RESERVATIONS—MAKE THEM --- THEN PUT THOSE RESERVATIONS ASIDE!
TOUR D’ARGENT RESTAURANT IN PARIS
Tour D’Argent Street View
Okay, I admit it. When I travel, I can be a tad cheap when it comes to accommodations and places to eat In my defense, I reason that the less you pay per day, the more days you can spend looking at the Wonders of the World.
Ordinarily my husband agrees with me, as long as the budget doesn’t hamper his choice of wines. But on one occasion, my reluctance to spend the family savings was overruled. And it happened because . . .
Paris is my favorite city. Even though I love every cittadina in Italy, somehow walking through the arrondissements of Paris is a multi-sensory experience that drenches my soul.
I know, Americans insist the French don’t like us because we co-opt their city, expect everyone to speak English, dress like we just cleaned out our garage, and prefer a Subway sandwich to a crepe.
It’s true. Perhaps the French don’t like us, but there are ways to avoid the censure. One can learn to say merci, put a scarf around one’s neck, and order a croque monsieur (French for cheese sandwich). It helps if you hum a few bars of La Vie en Rose (Edith Piaf) while strolling down the Champs-Élysées without bumping into anyone. Learn that, you’re good to go.
A bar honoring Edith Piaf, the WWII French Songbird who rescued 300 POWS from German control
Back to my flagrant disregard of budgetary restrictions. It happened because . . .
Yes, it was in Paris where my husband had suggested on a number of visits that we have dinner at the Tour D’Argent, one of the most expensive restaurants in Paris. When he would bring up the topic, I would immediately threaten to throw myself under a bateau mouche on the Seine River if he made reservations.
A bateau mouche on the Seine River
Eventually, however, George found the support he needed from two of our favorite traveling companions, Barb and Wayne. Since Barbara can drape a scarf across her blouse in the most elegant of ways and Wayne can always pick just the right shade of paint for a yacht, I was definitely outclassed.
They joined George’s rationale for eating at the Tour d’Argent. They simply said, “Why Not?” I had no answer that didn’t reveal my plebian ways.
Reservations were made for the nine-course- tasting menu. Again, “Why Not?”
After all, the Tour d’Argent has earned its reputation. Over 400 years old, it started as an inn where the French royalty slummed after hunting in the nearby woods. If there was a long line to get in, patrons could duel each other for a better spot.
It was in this very inn that King Henry claimed credit for discovering the fork. He noticed a nearby table of Florentines using this dining upgrade to finger food. (Can he claim credit? I guess no one is going to dispute a king’s executive orders.)
The restaurant’s other claim to fame is its loyalty to ducks. Canard à la presse is a traditional French dish that involves using a special press to extract the duck’s blood, marrow and other juices to make a special sauce. Sounds a bit suspect, but it’s actually delicious.
French duck press
As the duck’s parts are roasted and served at separate times during the meal, the ritual must be followed precisely and is so important that each duck from their duck farm is numbered. The customer gets a certificate of authentication. As If ducks need to be certifiable.
And then there are all the celebrities who have eaten there. To underscore that forks, ducks, and Salvador Dali can sustain a restaurant, come with me to share the experience of a lifetime, (or so you should keep telling yourself as you empty your children’s college fund.)
We arrived at the restaurant in the best duds our traveling would allow. Of course, the guys had to wear a coat and tie. Barb looked fabulous in her New York dress with the perfect accessories. I don’t remember what I wore, except that it was obviously not memorable.
Anyway, I had insisted that we not take the movie camera (before iphones), assuming this would be an evening relegated to some sophistication. We didn’t want to emphasize our tourist status. Of course, everyone else at the restaurant had their cameras.
Entrance
So no, I have no photos of the evening. No photos of the lovely first floor with the table setting that Queen Elizabeth used when she visited. No photos of the gallery of celebs that have eaten there. No photos of the handsome young man with white gloves who accompanied us to the upper floor where the dining room looked out on a stunning view of the flying buttresses of Notre Dame. No photos of the seven waiters who flocked around us for the entire evening.
But there are plenty of photos of roasted ducks, flower arrangements, and impeccable table settings on the internet, so take a look. Photos from Wikimedia.
You might also watch the episode of the classic British comedy Root into Europe where Mr. Root takes Mrs. Root to the Tour d’Argent. The scenes of the restaurant are amazing. Here Mr. Root intends to uncover the decadent womanizing of the owner, Claude Terrail.
Of course, Mr. Terrail is a charmingly handsome Frenchman who gives a beautiful speech about how Mr. Root should treat and appreciate his wife. This middle-aged English housewife is slowly awakening to her awful husband’s pomposity as they return to their typical fourth floor Paris hotel room -- where the bathroom shower sprays all over the room and the closet door never closes. I love Mrs. Root..
Episodes are available on Youtube.
I may have no photos of the Tour d’Argent but emblazoned on my memory is the huge book of wine choices brought to us on its own table--over 300,000. Immediately George entered wine heaven.
Wine list.
I can tell you that each new course was a never-to-be duplicated experience from fois gras to the artwork called dessert. I will never forget the lights of Paris just beyond the crystal glass window. We shared their transcendence with all our fellow diners.
Joyeux Anniversaire
Was it worth the price tag? Well, if you believe in once in a lifetime experiences, yes. If you feel bad for the little girl in the table next to you who fell asleep somewhere around the third course, hmmm. You decide.
The joi de vivre of the night ended at our hotel where a very grumpy concierge gave us our key and continued reading his newspaper. Despite the warning to only have three people in the elevator to our room, all four of us crowded into the box.
Of course, it stalled and the concierge just muttered about why French people hate Americans. It was deserved. Nevertheless, he freed us.
The next day we did take the bateau mouche up the River Seine. As we were laughing and recounting what an incredible evening we had the night before, a couple behind us said they were going to the Tour d’Argent that very day.
George and Wayne looked at them quizzically and asked if they had consulted their Financial Planner. However, this German couple had made the wise decision to skip the dinner tasting menu and have a much more reasonable lunch. I applaud them.
Proof that we were actually there.
Our certificates framed by Barb and Wayne
I love your way of telling a story! I felt like I was there with you, except for actually tasting my favorite food, pressed duck!
Merci, Michelle!