Table by Bruno Verjus

Table by Bruno Verjus boasts two Michelin stars along with a Green Star; this year it’s ranked #10 in the World's Best 50, the highest for any French establishment. Chef Bruno Verjus was once a food critic and opened his restaurant in his fifties, a venture now a decade old. Offering only set menus at 400 euros per person, reservations require a non-refundable deposit of 200 euros, and today’s menu remains undisclosed until the meal’s conclusion.

Filled with anticipation, this was the only non-three-starred Michelin restaurant I booked for the trip. With polarized online reviews, my expectations were heightened. Regrettably, post-dining, I align with the negative camp—this was the most unsettling meal I've had in Paris. Despite yearly price increases, the chef is scarcely seen in the kitchen, leaving a somewhat nonchalant team of cooks, compounded by an environment worthy of negative points. For any high-end restaurant born of passion, the hardest challenge is "not forgetting the initial resolve."

After a half-hour taxi ride, I arrived at the restaurant. The impoverished street, a narrow façade, and Syrian-style décor led to a cramped foyer housing eight tables and two genuine counter seats with a view. Seated at the counter closest to the kitchen, I was hit by waves of heat from the lamps and cookware. The restaurant lacked air conditioning, offering only a small tabletop fan for respite. Perched on an uncomfortable high stool facing a stainless-steel table marred with scratches, I awaited the night's random journey. "How many courses?" I asked. The server replied: "It’s a secret, we never know."

Such a renowned establishment, unassuming and unadorned, yet buzzing with fame. In the disorder, there seemed a semblance of order, reflecting a cutting-edge philosophy of "forgetting high-end elegance, returning to the essence of food." As I took my seat, one thought crossed my mind: this restaurant must be delicious; otherwise, how could it garner so many accolades with such modest amenities? Alas, it was an illusion. Had this been an exquisitely appointed restaurant, I would have paid and left after the first few courses, unwilling to waste my time, appetite, and emotions. But in such a starkly contrasting high-end establishment, I was stuck to my chair, mustering the last bit of energy for the next course: what if it's incredibly tasty? Otherwise, how does it earn such honors? As I began searching for nearby ramen on my phone, I couldn't bring myself to leave. Thus, the sunk cost grew, and the hope of luck trapped me at this cage-like table.

This hope was largely because the chefs, while preparing ingredients at the counter, made everything look tantalizing. Giant clams sizzled in the pan, pigeons as plump as ducks rubbed against the skillet exuding rich aromas, and chefs scooped generous spoonfuls of lobster and crab from bowls. If only these ingredients could go straight "into my mouth" at that moment, what a delicious meal it would have been. Unfortunately, the chefs further processed these ingredients, added incomprehensible pairings, and fused them with inexplicable sauces.

The counter seating was an overhanging view, much higher than the cooking station and very close to the chefs, so every action was clear. About ten chefs, all in their twenties or thirties, worked unselfconsciously under the watchful eyes of the patrons (perhaps because others weren't as bored as I to stare at the kitchen), and even dishes from the same course turned out differently. The venerable head chef, advanced in age, spent scarcely twenty minutes in the kitchen, spending the rest of his time cooling off at the restaurant's entrance, greeting arriving guests with handshakes or lost in thought.

Which restaurant opened by such respected, elder food critics turns out to be delicious? If you know of any, please share. I'd genuinely like to know.

"Tasty" is indeed a subjective evaluation. But because of this, there is too much room for insincerity. Admittedly, my aesthetic is limited. I've always favored restaurants with an elegant and deep ambiance, unable to embrace the bizarre flavors in the culinary spectrum, and the taste system at Table exceeds my preferred domain. I'm sure many patrons genuinely adore this restaurant; regretfully, I cannot be one of them.

The first course, a garden salad. Wild fruits, vegetables, paired with pumpkin sauce, beetroot sauce, and basil oil, nothing out of the ordinary.

The second course, sardines. Raw sardines, drizzled with oil, accompanied by a vinegary drink, again ordinary.

The third course, clams. A large clam that sizzled enticingly in the pan but arrived at the table cold, with a chewy texture.

Accompanied by a green sauce and a touch of finger lime. Below expectations.

The fourth course, crab meat. Cold crab meat served with crisps and vegetables.

The fifth course, tomato and peach flesh with tomato sauce. An hour into the seating, and I hadn’t had a hot bite yet. By this point, I sensed an endless meal ahead. It included some raw shrimp, but not very cleanly processed, as I encountered shrimp shell.

The sixth course, a modified sushi. Beans mixed with a meaty lobster sauce cooked like risotto, topped with a raw fish slice, a bit strange.

The seventh course, frog legs. Fried frog legs with a spicy green sauce, finally something warm, but the sauce was odd to my taste.

The eighth course, a milkshake palate cleanser. Similar to melted ice cream in texture, the pink hue indicated beetroot flavor, not bad, lightly sweet.

The ninth course, lobster. The lobster looked large and colorful, but the texture was mediocre, a bit of a struggle to swallow. Paired with avocado, tomato, and a hint of nuts. The sauce lingered uncomfortably in the mouth.

The tenth course, turbot. Overwhelmingly fishy, inedible.

The eleventh course, pigeon. I must say, this pigeon was the tastiest dish of the night, and even by looking at the plating, you could tell it was the most beautiful. The pigeon was large, as plump as a duck, rubbing against the hot pan, filling the room with aroma. The skin was crispy, the flesh tender, with a vibrant, red interior, truly the feel of a high-end restaurant. Paired with beetroot.

The twelfth course, figs. An ancient variety of figs, somewhat bland.

The thirteenth course, a chocolate tart. The chocolate was molten, accompanied by caviar, but the strong chocolate flavor almost drowned out the caviar, which had a weak presence and didn't blend well. Post-meal sweets, crisp madeleines.