Lyon, the gastronomic capital of France or, as I like to say, France’s culinary ground zero is synonymous with excellent food and outstanding chefs. One chef in particular has consistently stood out from the crowd. That person is none other than super-star Chef Paul Bocuse. To be sure, I’d heard plenty about this culinary God and his reputation as being, hands-down, a master of French cooking and also for the high quality of his restaurants in Lyon and his innovative approaches to cuisine. Chef Bocuse is best known for having brought to the forefront the concept of nouvelle cuisine, which is less opulent and calorific than the traditional cuisine classique, and stresses the importance of fresh ingredients of the highest quality. I was in search of elegance both in presentation and in appreciation. In Chef Bocuse’s brasserie Le Nord, I found that and oh so much more.

 
Located close to the Hôtel de Ville and l’Opéra,  Le Nord, one of four traditional brasseries in Lyon, is quite different from many of the more informal ‘bouchons’ that I’ve been to in Lyon. But make no mistake, it is typically French of course and classic Lyon cuisine is at its finest. The ambiance is one of comfort but not at the expense of being classy at the same time. Service is not just very good it is exceptional and everything comes together in clock-like precision almost as if the grand master himself had carefully choreographed each and every step taken by all the staff. I do love the ambiance in this brasserie, dominated by dark wood, polished brass, and starched white table linen. The overwhelming theme of this restaurant is one of elegance and simple food, perfectly executed. Not easy. After perusing the menu (I had the one in French thank you, my colleagues the one in English) I knew right from the start this was going to be challenging. Everything on the menu I wanted, hands down no exception! The process of winnowing down the menu to one dish was difficult and stressful so I immediately ordered a bottle of Côte de Brouilly to help me work my way through. I knew I had to make a decision. The pretty young lady looked at me quizzically, Monsieur a décidée? I put my menu down, “Oui” I replied firmly and decisively. I will start with the snails and for my main course I will have the Coquilles St. Jacques, those tender plump scallops from Brittany in a delicately flavorful sauce and placed ever so gently next to a wonderful risotto. How could I go wrong. An excellent choice Monsieur and off she went quite pleased I finally made a decision. But in the next mili-second I’d changed my mind. I called the young lady back to the table. She exercised her very best manners and smiled. I just knew she was thinking how this customer was a demanding pain! He must surely be from Paris. I announced that I had changed my mind and would have the Poulet De Bresse à la Crème et aux Champignons, instead! In other words I opted for the famous chicken from Bresse in a heavenly cream sauce over a bed of rice. A fine example of traditional French cuisine if ever there was one. I was convinced I had made the right choice. I wiped my brow then took a long drink of wine. When it’s excellent food decisions are never easy.Let me backtrack for just a moment and give those seven little escargots or snails the justice they so rightly deserve. They come not hidden in their shell but in a large round piping hot service dish each one with a perfectly round cover made out of crispy bread steeped in butter and garlic. The aroma of garlic and butter immediately captures your senses.  Listen folks there are no denying that snails look quite tantalizing sitting in their mixture of butter and garlic and cooked to perfection. But maybe the very act of dipping fresh crusty French bread into the magical elixir of garlic and butter is what really makes us swoon with delight. If I have to confess to something then let it be known that the bread and garlic ritual is more important to me than the snails. There I said it! And those little creatures never harmed anyone anyway. I took another deep and appreciative sip of my Côte de Brouilly. Interesting how the bottle seemed to be well on its way to empty. Signaling the young lady who appeared almost instantly, agreeably took my order for another. It’s wonderful how my universe of food, wine and ambiance can come together so perfectly. It makes everything seem just right or comme il faut! 

Finally it was time for the poultry of kings to arrive, the famous Bresse chicken in cream sauce smothered in sauce, rice and mushrooms. For a moment I panicked. I had made the right choice maybe the scallops were the right choice in the first place. Steady as she goes. The waiter expertly presented my dish. It looked wonderful and I will admit, for the record, that it not only looked better than mine but tasted much better. Clearly I have work to do. There it was in its entire splendor. The Bresse chicken is not like any chicken I have ever eaten. These birds are in a class all of their own and are carefully raised to exacting (and delicious) standards. That’s quite evident. The sauce was both creamy and velvety at the same time. Just when I worried about not having enough sauce to make it through, the waiter appeared and placed a cooking pan with the sauce on a little raised trivet. I may not have been in Heaven but I was very close to being there.  I spooned more sauce making sure that every grain of rice was soaked to perfection. Then I spooned some more. I did not want this to end, never ever. I asked our waiter if I could I have a doggy bag for the sauce. I received an indulgent smile in response.

Thankfully, I was able to muster sufficient strength to hold the desert menu. I chose an old faithful that took me back to my early days in Paris as a youngster. After church on Sunday we would stop at the bakery in Neuilly and one of my parents accompanied by one of the boys, never all three, they knew better. With any luck, when the contents of that box were revealed at the dinner table, there would be a Baba au Rum which is a true French desert classic as is the Tarte Tartin. The Baba is a small sponge cake that is wonderfully saturated in rum preferably from Martinique along with a healthy dollop of whipped cream or pastry cream. I don’t remember the rum growing up or maybe that was my parent’s secret ingredient to a quiet Sunday afternoon.