as promised
Restaurant Gilles Goujon at the Auberge du Vieux Puits – inn of the old well.
Amuse-bouche of cherry tomato, cheese and watermelon, which was a bit odd, actually. More than redeemed by the melon balls with proscuitto, port granita and rockmelon mousse that followed: the mousse especially was fresh, airy essence of rockmelon, like eating a melony cloud.
Then crayfish tails with fennel sorbet drowned in a bouillon. The soup melted the sorbet into a delicious green foam.
Then a slab of perfectly seared tuna.
Then two of the best lamb chops I have ever tasted, and I have eaten a great deal of tasty lamb.
Five cheeses beyond words, especially the feathery chevres.
Citruses with a scoop of ambrosial creme fraiche sorbet.
The petits-fours: a tiny strawberry and cream, like a ruby set in platinum; tart raspberry tart; buttery creme brulee; a shot-glass full of coconut cream with passionfruit puree as an exclamation mark.
Jeremy and I have been discussing whether it was actually as good as French Laundry, or merely of the same order. I believe more research is necessary.
The old well was in the foyer, with glass tiles so you could walk over the top of the water. Claire found this delightfully hoot-worthy. She flirted shamelessly and charmed every table, and at one point was abducted to the kitchen, where doting cooks fed her pink marshmallows.
Other things that contribute to my current mood of quiet glee: seeing Alex’s wonderful one-man show Entertainment, meeting his fiancee Ioanna and hanging out in their kitchen drinking and telling idiotic jokes till four in the morning, with Claire snoozing peacefully on my lap.
