L'Ambroisie
L'Ambroisie, with a name that evokes grandeur in French, means "Food of the Gods".
The restaurant has maintained its three Michelin stars for over thirty years. Managing such a restaurant over so many years, maintaining the highest honor, is not much different from governing a city-state.
Dining here feels like being in a church, with an atmosphere that is solemn and reverent. Male guests are almost invariably dressed in suits and ties, making it among the most formal of Paris's many Michelin three-starred establishments. The clientele seems to average around forty to fifty years of age. The front-of-house staff is exclusively middle-aged Caucasian men, each carrying the air of at least a decade of service here, and all bearing serious expressions. The menu is a single sheet of paper, in French only, offering only à la carte options, with the ladies' menu traditionally omitting prices, forks placed tines down on the table, and tablecloths without a wrinkle.
Strict, classical, upright—this is L'Ambroisie as I see it. As such, the restaurant somewhat contrasts with the modern Parisian temperament, yet it projects a sort of imagination steeped in Greek mythology. The essence of Greek gods is tragic, with fate reigning supreme. L'Ambroisie also possesses that silent, sorrowful character.
The meal starts with a salty bread that sits between bread and cake in texture, crisp on the surface and moist inside, with small pores. It's followed by sourdough. The pre-meal snack is caviar on eggs. An eggshell on a silver platter holds a warm poached egg topped with caviar, served with crispy toast on the side. It's not particularly special by today's standards, but it was once a trendsetter emulated by many restaurants to this day.
The first course is langoustine. The langoustines are impressive in size and quality, with sweet, tender flesh that is neither salty nor bitter. There are three pieces per serving, laid between two sesame crisps, with vegetables hidden underneath. The yellow sauce is memorable, with flavors of shrimp, butter, and a very elegant touch of curry that's lightly spicy. Without this hint of spice, the dish wouldn't be complete. This langoustine is a highlight of the meal, setting a standard the following dishes could only hope to meet.
The second course, sea bass, consists of four slices of fish with artichokes underneath, surrounded by neatly spread caviar, accompanied by a cream sauce. Its structure and plating make it easily a signature dish, akin to Robuchon's lobster jelly. The overall taste of the sea bass is rather bland, likely intended to avoid clashing with the caviar. It's very French, very luxurious, but that's about it.
The third course is pigeon leg with beetroot and a stuffed fig (with a mixture including pigeon liver), likely with a pigeon wine sauce. This dish is quite ordinary, leaning towards salty, without any distinctive flavors.
The fourth course is a chocolate tart. The tart's texture is unusual, somewhat akin to a soufflé with a sense of airiness, a crisp surface, and a moist, foamy filling resembling a mille-feuille, served with a sprinkle of vanilla seeds on vanilla ice cream. The meal concludes with a berry tart and small madeleines, an ordinary end to the dining experience.
