Paris 2008: Le Pre Catelan

While Frederic Anton's Le Pre Catelan is a bit hard to find (at least the taxi drivers claim), nestled in the middle of the Bois de Boulogne (a la The Boathouse in Central Park), it is well worth the search. Once you arrive at this fine set of mansions buried in the park, the staff quickly whisks you into a set of uniquely-styled rooms (I dined in the art deco parlor room) to begin what will undoubtably be one of your more memorable dining experiences.

Several dedicated waitstaff hovered helpfully (i.e., not too intrusively) around the table, helping make such critical selections as type of water, butter and wine.

While the salted butter doesn't top the rich Normandy crafted slab at Taillevent, the experience and food compared favorably to that perennial favorite of mine. To start, the approachable and direct wine master helped me to choose a half bottle of Puligny Montrachet to start (guided me to the 2005 for a clean and subtle white to start the meal) and was then quite patient as I hemmed and hawed before choosing a rich Chateau Grand Puy Lacoste 1990 to go with the main course, which was a bit tart but very good.

I would describe the meal as traditional French with flair; not going so far as the experimental cuisine that is avante garde these days, but sticking to 'versions' of classic, rich French cuisine.

An amuse of onion cream with pea soup was served neatly in a saucer shortly after my wine order(s) were placed. The onion flavor was very soft, and the pea pronounced. This amuse was a wonderful initiation, and, as I would later realize, it was highlighting two ingredients that would span throughout the meal; across various dishes, the chef sought to use fresh ingredients and maintain a consistent theme of the season.

My dining partner was kind enough to split both appetizers and entrees with me, so I was able to get an even deeper sense of the menu the chef sought to create.

For appetizers, we chose the "La Langoustine" and the house special "L'Os a Moelle". Both were superb in form, creativity and execution. A stunning set of courses.

The four large prawns were each served separately, in four dishes with four tastes and preparations. The first was in a ravioli with mint foam and cracked pepper; then "hot stone" grilled (and left on the searing hot stone on the table); a tempura with a spicy chili sauce that evoked the best dim sum houses in the world, and a liquefied romaine salad which balanced the chilies; and finally and baked with broccoli foam (which seemed almost 'plain' after the other three, but was indeed delicious and perfectly cooked).

The L'Os a Moelle was a triumph and coalesced many of the themes the chef was trying to evoke that evening. Three large bones, each half the length of the last, arranged in a bouquet. The tallest and widest bone full of rich, warm marrow, served with a small side dish of sea salt to melt the flavors into the palate. The other two bones, with some marrow gravy, we chock full of spring peas and chanterelles, both fresh and nicely paired against the richness of the marrow.

After this grand display, the balance of the meal seemed 'normal', but in fact continued as a highly stylized exercise of the best French cuisine has to offer.

We chose two rich specialties of the house: the pigeon and the sweetbreads. Despite the warning by the waiter that the chef's pigeon, the specialty of the season, might be too 'gamey' for mere Americans, I took the plunge and was not disappointed.

The pigeon arrived in two courses; the first was a top a crusty, long sliced baguette, with morsels of breast meat pasted down by a rich foie gras 'dome' covering the dish. The head, neck and leg of the pigeon were also presented, with the head split and the brain left in, sauteed for dining pleasure, all surrounded by a single, long macaroni with a paint of spring pea puree. The dish outwardly appeared gamey and adventurous, but was a good reflection of a French peasant delicacy. The second course of pigeon arrived in a silver domed bowl; two succulent pieces of breast meat, cooked medium rare, in a broth of truffles and (again) spring peas. This was topped off with a pigeon meat ravioli.

My dining companion chose the sweetbreads (which she had never tried, and I applaud her enthusiasm for this new experience). These were served in three decadent ways: a generous portion (think a large crab cake) fried with parmesan (almost seemed American!), another large slice fried with mushrooms, and a set of small 'bites' with celeriac puree (my favorite). Overall, two exciting and sinfully rich courses.

But it didn't end there, of course. A monstrous cheese platter (perhaps 20 selections) was wheeled to the table. We loosened our belts and selected a Comte, a Camberet, a Monbier, and an Essbier. Great to a one, and served as a good accompaniment to finish off the wine.

For dessert, we asked for guidance of the house, and were admonished to quickly order the "best souffle in Paris". We also selected an espresso cake (just to make certain we could write a complete assessment of the restaurant).

As I imagined a warm souffle perfectly prepared, the sommelier selected two dessert drinks, a Vieux Rivesaltes, Recolte '74 and a more recent vintage Chateau Coutet, Sauternes.

When a large, glassy-looking apple arrived topped with silver foil alongside the molten cold chocolate and espresso ice cream tower in a clear, thin sugar glass, I expressed confusion. However, this delicate green sphere certainly was the "best souffle in Paris". A cold, citrus souffle in the sugar apple hid even more surprises: similar to the more edgy Homaru Cantu dishes, the chef had included a pastry bottom laden with "pop rocks" providing a fun and unique end to a fabulous meal.
All I can hope for is that I am able to find this oasis in the park on my next trip to Paris.