Last night, we had one of our most memorable meals yet. As a birthday surprise, Russ made dinner reservations and arranged for Naomi to come and stay with the kids. We were off to Taillevent, a Michelin-starred restaurant which has been called a “veritable temple to haute cuisine” and a venerable Parisian institution of fine dining for more than sixty years. Lucky us, this was actually our second visit. The first was almost twenty years ago when we went to celebrate Russ’s acceptance to HBS. It was such an event. I remember the legion of staff who seemed to anticipate our every need, fulfill it flawlessly, and then disappear so as not to disturb in any way (the restaurant serves up to 80 guests nightly with a staff of 47). I also remember the starter I had—a seared foie gras with caramelized peaches served on honey-spice bread. Every foie gras since has been measured against that spectacular dish. I was excited as we approached the restaurant. And hungry. Like Olympic athletes preparing for the big event, Russ and I had been very strategic about what we had eaten leading up to dinner, which is to say, not much: coffees for breakfast and green salad for lunch. An old and dear gourmand friend from our first year in Paris had always counseled “be sure to eat something light but high volume so that your stomach doesn’t shrink and you are not full at dinner time.” By 7:30 pm, we were stretched, empty, and ready to dine. We entered and were greeted warmly. Two servers (one for each?) led us to Table #4 which, like every table in the room, flanked the perimeter. They pulled the table out so that we could slide into the upholstered banquette and be seated side-by-side facing the center stage. We had an early reservation and were in a great spot to watch the evening’s service unfold. The maitre d’ came to welcome us and instantly deduced that we were intent upon speaking in French. Of the half dozen or so tables I could recognize as English-speaking, we were the only ones forging ahead en française. He ascertained that we were celebrating a birthday and wished us a very pleasant evening. Having promised our charming host that we would do our best, we began with an aperitif of pink champagne and warm gougères, savory choux puff pastries with gruyère. We took our time with the menu as the options were numerous and intriguing. Lobster tartar or caviar tart? Filet of beef or roast duck? I was inclined to take the tasting menu, an eight-course dining tour de force, but I was slightly put off by the first plate— a rémoulade de tourteau à l’aneth. I hesitated and then asked our server “le tourteau, c’est bien un turtle?” Hiding his shock and a smile, he replied (in English) “Madame, we do not eat turtles in France. It is illegal. This is a dish of crab.” I was too relieved to feel embarrassed by my linguistic faux pas and quickly assured him that, in that case, I would love the chef’s menu. Later on, I asked him (in French) if I were the first Anglophone to make that mistake and he assured me (in French) that I was not. I had powered through the first four courses with such enthusiasm that I was clearly back in his good graces. The meal unfolded flawlessly. We began with an amuse-bouche of warm pumpkin froth crowned with a scoop of parmesan ice cream. Next, the turtle/crab made its appearance, followed by a dish of crispy langoustine on grapefruit marmalade, then a spelt risotto with miniature girolle mushrooms intensely infused with what tasted like veal stock reserved for the gods. Then, a red snapper glazed with a sweet and savory onion tapenade arrived, followed by a seared foie gras de canard served with tiny sautéed grapes. The grapes were peeled. Ahhhh. We savored all of the above with two outstanding examples of the national libation: a 2005 white from the Loire Valley and a 2003 French burgundy. It is worth noting that Taillevent’s wine cellar is regarded as one of the best in the world. The wine list has more than 3,000 options on offer and the cellar holds 400,000 bottles. After describing the characteristics we like best in our wines, we entrusted our selections to the sommelier and were not disappointed. Having conquered all of the savory dishes, we were ready to move on to the cheese course. Out came a large cheese board carried by two men. It was simply too big and, presumably heavy, for one person to carry alone. There were easily twenty and perhaps thirty cheeses on that board. Oh la la. I love everything about the cheese course: I love the idea of it, the notion of a culinary pause between the main course and dessert; I am dazzled by the various colors, shapes and sizes, and am seduced by the descriptions “crémeaux,” and “doux.” I chose three. Russ raised me by one and made four spectacular selections. Dessert rounded out the evening and the both of us. We savored a fresh fig compote served in a crystal martini glass and topped with a foam of port perfume (I’m not making this up). Next came a dense chocolate truffle cake so rich I could only eat three bites. Finally, a tiny plate of miniature sweets was brought for each of us. I really liked the pineapple pâté des fruits and the grapefruit gateau; Russ seemed to prefer the morsel of espresso cake. The maitre d’ returned to see how we had enjoyed our meal and offered me a keepsake menu along with his best birthday wishes. We passed on the offer of un petit café and were surprised when the sommelier returned to pour us a cognac, compliments of the maitre d’. Pourquoi pas?, we said as we raised a glass and toasted. Three and a half hours after we had first sat down, we rose to take our leave. We strolled out into the crisp evening air, smiling and sated, and wondering what next milestone we might someday celebrate at Table #4.