The hotel concierge in Lyon, France was emphatic: “Paul Bocuse’s restaurant is the best in the world!”
My wife, Vertis, and I had lunch reservations to dine at Bocuse’s LAuberge du Pont de Collonges, a three-star Michelin restaurant in Lyon, which not only the hotel concierge but numerous critics have called the world’s best.
The restaurant sits on the edge of Lyon beside a busy highway and very near an elevated rail line. The building has a faint resemblance to Disney World because the exterior is colorful, almost garish, and the welcoming attendant is dressed in a red frock complete with a bellman-like circular hat—startling to most Americans.
However, a warm reception, beginning when we stepped out of our taxi, continued as we entered the foyer and were greeted by the maitre d’. We were ushered into one of the lavishly decorated large rooms that resembled the dining area of some stately manor home. There were a half-dozen tables, placed far enough apart to give each table privacy.
The maitre d’ made sure we were seated comfortably, and immediately the wait-staff captain appeared to see if we would like an aperitif. Yes, we would—a glass of champagne. Another waiter placed a triple pre-appetizer to enjoy while we were waiting (about 10 seconds) for the menu. These small tidbits were outstanding, and more arrived several times during our lunch. Always different, and breathtakingly delicious.
The menu appeared, along with sticker shock. Eighty dollars for an appetizer? That was for black truffle soup. Others were more reasonable. Then, on the next page, main courses were listed. There were several pages of seven-course menus, and then the ultimate chef’s classic menu at $350 per person.
We passed on the seven-course menus, but you could still hit a cool $200 per person for a main course without trying. So we just took a deep breath and proceeded to order. For an appetizer, I chose duck foie gras a la Antonin Careme, and Vertis ordered Burgundy snails in traditional herb butter. That set us back a bit, but we weren’t through. For the main course, we selected a whole spit-roasted duck for two. The captain nodded his approval and said, “Very good—it’s a very large, fat duck.”
The wine sommelier came to our table with a large suede-covered book about three inches thick.“The wine list, sir.”
If you think a former Norphlet boy and a Smackover girl were going to tackle a French wine list of that magnitude, you’d be wrong. “Sir, we are only familiar with American wines. My wife would like a white dry wine, and I would like a rather robust Burgundy—by the glass. Would you make the selection for us?”
“Certainly, sir.”
There were dozens of bottles over $100; several pages of bottles that went for $500 to $1,000, and some even higher. After the wine crisis passed, we chatted about the menu, the room and the quality of service. If you happen to need anything or, horrors, drop a fork, the wait staff appeared. It was almost eerie how they made sure your every need was served.
Our appetizers came with a four-waiter flourish. One waiter carried each serving piece, and another waiter followed to lift each lid. That just seemed normal, considering where we were.
As the silver lid rose, I looked down at the largest piece of foie gras I’d ever seen, and it crossed my mind that our waiter had commented “large, fat duck.” But at that moment, tying into the most luscious appetizer that had ever been placed before me was all I could think about. Vertis, who was finishing up a dozen large snails and mopping up the herb butter with a piece of bread, commented, “Richard, do you think we might have over-ordered?”
“Maybe,” I replied, but I knew unless that duck had been on a crash diet, we were going to have enough for everyone in the room.
Seconds after we placed our forks on our empty plates, a busboy whisked them away, and another waiter replaced them. Then three waiters appeared with three serving tables, followed by a fourth waiter carrying a covered serving tray about the size of a big flat-screen TV. At that moment I knew that duck was going to be exactly what the waiter had said, “big and fat.”
The captain began to carve, slicing the duck’s breast, placing individual pieces across one side of the two plates, accompanied by seasonal vegetables. When he finished, the two plates were simultaneously placed in front of us. As we slowly devoured the duck breast, Vertis commented, “I wonder why they didn’t serve us anything but the duck’s breast?”
I was about to find out where the rest of the duck went. Our plates were removed, fresh silverware was placed on the table, and a serving cart with the legs, thighs, and the rest of the duck was rolled up to the table. My God, I thought, are they going to serve us again? A second plate of duck!
Unless the Green Bay Packers had eaten there, I don’t believe anyone could have finished that second plate of duck with all the trimmings.
Then the dessert cart appeared.
There was enough dessert on that cart to feed a biblical multitude, and we weren’t going to be ugly Americans and shoo the waiters and their cart away. I selected creme brûlée. Vertis turned down everything. As we finished up the last bite, a multi-level tray of assorted chocolates appeared, and a waiter inquired if we would like espresso. I nodded.
I paid the bill, which was something similar to what you might pay a hospital if you didn’t have insurance.
We aren’t novices when it comes to dining out. We have been to top restaurants in most of the major cities in the U.S. and Europe, but Chef Bocuse exceeded even the best Paris has to offer. Is the restaurant the best in the world? It’s certainly the best restaurant I have ever dined in.
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Richard Mason is a freelance writer and author from El Dorado..