We arrived in the City of Light on the TVG from Bordeaux early this evening. The trip was smooth and uneventful, allowing me to transcribe my notes from yesterday’s vineyard visitation (posted under “Wining in Bordeaux”) and grab a little nap. (The nap was delicious, but a bit hairy nonetheless.) We walked from the Gare Montparnasse to our room at the Victoria Palace hotel – despite my pleas to simply take the TARDIS from the Grand Hotel de Bordeaux and avoid any reliance on other forms of temporal transition. I hate moving luggage, and because I am the biggest and strongest member of our party, its always my job.
Paris is glorious! Our hotel room is beautiful – and Milady had the foresight to reserve a table at one of my favorite restaurants. Restaurant Josephine “Chez Dumonet” on the Rue de Cherche-Midi in the 6th arrondissement, makes the finest boeuf bourgeon in the world. Better than Murghk’s, better than anyone’s, and portion sizes that would satisfy a French-Canadian lumberjack coming off a hunger-strike. “Chez Josephine” as it is colloquially known, is a quintessential Parisian restaurant. A single store front wide, it has a little bar in the front, a room seating no more than 25 or 30, and a chef who produces bourgeois cuisine better than anyone else in Paris (and perhaps the whole world).
The restaurant staggers its reserved (yes – you really need a reservation, even on Wednesday night) seatings. We asked for 8PM and were offered 7:30, which we gratefully accepted. We arrived promptly and were seated at our favorite table, at the back of the room and against the wall. The owner/maitre d’/husband of the chef served us a glass of the house white wine moments after we were seated. The waiter brought crusty, dense bread and fresh sweet butter moments after that. Then the carte des vins and menus followed in due course. Taking our cue from Charles (at Orchids in Cincinnati) we ordered a 2011 Chinon from the modest and very carefully vetted wine list. Chez Dumonet clearly takes pride in its offerings and the wine list is focused on values rather than show labels – but quality comes at an ever increasing price, so be forewarned.
This was our fifth visit, so we’ve finally learned to share the starter, the main course and the dessert. The special was white aspargus with a tomato-scented hollandaise and was out of this world. Big, thick white asparagus stalks simmered to tenderness and served warm with the sauce on the side was a great way to begin the meal. This was followed by the world’s best bourgeon – large tender chunks of excellent beef simmered in red wine and mushrooms until the beef is so tender it can collapse off one’s fork, leaving a gravy blot on one’s clean shirt. No matter – a good laundress can make it disappear, but you will never forget the flavor; rich beefiness with a hint of salt and a satisfying density. Dessert was a perfectly prepared souffle (which you must remember to order with your main course) with a touch of Gran Marnier. The sharp orange of the liquor contrasting brilliantly with the sugar and egg whites of the crust.
We left contented – and with enough left in our purse to fund another day here, the tariff being moderate by local standards.

Where shall I begin? Le Pressoir d’Argent is a Guide Miche one star in the process of earning a second, so every one and every thing is exquisitely presented. The room is gorgeous, in a classic style with tables set elegantly far apart, a ceiling high enough to permit indoor kite-flying and a staff as skilled as the kitchen. If every resaurant followed this formula, Murghk could give up cooking – assuming he actually holds last Saturday’s winning Powerball ticket. The tariff is definitely not for the weak of heart (or faint of pocketbook), but worth every Euro the human male spent. (How often have you heard me say that?)
We were greeted and shown to a lovely table against the far wall in the first room. Quiet and unobtrusive, with a good view of the rest of the room, it boasted a wonderful serving staff. After a polite inquiry about cocktails (which we declined), the carte des vins was promptly offered to the male. As one should expect in the absolute heart of wine country, it was heavily weighted towards local vineyards, and carefully curated to prevent oenophilic anxiety; though the number of bottles not requiring a second mortgage on the nest was limited. We chose a 2005 from an unfamiliar chateau, but either the sommelier thought it appropriate or completely off the wall because he smiled as he said “Excellent” and scurried off to the cave to retrieve it. For the record, it was superb – full, rounded with tannins that became velvety as the wine opened and released dark red fruits with a hint of cedar and earth on the extraordinarily long finish.
