Oenophile Jojo Madrid dines out in Paris and
finds the wines wanting.
Here's an honest assessment.
Paris is not a wine
destination, a friend once said. This remark
will surely spark debate among wine and food
enthusiasts. Paris, after all, probably
boasts more Michelin-starred and Wine
Spectator Grand Award restaurants than any
other city in the world. Restaurants from
Taillevent to L'Ami Louis pride themselves
for their wine lists. Customers who pay €250
and above for a meal demand it.
But why is it that more foodies point to
other food capitals, such as San Francisco,
as better wine destinations? A recent trip
to Paris appears to confirm my friend's
observation. My wife and I spent eight days
there, our fourth food and wine pilgrimage
to this gastronomic capital.
On this excursion, my role was clear from
the start: Go through the wine lists, select
the wines to pair with the dishes, and
challenge the world's top sommeliers should
their assistance be required. My friends
believe that my memory for wine prices is
encyclopedic and trust my ability to match
wine and food.
Our first stop was Le Meurice, a three-star
establishment headed by Yannick Alléno.
Friends have raved over the restaurant's
Philippe Starck-designed salon, inspired by
the Salon de Pais of the Versailles. But its
wine list didn't do justice to the splendid
and very tasteful interiors. Never mind that
Le Meurice's cellars excluded wines from the
New World and even a major region such as
Italy (who’d pair haute French cuisine with
a Barolo?), but the prices were ghastly.
I was looking for a reasonably priced
Burgundy to pair with my delicately flavored
poached lamb. I was hoping to find a
suitable premier cru, which in the hierarchy
of Burgundy, is one rung below grand cru
(most expensive, smallest production) but
one notch above village. I ended up choosing
a Meo Camuzet Vosne Romanee 2001, a village,
as all premier crus were priced above €220.
The Meo had a faint nose of raspberry and
cherry but simply lacked charm. I decided to
check the Bordeaux section to see what my
other options would've been. The selection
was adequate as one may expect but prices
ridiculous. One need not look any further
after spotting a Les Forts de Latour 1998
for €350 or a Pape Clement 1999 for €250.
These two wines can be had for under US$90
in the United States and I certainly wasn't
going to pay five to six times that even if
Carla Bruni were at my side.
Eight years ago, I ordered a Montrose 1990
in Taillevent for about $200, a Robert
Parker 100-pointer. In Le Meurice, this wine
goes for a cool €600. Haut Brion 1990
(96pts) is listed for a whopping €2,250.
Compare that to the legendary Haut Brion
1989 (100pts) for $400 in L'Esplanade or the
La Mission Haut Brion 1982 (100pts) at
L'Arpège for $300 back then. Because of the
burgeoning demand for fine wine from wealthy
Americans and Asians, the days of finding
top chateaus from the greatest vintages at
reasonable prices are history.
I don't get sticker shock at three-star
restaurants because I know what to expect.
But I did in L'Ambroisie, where we dined
with another couple. Located in Marais, this
Bernard Pacaud establishment is touted by
critics as one of the top three restaurants
in France. Pacaud’s repertoire is anchored
on the best and freshest ingredients
available daily. The place looked and
felt no different than it did years back
when my wife and I first visited it. The
restaurant itself, divided into three
small salons, is housed in a
17th-century townhouse that was once a
jewelry shop. The feel is that of an
Italian palazzo with its stucco walls
draped with giant tapestries. The
impeccably attired staff is just as
snooty. Reservations are virtually
impossible to make. It has no website
(note: L'Ambroisie now has a website.
See
www.ambroisie-placedesvosges.com) and it does not
entertain reservations via e-mail, only by
phone.
Before taking a stab at the wine list, I
gestured to my wife sitting across the table
to skip the appetizers. Because the ladies’
menu did not indicate prices, she was
unaware that her choice went for €120.
Already I knew I wasn’t going to find any
bargains in the wine menu if the appetizers
were going for that much.
I decided on a Bordeaux as I felt it would
marry well with my rack of lamb, my wife’s
roast pigeon, and our friends’ sweet bread
and foie gras. L’Ambroisie’s wine list was
quite limited. Majority of the Bordeaux were
from relatively young vintages and virtually
all, except for a handful of cru bourgeois,
were north of €250. I shifted to the section
on Rhône, a lesser-known wine-producing
region in France. Rhône produces the best
Syrahs in the world and because they are
less popular, they provide more bang for
buck. I chose the Delas Marquise de la
Tourette 2003 from Rhône’s Hermitage, which
is a region known to be the benchmark for
Australia’s greatest Shiraz. For €150, I
felt it was a relatively good deal. The deep
purple/inky hue and its nose of intense
licorice were all indications of how rich
and concentrated the wine was. Flavors were
still primary and therefore would require
several years to hit its apogee. On
hindsight, this wine should have been
decanted. Before the Delas, I asked the
sommelier to recommend a bottle of white. I
sometimes do this just to engage the
sommelier. He recommended an Olivier
Leflaive Puligny-Montrachet 2004. Excellent
vintage for white burgundy. The wine was
pleasant and refreshing. The Leflaive went
superbly well with the amuse bouche.
