there is a soft goat cheese that crumbles into milky bites of ash. 

We even got dessert. The best bakery in town, according to the security guards who saw the box. The name escapes me, but the green awning is easy to spot. There are two giant macarons. The coffee is good, but the chocolate is better .Then the Eclair a la Violette. WOW. The icing on top exudes a sweet fragrance, and the filling is a breeze of brushy petals that flirt with the senses.

We move towards the Grand Trianon and Petit Trianon with full bellies. 

There aren't a lot of photo ops - the colors are pretty flamboyant, but the Queen's Hameau doesn't disappoint.

Love the pseudo-rustic cottages...

And how about this lighthouse...in the middle of a tiny lake.

Finally, we reach the golden gates.

We start with the daytime Grandes Eaux Musicales, where the fountains flow to the strains of classical music.

We marvel at the gardens first, and then we make our way inside.

Every inch of the this chateau is covered with something grand. Every corner is gilded, and every ceiling is ornately painted with murals by the masters.

But there is nothing in the world more grand than the hall of mirrors. The photos do no justice - you literally can't breathe for a moment after you step in, and even though it's my second time, it's still like a walking into a fairytale.

Crepe break. Definition: the crepe au sucre you scarf down to get you through the remaining death march, as you set off into an interminable journey into the gardens for Les Grandes Eaux Nocturnes. 

I mentioned earlier that there are 26 fountains in Versailles. We saw 24 of them during Les Grandes Eaux Nocturnes. No two are alike, and no two are even similar. They range from a simple upright...

to a sky-high spray...

to Apollo's grotto...

to beads on a string.

They even light up several fountains, and the water dances as it glows. 

The fountains are magical at night. The entire garden looks enchanted, and the grand chateau in the background only adds to the grandeur. My feet and legs do sorely regret the 30,000 steps we logged on my FitBit, but the memories might be worth it.

Le Cristal - Paris, France

Surely we did not venture into a Mediterranean dive after lunching at The Ledbury? (It reads better in a fake British accent). Indeed, we resigned ourselves. It is surely an abysmal follow-up, but it’s midnight in Paris, and it’s the only thing open for miles. 

Though it is not a first choice, as the only choice, it could be worse. The Pirzola has twin lamb chops that are grilled to a gray, though not tough and is nicely perfumed where rosemary rests.

The Tavuk Sis is a pleasant surprise as the chicken is almost tender, not at all dry, and holds an enticing mix of spices. Both plates are piled with a tomato fried rice and a chopped tomato and cucumber mix, as well as a generous helping of salad with oil and vinegar and a pile of crispy potatoes.

You may not leave ecstatic, but you definitely won’t leave hungry. Le Cristal gets the job done. Not so unpleasant if they’re your only option, but maybe try to check for other options.

The Ledbury - London, England

They say that lunch is the inferior meal of fine dining. Then again, “they” are usually the same SMH’ers that throw shade on British food, and once again they are wrong. Though The Ledbury may be more casual by day, their flavors are anything but.

I often enjoy the amuse bouches even more than the apps. I love the sneak preview of all that is to come, and the momentary mouthful allows a glimpse into the fleeting whims of a beautiful mind. 

If these amuse bouches are any indication, this meal is going to change my life. Our first is an seaweed crisp with a dollop of Smoked Mussel Cream. The mussel sits heavy like a thick dewdrop of pate, with a texture that washes over like waves of silk. The smoke infuses the senses, a smoldering coal from deep within. 

Next is a Guinea Fowl Pate Puff, airy pastry layered like centuries of sandstone, housing a bold burst of liver cream. The final, not-photographed delight features a succulent crab paste with tiny shrimp that pack a punch both sweet and powerful.

Even bread is unforgettable. This Sourdough uses a bold starter, and there is that fermented flavor that finishes with a tang. A soothing goat whey is dotted with molasses, a dashing concoction that gives it a perky boost.

The Fresh Hazelnuts starts like a mere salad, but it sneaks into a whole new memory. The noisettes make their expectedly nutty noise, highlighted by summer peaches and green beans that blow me away. I truly do not know what they doing to their beans here, but London  has the best green beans in the world. I’ve never enjoyed green beans like I have in London, and I doubt I ever will. This salad smells and tastes of sunkissed summer, touched by dew, and buried within the warmth, there are glimpses of savor as duck liver gratings peek through.

The Veal Tartare is a primal pile. The taste is so pure, so raw. The fine bits of baby beef have amped up their game, and the rich sauce awakens something wild.

The silky roasted artichoke is just divine, a tangy finish that takes a dip in a mozzarella lake. As if the tartare isn’t already a crazy dream, a side of beef fat becomes one with a crusty chunk of toast.

I can barely bring myself to cut into the Native Lobster. Its beauty is too much to mar, and I grow concerned when I see the thick scales of shiitake on top. I fear the assertive fungi will overexert their influence over the fragile flavors of lobster. But this combination doesn’t sink; it swims in a lake of lemon velvet, and the shiitake adds balance to a smooth-sailing lobster sea.

The Belted Galloway Beef is a risk worth taking. It is a dish for two so we can’t hedge our bets on separate entrees. It’s my best gamble yet, and the payoff is huge. I may never know a risk more worth taking. The tender cut of filet bleeds bright blood into layers of onion seared tender, and a coin of bone marrow buys another complex layer of melting bliss. Yet the unyielding, unforgiving, easy-to-bland, quick-to-dry cube of short rib becomes the highlight of the dish, of the meal, perhaps of my entire time in London. This preparation highlights and solidifies the rich marbling of fat, as it weaves a web through every glistening crevice of meat. Each bite shreds under the mere flick of a fork.

Pre-dessert preps the palate with a cleansing Passion Fruit Mousse. The dairy is made bold and bright by a more tangy fruit, and it re-awakens the sleepy sugar taste buds, previously overwhelmed by the intensity of the short rib.

A lightly-fried Donut completes the cleanse. A light shell houses a doughy middle that flicks off sugar sprites as you bite.

The real dessert follows, first this work-of-art Raspberry Tart in light-catching crimson and gold. Raspberries release their juice into a light cream and a crunchy crust, playing peekaboo with scoops of dense sorbet. 

The Brown Sugar Tart is a sugar-crust on a block of roasted sugar. This custard is smooth with a breeze of burnt, and it meshes with the bitter finish of ginger ice cream. It’s a colder shock, the ice cream, a dash of breezy, spicy burn to counter all that sugar and cream. The line of sweet grapes add a juicy, jammy accent to finish the flavors off.

Post-desserts come quick, right when we feel too full to move. The Juniper Caramel Stick is crisp and refreshing, a digestif that tastes like a sappy tree with floaty notes of pine.

There are also Chocolate Truffles, not uncommon and not unexpected, but the creamy center is expectedly divine.

If this is lunch, I MUST return for dinner. The Ledbury is among the best meals I’ve had in London, and it ranks among my top ten ever. The creativity is astounding, and its execution is exquisite and unparalleled. The Ledbury is in a league of its own, a unique experience I will not soon forget.