Jan Enestrom
Google
We arrived in a state best described as “respectably peckish” and left floating somewhere between delirium and enlightenment—somewhat financially less well off, yes, but spiritually fortified and possibly in love with a blue lobster.
It all began with a Negroni (mine, bitter as regret but twice as rewarding) and a Kir (hers, charming and deceptively cheerful).
Then: a trio of amuse-gueules, clearly crafted by someone with a PhD in anticipation-building. Just as I began calculating how many of those it would take to equal dinner, the amuse-bouche arrived—a sliver of tuna resting on a base of cucumber that tasted like summer. Subtle, elegant, perfectly balanced.
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Act I
Next came the lobster—or rather, a duet of lobster.
One, gently wood-fired and lounging beside white peach, basil, and fennel. A dish dancing between sweetness and smoke.
The other, a ravioli so delicate it could have doubled as haute couture, floating in a foam that whispered of cream, seashores, and some light French sorcery.
Act I played out like a duet—each part elevating the other in perfect harmony.
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Act II
A three-part fish opera:
First, grilled green beans in a smoked yogurt sauce—a lesson in how simple can still be sublime.
Next: the tuna itself, seared and served over a spicy sauce tinged with habanero. Alongside, a small tartare so fresh it made my life shimmer a little brighter for just a short moment.
By this point, I wasn’t eating—I was leading a one-man rescue mission, bread in hand, determined to liberate every last trace of bean sauce before it made a clean getaway across the porcelain.
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Act III
The Kintoa pork followed—succulent, beautifully lacquered, served with summer truffle, sweet onion, and a deep, earthy sauce that begged for more wine. We obliged, of course.
At this stage, I should note that the wine pairings were not only excellent and generous—but also largely responsible for my rising sense of joy and general goodwill toward the universe.
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Act IV
Then came dessert—because what better way to conclude a culinary saga than with sorbet, lemon granita, black bean cream (don’t ask, just surrender), and ice cream made from blue poppy seeds and a sense of wonder?
All this accompanied by Éclipse, a sparkling wine that tasted like a Nordic summer night—brief, luminous, and utterly enchanting.
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And then, bliss.
Petits fours arrived like tiny edible punctuation marks. Espresso was served. Someone poured something amber into a glass shaped like a poem. And for a few luminous minutes, time stopped caring about itself.
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The verdict:
It was a journey from sea to land, a beautifully choreographed story of contrasting flavors and colors. Every dish was a new chapter, every sip a supporting verse.
Three young mademoiselles conducted the evening with wit and grace, ensuring everything flowed with quiet precision.
It was a dinner to remember, firmly placing Biarritz on our culinary map forever.
Thank you for a lovely evening and experience.
