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L2O

It all came down to the macaron. After a combined 17 courses, eight alcohol pairings, four-plus hours and maybe 700 ingredients (don’t quote me), the quintessential Parisian pastry appeared before us. Peering at it, I was reminded of exec chef Laurent Gras’s blog entry about the recipe; I, too, contemplated how tonight’s variety, brown sugar, might taste; and I was well aware that I was teetering precariously between sated and uncomfortably full. But when I bit into the warm, pillow-like cookie, my mind, suddenly, went quiet; its crunchy exterior gave way to a chewy, ganache-filled center and I entered a state of sugar-induced bliss. Awestruck, right there at the table, I had my fourth (fifth?) food orgasm of the night. It was the perfect ending to the Gras gastronomic journey: Laurent’s seductive final touch.

It was also a skewed one – an exclusively visceral delight to top off a meal otherwise intensely intellectual. At L2O, you will undoubtedly experience the sheer pleasure of eating really, ridiculously well. You will also, however, experience food relentlessly thought provoking, a presentation of dish after dish that demand dissection. Take French-Japanese fusion fare, add impeccable traditional technique, and throw in a smattering of molecular gastronomy and you’re beginning to scratch the surface that is this culinary wonder. It’s a restaurant whose foundation is built at once upon immaculate execution and creative innovation. It’s about interplay, paradox. And it makes you think.

Like about, say, the intersection of old and new, as is so brilliantly exemplified with the scallops. Prepared two ways, they come both perfectly seared and as domes of mousse, an avant-garde manifestation nestled next to one more customary. My brain was, like, “scallop mousse?!” while my mouth was all “I know, right,” and then finally my stomach declared “let’s do this already.” As it turned out, the mousse was deliciously unconventional (stomach: 1)…and the brain/body debate remained a trend throughout the night. It should come as no surprise, then, that the foie gras snow (atop tuna tartare, with tomato carpaccio and insanely mini cubes of hibiscus gelée) provoked similar contemplation; I am, after all, accustomed to my foie, well, fleshy. But while the frozen flakes were foreign in sight and sensation, they proved oddly familiar to the tongue: after a moment of cold, the ethereal snow melted and my palate recognized the creamy richness as the unmistakable taste of foie. It was gras, done Gras-style. And let me tell you, je l’aime.

That style is also one of an utter aesthete, a man with a taste for plated art. When the arctic char hit the table, though, it became a question of play versus purpose – the fish was accompanied by a green checkerboard, a zucchini and pea-puree accessory that looked both palatable and just too pretty to eat. To be seen or consumed? I wondered…and while I hoped for the latter, I just couldn’t bring myself to desecrate the vibrant game piece. Three lovely but uninspired bites later, I caved. I delved into the decoration, only to discover that it completely elevated the dish. That pea puree, I realized, is the essence – and indicative that at L2O, every element is present for a reason. The cuisine is serious with a smack of whimsy, but there’s no novelty for novelty’s sake. That apparently inconsequential potato ribbon looks exquisite next to the pork belly, sure. But I assure you, it tastes good, too.

And sometimes it’s that last note that is precisely what Laurent seems to be after. After 17 courses, eight alcohol pairings and four-plus hours, he gave us the inimitable macaron, opting to give our strained brain cells a break. After a meal both artful and academic, Gras graciously reminded us that he can do viscerally appetizing, too. After an eye-opening gastronomic extravaganza, this cookie was as if to say “et maintenant, mes amis, just enjoy.” And in that final moment, analysis was rendered unnecessary. It was simply a brilliant and beautiful thing.

-S. Brahney