Wow. Let those three letters sink in.
Sante!
I just finished dinner at Joel Robuchon’s Atelier in Las Vegas. I must commence by saying that I hate Vegas. It’s not for me. I don’t enjoy the cigarette puffing drunken masses, with their glazed eyes glued to the slots. But I come every year (second year now) to better myself.
Better myself you might ask? At my Crap Game? No. I come for the RE/MAX R4 Convention, to learn how to provide excellent service to my clients; to surpass their expectations.
Much to my delight, while feasting on all things Real Estate, I stumbled upon M. Robouchon’s Atelier. I coudn’t quite justify a solo dinner for one, duration 4 hours at a cost of over $100 per 60 minutes (without wine and without my husband), so I settled, settled for L’Atelier.
I apologize to myself and to all who revere M. Robouchon. The only “settling” I did, was for a millisecond in my seat, at the bar, in between fellow gastro gluttons.
Where to start. Without overly boasting, ok I’ll boast, I can count amongst my pals some of the worlds most celebrated Chefs. I know many personally and do prevail upon them and their kind personal assistants for aid when travelling, when dining.
I am a lover of food, cuisine, the bounty of Mother Nature prepared by gifted artist in the kitchen. I have been treated to many a 3 Star Michelin dinner and sometimes didn’t fully understand or appreciate to the fullest the bounty laid before me.
But tonight, tonight was different. Tonight I wasn’t prepared to have my senses lovingly assaulted by flavor, texture and aroma. I didn’t posses the confidence that this Vegas crowd could support such refined cuisine. Boy was I wrong!
One of my dear friends, Alain Ducasse has Mix here in Vegas. We dined there last year and they put on a vast array of dishes for us. The venue was stunning, the service almost good, but as sad as it makes me, I was disappointed. I wasnt’ moved. I didn’t “wow”. I didn’t groan with the glee of ecstatically jumping taste buds. I was grateful for the attention, for the lack of a bill, but I didn’t leave on a food high note.
But tonight was different. It caught me off guard. Ducasse is a disciple of Joel Robuchon. I can see why.
This mini meal (remember I was solo) consisted of 3 courses plus an amuse bouche. Each was better than the next, or maybe just as fabulous.
I started with the Anchoives Marinees with confit of eggplant and roasted red peppers.
I followed with the Sea Bass on a bed of leeks with a wisp of a ravioli surrounded by an oncteuse sauce that defies not only gravity but also surpasses celestial godliness.
Next I struggled. I wanted to be mundane and have chocolate, or maybe the hazelnut whatever it was. My smarts led me to ask my charming waiter his favorite dessert. So I jumped into the Raspberry splendor on my plate.
It was sexual. I have to admit that it was. I’m not ashamed either. The waiter poured something on top of this red orb and it opened like a delicate flower, revealing..well. I better stop there, but remember I’m only talking about food here, no subtext, just food.
I guess in my haste I neglected to mention the amuse bouche, a frothy little number of fois gras and parmesan.
The bread deserves its own accolades, but we are talking FRENCH bread here.
Just like and Oscar acceptance speech, I have to give thanks to the puree de pommes de terres. They were amazing. I will note that they were not quite warm enough. Damn, am I hard to please?
As I happily chatted to my fellow diners I realized just how monumentous this meal really was. It moved me. It tantalized me.
Thank you Joel, Merci mille fois.