We had heard much about L'Atelier de Joël
Robuchon from friends, so we were looking
forward to dining there. Diners are seated
along two rectangular bars overlooking an
open kitchen. What's with the concept? Like
in a sushi bar, diners can follow the
service and the sequence of dishes as they
are prepared and served. Food is served
tapas-style so customers can sample as many
as they'd like. It was here that we tasted a
superb foie gras and the most succulent
poulet de Bresse. Unfortunately, the wine
paired with them upon the recommendation of
the staff tasted insipid—a Cotes de
Castillon, a satellite appellation adjacent
to the more famous Saint Emilion region.
That, to me, was enough to bring down the
entire dining experience. And how could a
house wine, Seleccion de Joël Robuchon,
taste so bad? I did not detect any defects
on the wine so I did not return the bottle.
For only €70, perhaps I got what I paid for.
On hindsight, I should have just gone with a
blanc. I have a higher tolerance for
mediocre whites than I do reds.
Then, there was La Tour d'Argent. During
this trip, we dined here twice. To visit
Paris and not eat here is inconceivable to
me. In fact, our travel plans to Paris were
dependent on getting a reservation to this
venerable establishment. La Tour d'Argent—famous
for its Canarde a la Presse, or pressed
duck—is a wine mecca. Their four-inch-thick
wine list, simply referred to as the bible,
contains the most extensive fine wine
selection in the world. You may not find an
Opus One or a Penfolds Grange among the half
a million bottles cellared beneath the
Seine, but you will certainly find the best
offerings of old Burgundies. Never mind that
the restaurant had been stripped of one or
even two Michelin stars because it is here
that you will find impeccably stored
Burgundies on the verge of extinction.
Navigating through the wine list is a
daunting task. Because I bided my time, the
sommelier placed a table by my side to prop
up the wine list, which must have weighed
seven pounds. Most Michelin restaurants,
such as Le Cinq in the Four Seasons, may
boast five vintages of Lafite going as far
back as 1982. At La Tour, you’ll find as
many as 40 vintages dating back to the early
1900s. Even more impressive is its selection
of aged whites from Burgundy and Loire. I
discovered Coche Durys from the 1980s, such
as a fairly priced Meursault 1986, and even
Cotats (Sancere) from the 1950s. Its
offerings of Chave Hermitage and Chateau
Rayas, both highly revered estates from
Rhône, extend as far back as the 1970s,
though prices were starting to get
prohibitive.
For a white, I chose a Domaine Leflavie
Clavoillons 1992, a decadently rich blanc
that tasted like liquid white chocolate. The
1992 Leflaive is extremely tough to find
because it is the best vintage of the 1990s.
Our final selection of reds during our two
visits was mind-boggling: Domain Ponsot Clos
de la Roche 1993, Roumier Bonnes Mares 1991,
Rousseau Clos de Beze 1991, Rousseau Le
Chambertin 1991, and finally, the Holy
Grail, the Rousseau Le Chambertin 1989. All
of these wines were perfect. The Rousseaus
are from the village of Gevrey-Chambertin,
among the most fabled patch of vineyards in
the world. These wines have great structure
and have earthy aromas of black fruit. I
read somewhere that Napoleon was so enamored
with wines from Chambertin that his death
was hastened by being forced to drink
Bordeaux during his exile in St Helena.
Price? Definitely north of €250 for each
bottle—but that's nothing compared to the
four to five times one would pay in the open
market and without the guarantee of the
wine's provenance. While I've had my fair
share of disappointments this trip, our
experiences at La Tour more than made up for
all of it.
WHERE TO
WINE & DINE
L’Ambroisie
9 Place des Vosges
Tel (33)(1) 4278-5145
L’Atelier
de Joël Robuchon
5 Rue Montalembert
Tel (33)(1) 4222-5656
La Tour
d’Argent
15-17 Quai de la Tournelle
Tel (33)(1) 4354-2331
Le Meurice
228 rue de Rivoli
Tel (33)(1) 4458-1010
