Christmas Eve of the Year

We dressed down for Christmas Eve evening, jean & boot fashion, hoping to find one of Paris's ubiquitous casual corner cafes open for a simple croque monsieur, or French grilled ham & cheese sandwich. Before departing the hotel, we paused for a glass of great Champagne in the lovely lobby lounge. Braving the 9pm chill, we began exploring the city blocks around the enormous and usually active Madeleine church plaza. Everything had shut down, like a ghost town. Hungrier now and cold after two laps, we returned to the only lit small restaurant, not exactly what we'd had in mind--La Maison de la Truffe, or the "Truffle House."

As you probably know, truffles are a type of rare mushroom, super-rich and earthy, a prized delicacy in grande cuisine. A quick glance through the window into the dim interior showed about half the tables occupied, and prices on the posted menu while high were not outrageous (by Zürich standards!). We decided perhaps we could find something simple and ducked in. Instantly we knew we were in trouble.

In the improved light, most of the clientele were dressed in suits and similar fancy dinner attire and had almost certainly made reservations for Christmas Eve--it just felt like that kind of place. The suited maitre d' approached from the back of the restaurant.

Sensing a train wreck, Steph turned on the charm with the happiest bare-requisite-ability French greeting you've ever heard. The maitre d', who had appeared stuffy at a distance but turned out extremely friendly and welcoming, laughed and appeared suitably charmed and said of course he had an open table for two tonight. He took our ludicrously out-of-place coats, puffy-down stuffing and rain-jacket fleece, and led us to a table. I know that Steph and I were thinking the same thing--in our opinion, the worst thing you can do once accidentally seated in jeans in a suit-packed Paris restaurant wanting a simple cafe sandwich instead of grande cuisine, is to order like you feel. Therefore, once seated, when the maitre d' asked if we'd like glasses of Champagne to begin, we said yes before even opening the menus and the game was afoot!

Virtually everything on the menu featured either truffles or foie gras, both incredibly rich, with a wine list to complement. No ham-and-cheese-with-truffle sandwiches, either. Our young and almost shy waiter spoke no English, testing Steph's French a little further, which I think the maitre d' arranged for a little fun. I learned my lesson early after pouring about a half-dollar sized pool of the truffle-infused olive oil from the table bottle onto my bread plate--the bottle opening was like a pin-prick, pouring just that bit of oil took forever. A few seconds later, the earthy mushroom aroma nearly knocked me backwards off of my chair.

We ordered to the hilt--a starter of foie gras with its soulmate, a Sauternes dessert wine, main course of black truffle risotto with and without mussels (exquisite!) accompanied by a bottle of Premier Cru Chablis, and finally dessert of truffled goat cheese. We ended with espresso (as we've learned it's insulting to leave any restaurant in Europe and especially France without one). Now nearly midnight and with only two other tables occupied, the maitre d' returned to ask if we'd like another glass of Champagne. After a moment of laughingly confused translation, Stephanie verified the offer was free of charge, a Christmas gift from the restaurant. How nice is that??

Completely saturated by too much Champagne, wine, dessert wine, duck liver, fungi, enriched goat milk and concentrated coffee, we paid the bill, reclaimed our hobo coats and staggered back to the hotel thanking La Maison de la Truffe for undoubtedly Meal of the Year for us both, an unexpected Christmas gift to ourselves and just under the wire for Steph!

[As an unfortunate epilogue, I apparently over-truffled myself because I woke on Christmas aching with the flu and a fever, managed to drag myself as Steph's very unpleasant lunch companion to Joel Robuchon's super-high end L'Atelier restaurant for our reservation, where we ordered several exquisite small dishes to share but I could barely stomach the bread and a club soda. The food was phenomenally prepared and the experience (despite stuffy decor and staid service as feared) may have qualified as Meal of the Year moreover again if I hadn't ruined it. My condition worsened later in the day, improved somewhat after 17 hours of sleep, but I remained fairly ill well past packing and departing for Zürich the next morning.]