For our final dinner in Paris Milady decided to pay homage to an event currently occuring in many parts of North America – the emergence portion of the 17 year life cycle of cicadas. Our dining spot du soir was Le Cigale Recamier on the Rue Recamier near the intersection of Rue de Sevres and Boulevard Raspail. The connection? Sorry, cigale French for cicada and a word generally not encountered in high school French, though the specialties of the house, soufflés, are essential to the understanding and appreciation of La Cuisine Française.

Soufflés are the metaphors of cooking – more in intent than in existence. With no internal structure to maintain their height, they are tall and graceful one moment and completely deflated, and not very interesting, the next. Preparing one for an intimate dinner for two is a challenge – preparing dozens in different flavors and sizes for multiple diners on multiple schedules must be a logistical nightmare. The complexities of preparing and serving are vanquished at Le Cigale – Milady and I ordered nothing that overlapped, and we were served piping hot dishes at precisely the same moment by a wait staff who were friendly, polite and completely bi-lingual.

We arrived early, Milady suffers some lost dinner reservation anxiety (probably because McDonald’s never seemed to honor them, regardless of how long in advance they were made) and our habit is to strike preemptively. Upon arrival the restaurant was nearly deserted and we feared it reflected a decline in popularity since our visit last year. We were wrong – we were just ahead of the crowd, which completely filled every table by the time we finished dessert.

What does one drink, knowing the dinner, if properly prepared, will be 2/3 hot air? (And what if the soufflés fall flat and become irretrievable disasters? Can one enjoy the same wine which would have supported triumphs, or should one spill the wine, break the glasses and drink only tap water from repurposed jelly jars?) We found our answer in an impressive 2010 Chinon from the modest wine list. Light, adaptable and affordable, it opened nicely, blossomed with the starters and took hold with the main courses.

Milady and I shared the most delightful tiny raviolis, stuffed with fresh vegetables and served in a mild Roquefort cheese sauce. I do mean tiny, as most were smaller than one centime coin, but served al dente with correspondingly scaled bits of al dente vegetables swimming happily in the Roquefort sea. The contrast between the wine and the cheese sauce clearly brought out the best in each. Our main courses were soufflés – Milady chose cheese and I chose a Coquille St. Jacques. Hers was a sweet, creamy taste carried by the tiny bubbles to her palate. Mine was exquisite, the scent of briny scallops but not a morsel of substance, tickled my tongue and suggested perfectly prepared nuggets of just out of the ocean fresh crustaceans without actually delivering them. [I would insert a SLURP here, but then the soufflé would fall and the magic would be lost.]

Dessert was pistachio soufflé for Milady, and salted caramel soufflé for me. How they created the incredibly intense flavors working with only air and the merest suggestions of the source items is truly magical. We left with pleasant flavors basking our tongues, and the promise to return not in 17 years like the cicadas, but the next time we’re in Paris.