Foie gras. . . searingly hot duck liver over a bed of crushed tart cherries and redcurrants and their wonderful juice. It was so wonderful, I wanted to lick the plate and order it again as plat and dessert.
White asparagus, which seemed to be the big flashing blue-light special on every single menu. Maybe I'm missing the point, but it wasn't that spectacular. . . and it sure wasn't worthy of 15 whole euros.
The worst spring roll I have ever tasted. I should've known better. Raw garlic pasta wrapper, red peppers and tons of cilantro tossed with merde-stinky mushrooms do not add up to anything but icky.
Every single flavor of Laduree's macaroons, except licorice. Swoon, except for the rose, which is just plain weird. But to be contrary, the violet is yummy.
Tarte citron, millefeuilles, tarte tatin, pear tart, tart with apricots and fraises (there is no strawberry like a French strawberry) and lots of creme Chantilly. And let us not forget the passionfruit and cassis sorbet. (This is not the proper way for a diabetic to behave.)
Omelets. Blissful, soft omelets with jambon and fromage. Mon dieu.
I want to go back. Now.