Plenitude
--If I were to describe Plenitude in two words, they would be Desirability and Storytelling—echoing a rather luxurious marketing strategy. Situated within the opulent confines of Paris's Hôtel Cheval Blanc, this French restaurant secured three Michelin stars within its first year and has since become one of the hardest reservations to score in France. If you attempt to book through the public channel, you typically need to do so more than six months in advance, a scarcity that defines Desirability. Of course, there's also the concierge booking route; staying at Hôtel Cheval Blanc simplifies the process considerably. I was lucky this time, arranging my visit just a few days in advance.
Storytelling, as Plenitude defines it, steps outside the common narrative of chef's foraging experiences, childhood dreams, and local ingredients. It finds a new mnemonic in Sauce. Sauce, essential to French cuisine yet controversial and once subject to attempted revolution, is emblematic of the cuisine. Chef Arnaud Donckele has established a reputation with sauces, naming each carefully crafted sauce and explaining the complexity behind each one. The restaurant's approach to sauce is self-proclaimed "alchemy." Take Velours n°1, for instance, which allegedly contains "jackfish belly loin, shrimp stew, Lambrusco vinegar, Chardonnay vinegar, chestnut honey, citrus, rosemary, and guava pepper." Beyond the menu, there's a dedicated sauce list, and each sauce is vividly introduced at the table, served in exquisite vessels—sometimes over a candle—before being ceremoniously poured over the dish. Waiters advise tasting the sauce first from its dish—a nod to the childlike act of sipping soup first.
Chef Donckele philosophizes: "We, sometimes chefs, often saucers. We move away from recipes to get closer to perfumes. Inspired by vines, lands, or simply waters." From the recipes, he reaches into the realm of aroma.
To me, Plenitude's sauces chase a richness so complex it's almost dramatic—a flavor profile that doesn't quite fit within my aesthetic system. To some extent, Plenitude constructs an intangible aesthetic hegemony; even if it's not to your personal taste, you must concede that it epitomizes the Michelin three-star caliber. It may lack emotion, but it's lavish, unique, and, alongside the hotel, becomes part of luxury itself—a universal social currency when one is within its realm.
The courses didn't astound me much. The most touching moment was the finale's dessert, presented on a massive three-dimensional greeting card of Paris, featuring the Louvre, Arc de Triomphe, Eiffel Tower, hotels and boats along the Seine. Before this quintessentially Parisian backdrop was a story of little chef figurines drinking, dancing, and feeding pigeons on a bench—transforming grand Paris into a stage with chefs as the protagonists.
The restaurant characterizes itself with symmetrical and neat adjectives: "Quintessence of senses, the rhythm of nature, treasures of alchemy." They're all accurate. Yet, what resonated with me in the end was the solitary keyword in my heart: Humanity, and the deep poetic sense it evokes.
Plenitude has about ten tables, a chefs table within the kitchen typically not available for public booking, and a semi-private reception room. The menu offers a choice between a six-course "Symphony" fixed menu priced at 455 euros or a four-course "Common Voyage" à la carte selection for 380 euros. Upon seating, a soft napkin with a small flower is presented, a wet towel rests on a maple dish, and the retro water glass with a dotted pattern reflects the shimmering light. The waiter lights a candle from a ceramic pot on the table.
The meal starts with appetizers including crisps, herb tarts, raw oysters, pickled tomato tarts, and vinegar-flavored sorbet, setting the tone with acidity. Throughout the menu, one can sense the chef's fondness for Lambrusco vinegar, frequently featured.
The first course, "Tomato," consists of dual-colored tomatoes, mild cheese sauce, and herbs. It's rather unremarkable overall, but a drizzle of tomato vinegar does add a refreshing acidity.
The second course, "Sardine," pairs the fish with a sauce named "Eden," made from sardine broth, Lambrusco vinegar, jackfish vinegar, lemon juice, etc., resulting in a pronounced acidity that overshadows the oily nature of the sardine. The plating resembles a little Pegasus, establishing the dominant role of the sauce.
The third course, "Red Prawn," showcases prawns of excellent
texture—large, firm, and translucent. Accompanied by a sauce named Ubique, it maintains the acidity introduced by tomatoes but is dominated by the prawn's freshness and the aroma of being grilled. Its presentation is somewhat roach-like, a bit odd, served with burnt-taste crisps. The red prawn stands out as the best dish of the night, though it doesn't shine particularly bright.
Mid-meal, guests are invited to the chefs table in the kitchen. The modern, clean kitchen displays a photo of billionaires on the terrace of Hôtel Cheval Blanc, with books and Michelin stars adorning the chefs table. The chef's passionate cooking and plating leave a good impression. A "mid-meal palate cleanser" of hand-crushed ice and ice cream is served, reminiscent of a refreshing, subtly sweet bird's nest fruit, with the slush resembling crushed Sprite ice.
Returning to the table, the fourth course is the main dish, "Pigeon." This pigeon dish is rich and heavy, with leg meat and liver alongside potatoes. The sauce is overly salty, likely a red wine pigeon sauce with a hint of rosemary.
The fifth course, "Peach Fruit Ice Cream," uses white chocolate as decoration, with yogurt ice cream and fruit at the bottom.
Finally, the "Post-Meal Dessert." While the small sweets are quite ordinary, the 3D greeting card is filled with warmth.