Paris_ The Collected Traveler - Barrie Kerper [123]
I completely agree with Reichl’s remarks, and I feel I am one of the luckiest people on the planet to know Barry, who still lives in Paris, in the seventh arrondissement. She has kindly invited me to her beautiful apartment on two occasions—once with my daughter, Alyssa, and once with my friend Amy—and good food, laughter, and great conversation were in abundance each time.
Barry wrote the piece below for the newsletter of the Chef Culinary Network, which provides legal support and business development services for entrepreneurial chefs, top restaurants, and luxury hotels in the gourmet culinary market. The restaurant she reviews here, L’Atelier de Joël Robuchon (5 rue de Montalembert, 7ème / +33 01 42 22 56 56 / joel-robuchon.net), has been described by the Louis Vuitton City Guide as “an experience you must not miss.… Absolutely everything is excellent and exquisitely refined.”
AFTER EIGHT YEARS, Joël Robuchon’s trailblazing l’Atelier is still the most sought-after restaurant in Paris. There have to be reasons why. In 2003 Robuchon’s return from retirement was awaited with the interest of Mlle Chanel’s return from retirement two decades before. Curiosity was intense but the buzz was mostly negative.
“He won’t last two months” was the prediction.
One day in August, feeling lonesome because all my friends were out of town, I decided to treat myself to lunch at l’Atelier, which operates full steam seven days a week, twelve months a year. Incredible, in a town where vacation is sacred.
Paris in August is wonderful or awful. Business is down to a flutter. Butcher, baker, and most of the neighborhood restaurants are en vacances until September. In the shuttered, quasi-abandoned city, l’Atelier was blessedly open and full as usual: hep visitors from half the world and the odd Parisian in town for one reason or another. The atmosphere was a relaxed We Happy Few. The place was packed.
“Amazing,” I said to Éric Lecerf, one of the chef-partners who was at the helm that day. “I thought nobody was in Paris. What is your secret formula?”
“Our figures are 15 percent higher than this time last year. In fact our figures have been going up steadily since the beginning. Before we opened we were nervous. It was a risk. We had staked our entire savings and our future on this radical concept.” Lecerf sounded gratefully surprised.
The success of the pioneer team has led to the string of Ateliers Robuchon has since opened on three continents.
Philippe Braun, Robuchon’s trusted lieutenant, leaves Paris from time to time to analyze and to control the details of each new Robuchon property. After we spoke he would soon be off to Taipei for a final look at the latest in the group.
Under the Robuchon umbrella, the Paris Atelier is a working partnership of four members of the brigade at Robuchon’s former restaurant, Jamin. The quartet—Philippe Braun, Éric Lecerf, Éric Bouchenoir, Antonio Hernandes—had earned its stripes. Working at Jamin had been tough as a marine boot camp. At l’Atelier, one of them is always on active service, ensuring there is never a lapse in performance. The customer does not detect it, but the discipline is almost military. These days the group has added another chef to its galaxy, the talented, rosy-cheeked young Axel Manes.
Today the public has accepted everything that the gloom-and-doom prophets of 2003 had predicted they would never accept.
You still can’t walk into l’Atelier unless someone opens the door for you from the inside, a technique reminiscent of Manhattan’s speakeasy era.
No reservations. The howl was so great the house compromised. You can now reserve for the eleven-thirty a.m. lunch service and the six-thirty p.m. supper service. Otherwise you have to take your chances. Let’s face it. Being a regular does help, whenever