PAUL BOCUSE (2009)
Financial Times
Theres no getting lost on the gastronomic pilgrims road to Paul Bocuse. The signs from two kilometres away proclaim it loud and proud, and the eye-popping red, green and gold Lyonnaise house is imperially crowned with the great mans name Hollywood Hills-style. Painted murals depict cockerels rampant, elaborate pièces montées and a cartoon history of French culinary history. The pavements are engraved and there is oh, my word! a black, liveried bellhop: its like entering an haute cuisine Disneyland, as kitsch as a box of kittens. Dead corny, mais oui! Youd collapse in stifled mirth except you need your strength for the full-on, no-holds-barred, three-star Michelin meal ahead. And for the fact, its all rather merveilleux.
When it comes to living legends no one can match the indomitable and charismatic Monsieur Paul. Now well into his 80th decade and a French institution akin to De Gaulle, he is said to be able to hypnotise a chicken with a single glance. Perhaps that was why we fell speechless when this larger-than-life personage appeared as if in a puff of copper kettle steam, the genuine article in dazzling whites and a gravity-defying toque as tall as a toddler.
There are three-star Michelin restaurants where boundaries are thrillingly pushed and senses dazzled, and ones where the heart sinks under the weight of sterile pretensions and antediluvian formality. Then there is The Bocuse Experience. One can only use capitals. It is hors concours, a gastronomic time capsule that confounds cynical anticipation. The dishes may evoke the museum; the whole place teeter on the verge of absurdity; the clichés crowd in like the dessert trolleys that encircle the table wild west-style no escape from the babas au rhum and oeufs a la neige! but self-parody is averted by gold standard classics from filets de sole Fernand Point to filet de boeuf Rossini, sauce Périgeux. Service is polished, seamless and surprisingly devoid of excess starch (unless you count the maîtres hat).
Unashamedly excessive, with a florid interior jam-packed with rococo mirrors, papal chef portraits and historic memorabilia really, the French do bourgeois bad taste like no other nation - the whole priceless construction is, nonetheless, based on the evergreen principles of quality ingredients, exemplary techniques and regional pride. The menu is the distilled essence of French classicism. Duck dodine a lancienne with pistachios and foie gras is smooth and unctuous; casserole of lobster a lArmoricaine memorably savoury-sweet and creamy; crayfish nage with Pouilly-Fuissé proves an unexpected pleasure, delicate and tender with a slightly tart, semi-set jelly that slips down a treat.
The theatre of the table is high art. Bresse chicken cooked in a bladder a la Mere Fillioux (for two) is a showstopper. It arrives like a cannonball, is punctured, deflated and carved, fine slices of ebony truffle transforming the ivory farmyard flesh into a taste to mentally relish for days ahead. Wines a modest selection given the oligarch possibilities are chosen by the sommelier for terroir: a vin de pays Doc Viognier and a Syrah from Vienne, both of which suit the faux Marie Antoinette mood.
Not that everything was perfect, but the pastry chef responsible for a leaden tarte framboise has probably already been sent to the guillotine.
Bocuse is not so much a chef as a brand. The name is ubiquitous: on the china, cutlery, glasses, napkin rings, the gift bags (after youve purchased the books, the pens, the plates, the ashtrays, and the porcelain replica of the black truffle, pastry-lid soup à la Giscard). No marketing opportunity is knowingly lost. But then, anyone who has retained three Michelin stars since 1965, and who comes from a family of cooks dating back to the 17th century, is entitled to a little self-promotion.
Paul Bocuse Auberge du Pont de Collonges,
Collonges-au-Mont dOr, 69660.
04 72 42 90 90
www.bocuse.fr
Menu Classique 125 euros
Menu Bourgeois 165 euros
Menu Grande Tradition Classique 210 euros
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