BRUCE PALLING | UNCORKED | December 20th 2007

swamibu/Flickr

Suspicious that the Channel Tunnel is a plot by Michelin to divert diners to Paris, Bruce goes along with it all the same, and ends up at Taillevent, arguably the Frenchest restaurant in the world ...

Special to MORE INTELLIGENT LIFE

Is it too late for me to reveal that I have uncovered a monstrous plot perpetrated by foreigners against an unsuspecting British public? And that it involves vast sums of money unwittingly spent to spread the ideals of these wicked continental manufacturers at the expense of several renowned English cities?

I almost feel as if I am in the well-trodden shoes of Richard Hannay in "The 39 Steps" as he sped northwards on the Glasgow Express to uncover the dastardly deeds of German assassins and other infernal Hunnish warmongerers. I hope I can tell the world before any harm comes to me.

My suspicion is that a major French tyre manufacturer (OK then, Michelin) has convinced Britain to build the new Eurostar terminal at St Pancras (perhaps even the whole Channel Tunnel) merely in order to promote travel to cities that possess galaxies of Michelin-starred restaurants.

My evidence is faultless: just look at the previous destinations of trains from St Pancras Station. They went to the East Midlands and such blameless conurbations as Leicester, Nottingham, Derby and Sheffield. They may be other-worldly, but with not a star, even a red dwarf, between the lot. And now? Brussels, Lille, Paris … absolutely teeming with them, even without the help of Hubble.

Michelin has been cleverer still. It is actually quite pleasurable to make the two hour and a bit journey to Paris. As I entered the spacious entrance hall of St Pancras, the steel pillars reminded me of Cordoba. At seven in the morning, I had neither the time nor inclination to try Europe’s longest Champagne bar, but I did notice that more mundane purveyors of coffee and croissants, such as Café Nerd, were seriously overstretched, their queues of clients snaking around the floor.

The other cunning thing I noticed is that there is no danger of passengers' losing their appetite or being goaded into eating anything en route to their destination. It was merely the usual unremarkable rail fare. The only time I ever had anything decent to drink on a train is when I have bought it myself or been treated by another—as, once, when a British wine broker suddenly appeared on the train back from Paris clutching a bottle of Cristal Rosé ‘89 and some paper cups. Like us, he had been underwhelmed by the Dom Perignon Rosé we had been given the previous night at Chateau de Saran in Epernay and thought we would appreciate a peerless example of this challenging style.

Anyway, I had a serious purpose this time—to return to Taillevent and see if there was any sensible reason as to why it had lost one of the three stars it has held since 1973. Taillevent has always been the most discreet and traditional grand French restaurant. This is because it is the only one where everyone knows the name of the restaurateur, Jean-Claude Vrinat, but not necessarily that of the chef—for thepast five years, Alain Solivèrés.

Monsieur Vrinat is many people’s personification of the ideal Frenchman. He is unfailingly polite, friendly, discreet, but with the dedication of the fiercest samurai in maintaining culinary standards and traditions. Jancis Robinson considers Vrinat to be “the most highly respected restaurateur in France if not the world”. [UPDATE: And so he will remain, but in our memories. He died on January 7th 2008 at the age of 71.]

I suppose the other reason he qualifies in my personal Panthéon is that Taillevent arguably has the greatest and most reasonably priced grand wine list in France (only rivalled in breadth and value by Enoteca Pinchiorri in Florence). Where else could you find a Pichon–Lalande ‘82 for €590 or a ’96 Carruades de Lafite for €190?

The true bargains, though, are in the Burgundy list. Like many other Parisian sommeliers, Taillevent's Marco Pelletier has a strong prejudice in favour of Burgundy over Bordeaux, its more structured rival. There is a ’95 Chablis, Butteaux from Ravenau, for a mere €110; an ’01 Cotes du Nuits Village from Jayer-Gilles for €80; and a straight ’00 Bourgogne Rouge from the fabled Coche-Dury for only €70.

Taillevent: Salle Trianon

It is a humbling experience to be in the presence of someone such as Monsieur Vrinat who has unfailingly held the highest standards for 35 years, carrying on from his father André, who opened Taillevent in 1946. His success flies in the face of the warning given by A.J. Liebling about the fate of family-run French restaurants:

In such families, the proprietor is sometimes aided by his progeny; the children have an inducement to learn the profession the hard way, because they hope to inherit a profitable business. The impetus seldom lasts more than one generation, though; the children never resist the temptation to expand and spoil the joint.

