This entry is way out of order, as we did this Tuesday, Oct. 25, but I wanted to get it posted for the boyos and girlos who made it possible. The George V is a posh hotel, now owned by the Four Seasons group. Yup, the Lamborghini belonged there, along with a new Rolls and other exotica parked by the front.
It contains the George V Restaurant, which has been a Michelin 2 star restaurant for quite some time. It deserves the accolade. Armed with our 300 euro (!!) gift certificate, we put on our best duds and prepared to join the ranks of the swells. But first, we had to join the great unwashed in the packed-as-sardines metros to get down to the Champs Elysees area. I admit to being a little uneasy at the prospect of rubbing elbows with the truly rich who truly believe they belong in places like the V. What would the staff make of us? As usual, I needn’t have fretted. If they gave out Michelin stars for making one feel welcome and important to them, the V staff would get the top ranking. Our D-in-L, Meghan, traveled all over the world doing hospitality training of the staffs of swank hotels. I wonder if she used the George V staff as a template? I think, in part, the cost is so high because they have at least a 1 to 1 ratio on visible staff to guests. You can’t move ten feet without someone greeting you and wishing you bonjour, and having every appearance of meaning it. Kudos to whomever is running the place.
The entry to the dining area is pretty nice. It’s to the left down there where the two guys are standing.
There are a couple of salon rooms where folks eat breakfast or just come for tea, with couches and tables, that you walk through to get to the main dining room. Oh, my. This is the view from our table back to the entrance to the room. There’s more to the room behind us.
I was trying to take these shots surreptitiously, as I didn’t think it was the thing to do. Again, I shouldn’t have been concerned. Several other cameras came out later, and the waiter was happy to take another table’s picture. Relax, Jon, relax; it’s just a restaurant. Anyway, I didn’t photograph every course, sorry to say. They started us with a bite of salmon with a citrus marinade, and a little pastry puff with an olive and mushroom tapenade inside. The breads were accompanied by two tureens of butter, one flavored with something we couldn’t identify, but tasted good, and a “plain” country butter from Bretagne. We got another pre-meal “amuse bouche,” three items on a small plank. A cup of mushroom-based broth with foie gras and some flavored foam on top; a small square of gel flavored with a Dijon mustard taste, with a dab of caviar on top; and a bite of marinated eel on a daikon radish base, with some sort of thin chocolate glaze. All of these were completely different types of tastes, and were delicious. During all this, we’re sipping a dry Vouvray (white) which was going very well with the food. Time for the appetizer course. I had a pasta with mussels in a cream sauce; Loni had wild mushrooms with bitter raisins, greens, seaweed, and thinly sliced charcuterie, and some fig. Although I enjoyed my pasta, Loni clearly had the winner.
That’s one of the butter mounds on the right, the flavored one, with its bell-jar cover behind. Loni’s dish also came with a side cracker with an eggplant mousse on it. I have to say, we were grinning like Cheshire cats. All of these dishes are served by two waiters, who simultaneously put them in front of us. We savored our way through these, finished off the white wine, and the red promptly arrived, a Cote de Rhone that was equally nice. We both opted for the duck, cooked “rose” but not red. They put covered plates in front of us both, then whipped off the tops with a flourish and a “bon appetite.” The duck was like a thick strip of breast, with crispy fat-skin, that they topped with a cooking sauce. The meat was accompanied by a spinach-wrapped baked shallot and a filo-dough ball filled with foie gras. Oye, oye, oye. The portions were larger than they seem in this picture; they were so rich tasting that you wouldn’t want anything more.
Next up was the cheese course, where we each got a selection of three from the incredible cartload that the waiter wheeled out. We each opted for Roquefort, of course, but had different ones that we shared for the rest.
My first two were, for me, so-so, as my taster isn’t 100% and misses out on the subtler varieties. Loni said they were yummy for her, as was her Camembert. We both rolled eyes and made cooing noises at the Roquefort. Oh, man, was that good. After this we got a palate cleanser which, before we messed it with our spoons, looked for all the world like a big eye staring at you. It was a ball of sheep-milk sorbet, with a kumquat slice in the middle, sitting in a thick kiwi sauce, with a dash, of all things, of olive tapenade that went surprisingly well with it. Bizarre, but tasty.
Palate suitably “cleansed,” it was dessert time. We both opted for the strawberry gratin, encircling a frozen raspberry sorbet on the inside, with a scoop of white chocolate ice cream with dark chocolate bits inside. A lot going on in the mouth.
Ok, we’d nearly had it. We’d been eating and drinking for over two hours. Time for some double espresso for Loni and, let’s see, a quick mental calculation on how much of the certificate we had eaten up, and, hey, there’s some left. Asked the waiter for the sommelier, asked him for a suggestion for a port, and, well, they just happened to have a 1971 something-or-other. I just kept nodding like I understood what he was saying (I could figure out that it was forty years old) and he brought this absolutely lip-smacking, closed-eyes sighing, delicious port. It tasted like essence of raisins in the sun, if that means anything. The color was a lot more chocolate-tawny (although it was not a tawny port) than it appears in this picture. It was amazing. Loni didn’t want any. Really. Honest.
We walked out to the entrance area and two people magically appeared, holding our overcoats and helped us on with them, while a third stood there and wished us a good day. We already had it. Nearly three hours of bliss. Was it worth the buckos? You betcha. Everyone should live the lifestyle of the rich and famous at least once! Thank you Alia, Meghan, Mike, and John. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
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