Clive
Google
This meal spoke fluent terroir.
I began with cervelle de veau, handled with rare restraint. Perfectly delicate, just set, never overworked. The richness was lifted by precise acidity—classic French technique doing what it does best: letting the ingredient breathe. No theatrics, just confidence. A dish that whispers rather than shouts.
The joue de bœuf followed—slow-cooked into submission. Deep, gelatinous, and soulful. This is the kind of dish that reminds you why patience is a virtue in French kitchens. The sauce carried weight without heaviness, coating the palate like a well-worn cashmere coat.
The betterave proved to be the wiser choice. Earthy, gently sweet, and thoughtfully composed, it brought contrast rather than competition. Where meat would have doubled down on weight, the beetroot introduced clarity—grounded, vegetal, and quietly elegant. It anchored the meal in seasonality and restraint, a reminder that French cuisine at its best knows when not to add more.
The red wine pairing still held its ground. The wine’s earth and spice mirrored the beetroot’s depth, while its structure kept the veal brain honest. Less force, more dialogue.
What impressed most was the continuity—the quiet logic from nose to root, from classic technique to honest execution. This is French cuisine with memory: respectful of tradition, uninterested in trends, and confident enough to let simplicity do the work.
A meal for those who eat with curiosity—and discernment.