Well, the joint is still humming and there was no indication that the temporary loss of a third star had any effect either on its popularity or the food itself.

Taillevent is located near the Arc de Triomphe in the former town house of the Duc de Morny, Napoleon III’s half-brother, whose main posthumous claim to fame was his daughter’s lesbian affair with Colette. The southern end of the street has the usual jumble of convenience stores and opticians while at the other end is Falguière’s over-conventional sculpture of Balzac, hastily commissioned after Rodin’s more famous one was rejected by the outraged burghers of Paris in 1898.

Sadly on my latest visit, Monsieur Vrinat was physically not present because he has been suffering ill health in recent months. The town-house feel is still present. It has lightened up in recent years, but the wooden panelling still prevails. The other guests, apart from some giggling Japanese girls, were all regular haut-bourgeois business types, in keeping with the club-like ambiance.

The menu is simplicity itself. The earlier version, with woodcuts of famous dishes, has been replaced by a four-sided white card carrying the dishes on the front and back, and a couple of hundred wines on the inside. A polite note at the bottom tells you that 3000 more wines are available too should you wish to extend your range of options.

Marco Pelletier, the Québecois sommelier (pictured, right), must have one of the most privileged positions in the business. Every day he tastes dozens of the most rarefied wines in existence. He treated us to a superb St Aubin Les Charmois ’03 of Marc Morey, which, although from a relatively humble appellation, is less than a 100 yards from some of the greatest Chevalier Montrachets in France.

Later, there was a ’98 Moulin St Georges, an obscure St Emilion owned by Alain Vautier, the wine-maker at Ch Ausone. This was tightly structured, but with a unique minerally aftertaste which blossomed after more than two hours of decanting.

One of Marco’s other charms is that he also has a number of unlisted Awesome Bottles of the Twentieth Century which he is happy to provide if he judges the customers likely to appreciate them. Let’s just say that if he ever offers you a ‘90 Echezeaux from Emmanuel Rouget (crafted by his legendary uncle, Henri Jayer), you know you are in the inner sanctum.

This sounds unacceptably elitist when it is spelt out like this, but I sympathise with his motives. There aren’t enough of these treasures for offering to every passing billionaire.

So on to the food. The amuse-bouches were odd little cheese puffballs, similar in texture to the ones I had at Ducasse at the Dorchester, though these were more intensely flavoured. I suppose the concept is that you should quieten your palate down for the treats to follow, so if that was the case, it succeeded. The first treat was the rémoulade de tourteau á l’aneth, or pressed crab with aniseed covered in thin slices of radish all surrounded by a citron sauce. This was exceedingly delicate; my only complaint was that, as part of a menu dégustation, it was gone in three mouthfuls.

The next dish was frogs' legs floating on a lake of persillade. Again, nothing over the top, just exquisitely subtle. I can’t recall much about the Coquilles Saint-Jacques dorées as they were overshadowed by the two main courses: saddle of lamb with Basque chillies, and noisettes of roe deer with pepper sauce. Again, nothing flashy, but completely assured and perfectly cooked.

My heart sank when I looked at the pudding menu: it was Roquefort glacé accompanied by prunes soaked in Banyuls. Amazingly, it outshone everything else on the menu, the slightly sour taste of the cheese completely encompassed by the wonderfully ice-creamy texture. The counterpoint of the wine-soaked prunes only added to this blissful finale.

The remainder of the afternoon was spent exploring one of the handful of cellars that contain their vast wine collection with the assistance of Marco Pelletier. They frequently hold wine dinners in one of the upstairs suites, and asked my advice about which British writer would be the right person to invite as guest of honour (All cheques and other easily hidden emoluments can be sent c/o the editor).

By the time we staggered back to the now-deserted restaurant, there was still a glassful of the Moulin St Georges ’98 sitting on the table. It now tasted far more profound than in its earlier incarnation, showing once again the real potential of the '98 right bank wines. By four-thirty we were wandering down the rue Lamennais, still reflecting on a perfect four hour interlude, thanks to the devotion to perfection of Messieurs Solivérès, Pelletier and, despite his temporary indisposition, Vrinat.

(15 rue Lamennais, Paris 75008; reservations:+33.1.4495 1501, or resa@taillevent.com.
Set lunch €70; six-course menu degustation €140 and €190.)