The amuse was a cup of a most tasty cream of asparagus (which I heard as petitpois - "you need new hearing aids John"). And of course we had a spot of Catalanian Grenache and decent bread too boot.
For firsts we ordered the thickly cut salmon tartare (was it J.?), a remoulade of celery and seafood two times - oh no, what do I see?, sauteed foie gras with a ginger sauce and sweet potatoes - "Ah Ma'am, I'm not Jack Nicholson, but can you hold the sweet potatoes?" "Of course." Hoooo boy, we were off to the races.
Now the suspense. Thickly cut foie de veau. Easy to say, hard to execute, not since Chez Les Anges circa 1968, have I found one truly superor. And three of us ordering the same dish - Danger, there be dragons here! But no, each of us ordering a different level of cooking got exactly what he wanted. And, and, and, potato skeptic that I am, I loved the thickly cut (smashed not mashed) white potatoes. As my Aunt Tilly would say "Great sakes alive." That's when she wasn't stuck on the privy.
Well, as my real (as opposed to imaginary or cyber)-friends know I rarely, "never, well hardly ever" order dessert, but I was on a roll (no dinner tonite, sort of) so after J. ordered the nectarines and other fruits and R. a cappucino (OK, cut him some slack, he's still in recovery from coming back from the Veneto), I ordered the vanilla creme brulee. Here I got some push back. "John, vanilla?" "Creme brulee?" "What's the matter?" It was great and a perfect finale.
Our bill - 139.50 E for three, thus close to 94 E a couple.
Go? Nah, Gobelins too far away, liver too thick, no English patrons, wine too reasonable, waitfolk too unFrench (cf NYT), faggedaboudid.