Starters were exquisite. As we were puzzling through the menu, a lovely amuse-bouche was presented, and included macadamia nuts dusted with gold (literally!), a long, crisp and very thin breadstick stuck in an almost mustardy mayonnaise, and a lobster mousse dollop on a slightly savory macaroon. A second amuse bouche, a tantalizing taste of red mullet with vegetables in a broth was so good it gave Milady second thoughts about her main course – fortunately it was too late for her to change her mind. Milady ordered the fois gras; marinated in white wine, roasted and served with country bread. I ordered the scallop carpaccio which is served as two scallops covered with an overcast of foie gras then kissed with a flame, on crispy rounds of mango. It is finished with a drizzle of Xerez balsamic vinegar. The contrasts of soft and crisp, sweet and sharp, hot and cold are simply perfect. [Slurp]. To ready you for the main course, a delightful palate cleanser of blood orange sorbet topped with a froth of Tahitian vanilla. At this point one begins to think that the rest of the meal must necessarily be a letdown, but one presses valiantly on to the main event.
The speciality of the house is the world famous blue lobster of Brittany. It is priced in 100 gram (about 3 1/2 ounces) increments to prevent sticker shock; you choose your own lobster (lobsters are integral units, so you must order a whole one), call your broker to arrange financing, and wait while it is pre-prepared. It then arrives at the table with a saucier of broth and the presentation begins. The waiter takes everything but the tail and claw meat, adds the roe, places it in the “pressoir” and extracts the juices. She (or he) does this three times and then adds the extract to the broth, spoons in a dollop of heavy cream, a dash of salt, freshly ground black pepper, and expertly whisks the mixture into a sauce which is gently pour over two towers of artfully arranged tail and claw meat. There is simply no way to describe how incredibly delicious the dish tastes. One forgets everything but the taste – “l’addition” will be of no consequence, one’s children will simply have to forego private school for a public education, the car will last another decade – there is nothing in the world like this meal.
Dessert was almost anti-climatic; but it wasn’t. A hollow dark chocolate shell filled with litchi sorbet which surrounded a pingpong ball size scoop of Tahitian vanilla ice cream. The combination was a knockout – whatever disappointments you have ever experienced when you ordered a tartufo will be forgiven. Milady ordered a praline souffle. Laced with amaretto, blanketed with chantilly and bedded on the previously mentioned litchi sorbet, it surprised and delighted with a combination of textures and flavors that is completely unique.
On our very first trip to Paris we ate at the Jules Verne. We had dinner at Stone Barn at Blue hills last winter. At each of those fine restaurants we dined well – and spent nearly as much. The gastro-theater at Stone Barn was first rate, the view at Jules Verne was unique, the food at Le Pressoir d’Argent was better.

Flying is always stressful, and flying to France is more so only because Milady does not yet speak the language. I, on the other wing, can still, after all these centuries, order an edible repas with a respectable wine, even if I sometimes make amateur faux pas. The flapping of my wings on landing at Meringnac apparently caused the local weather to deteriorate into the low to middle 50’s with intermittent rain. While rain just runs right off my scales, the humans apparently require things called “raincoats” to avoid becoming soaked and cranky. (Why any creature would actually want a coating of raindrops is beyond my ken, but humans are strange!) Fortunately we were able to hide in a local eating spot, L’Ombragerie, which had delicious mussels and chèvre roti, and wait out the liquid sunshine…But that’s not the subject of this musing.
Tonight we dined at the brasserie in our hotel rather than brave the beastly weather. As they say locally, “Wow!” Milady began with the white asparagus. These are not your mother’s white asparagus; they are plump, flavorful and pushed through a neo-potato chip, like an arrow. The silky and crunchy textures made my mouth very happy and reminded me that menu descriptions sometimes lose something in the translation. The menu clearly hinted, at least to Milady, that the John Dory (which for unfathomable reasons the French insist on calling “St. Peter’s fish”) was likely to need filleting at the table. Nothing could have been further from the truth. Served in an herbed broth redolent with an exotic spice, baby carrots, celery, potato and other delights, this absolutely perfect filet of tender white fish was a joy. The human male, having gorged himself earlier in the room with four kinds of local cheese, freshly baked bread, dried figs and apricots, walnuts and homemade strawberry jam decided to forego an appetizer. (Me too, having sworn not to once again endanger my FAA certification through overindulgence.) He did dine on a beautiful small lamb sirloin, accompanied by artichoke hearts sautéed in butter and minced lamb with vegetables and mint served in a egg roll-like pastry shell.
The wine was a 2010 Chateau Mouton Rothschild, a local offering that provided a flavorful support to the meal. Desserts were a glace du chocolate, glace du pistache and glace du menthe-chocolate. They were delicious without needing a full recitation of their virtues – flavors that coat your palate and trickle happily down to the tummy really don’t improve with description, they demand tasting!
A delightful meal, professionally presented, and memorable for its harmonious perfection.
Tomorrow, a Michelian “star” experience to be shared.