Sylvie called this morning inquiring if I would possibly be available to join her for lunch at La Grande Cascade. Say noon today? It was all said in that tone of voice that makes it difficult to resist. So I said, I would put off a few things until later and gladly have lunch. I looked forward to catching up with Sylvie. I wondered if my top hat and tails were in working order – well not really but a well tailored suit with a pocket scarf and a sharp tie seemed to be the dress of the day.
Sylvie, as some of you may remember from my story about Neuilly, is Raymond’s lovely wife. She has dual citizenship her mother is French – that side of her is unmistakeable and usually highly-weaponized. Her father was president of a bottling or canning concern in the Midwest -the exact whereabouts I don’t recall. The important part here is that daddy left his little girl a comfortable inheritance and by comfortable I mean the sort of comfort that allows one to worry about charity work and saving the whales and generally free from some of the more mundane things in life such as having to earn a living. I happen to fall in the work to live category not nearly as pleasant, I assure you. The story goes that Raymond and Sylvie met in the Big Apple and not in Paris. Mr. Attorney-at-Law Raymond was putting in some time with a white-shoe Wall Street law firm and picking up another advanced law degree from NYU Law; Sylvie, on the other hand, was studying architecture or design or something at Columbia. I believe they met at an Alliance Francaise dinner party or something along those lines or they were introduced by someone at the firm, quite frankly I forgot which version they insisted on. The three of us met purely by accident, we weren’t sipping Gin and Tonics’ after an exhausting set of tennis at the country club or anything remotely like that. No, the happy couple had come down to Annapolis, Maryland for the annual East Coast Annapolis sailboat show and looking to trade up from their little Beneteau Océanis 46. That evening they sauntered into a local gin joint whose doorway I have been known to darken and we got talking about life in the “land of pleasant living” and Paris; the rest, as they say, is history. So there you have it we’ve been good friends ever since.
Now just to get you somewhat situated, La Grand Cascade is in their same Arrondissement, the 16e but the restaurant is located on the other edge of the Bois de Boulogne. The restaurant is housed in a remarkable, steel and glass Belle Époque pavilion from the 1900 World’s Fair. Actually it was first used as a hunting pavilion by Napoleon III – that is until his little empire came to a crashing halt in 1870. It is now one of the top places for fine dining in the Bois de Boulogne. A Michelin starred, plush restaurant.
The Bois de Boulogne was once used exclusively as the royal hunting grounds and over time high society built their mansions and elegant pavilions. In 1815 the forests fell victim to the British and Russian occupying armies who were camped there. That was before the concept of recycling or leaving a clean camp fire behind ever took hold so one can only imagine the sizable footprint that was left. A little bit like Love Canal in New Jersey ends up in Paris. Eventually Napoleon III put his restorative imprint on the Bois we know today with racecourses and elegant wide avenues and he had Haussmann recreate the same winding paths, ornamental lakes and gardens that were found in London’s Hyde Park. I have to mention that in the Bois de Boulogne there is also the Jardin d’Acclimatation which is an amusement park open year-round with its own gardens, zoo, museums, pony rides and restaurants. I spent many a Saturday afternoon there. Those poor ponies never forgave me.
I was not at all surprised that Sylvie would have picked this pricey little field kitchen. I knew Chef Frédéric Robert only by reputation but I knew about some of his creative dishes which included sea urchins and spider crab in a seafood gelée with coral cream; langoustines and shellfish in an artichoke ragoût; Argentinian beef fillet roasted with sauce aux poivre and truffled fondant potatoes; and poached quail eggs with black truffles. I think you get what I’m driving at, it’s not an everyday restaurant nor is he an everyday chef. Inside is tastefully decorated with a huge glass awning that covers the three-level terrace descending like a waterfall or une grande cascade, the fringed and tasseled draperies, the enormous crystal chandeliers, rich carpeting, the boiserie, columns, the wonderful views all seem to come together by design. Clearly someone was imitating the look and feel of my apartment.
Sylvie was “patiently” waiting for me inside and looking slightly out of sorts having to imagine that it was even possible for anyone to be late and leave her standing alone. I offered my deepest apologies, with all the conviction I could muster, along with kisses on both cheeks. She looked, well, lets just say Raymond is a lucky man. Despite her American upbringing Sylvie has been in France long enough to pick up the French look which continues to turn peoples heads and for someone like me to easily walk into a tree while doing so. I was given the once over from my suit and tie to my shoes. An invisible thread was lifted from my tie. I asked her if Raymond would approve which prompted a “look” and a smirk. I escorted her inside wearing my own smirk.