Joël Robuchon at the Mansion

The waiter sets a clear glass cup on a gold-leaf saucer in front of me. Inside is a cool white cream, its surface smooth as glass and decorated with a circle of precise green dots the size of pinpricks. It looks mysterious and inviting. I dip in my spoon and take a bite — that silken cream carries the earthy flavor of cauliflower, beneath it is a chilled gelée that tastes like the sea, and below that, a thick layer of caviar that bursts against the tongue. All that, all at once, how incredibly sensual.

By S. Irene Virbila

December 28, 2005