First to the table is a four-level cart bearing at least a dozen breads--mini baguettes, cheese puffs, potato bread, each more appealing than the last. "But as you've ordered the degustation," said our waiter, "we recommend you don't have much of this." Which seemed downright cruel.

And then the parade of food began. First there was a cup, carved from ice, bearing apple gelee topped with yuzu granite and a custardy chutney; a waiter poured apple-scented water onto the outer plate, which held colored pieces of dry ice, creating an apple-aroma fog. Next came a bit of asparagus flan crowned with a large spoonful of osetra caviar. A carpaccio of foie gras presented razor-thin slices of foie gras torchon (looking rather like Fruit Roll-Ups), perched on potato slices and covered with white-truffle shavings.

There was a truffled langoustine ravioli with diced cabbage; scallops and chanterelle mushrooms bound by a "fence" of macaroni noodles. Coffee-scented potato puree, topped by silken sea urchin, was presented in a coffee cup. Five-spice-crusted sea bass with a tart, bracing verjus sauce. Tiny pillows of pumpkin gnocchi speared with chards of mimolette cheese. Smoked and seared tuna alongside a "risotto" of cauliflower and seaweed, an amazing bit of culinary sleight-of-hand.

A leather-tough matsutake mushroom detracted, briefly, from a baked turbot, but that was forgotten with the arrival of ultra-rich Kobe beef with a dab of horseradish mustard.

Thirteen courses into this 16-course marathon, I was ready to surrender, or reveal state secrets. By the time the final dessert arrived--ice cream of caramelized banana rolled in crunchy muesli, over a chocolate-rum coulis--my wife and I were limp.

Don't ask me about the mignardises, the after-dinner chocolates. I'm sure they were wonderful, but my hand wouldn't reach that far.

There is, not surprisingly, an incredibly deep and remarkably expensive wine list, loaded with well-aged Bordeaux and the sorts of wines obtainable only by auction or burglary. For the more normal patron, the challenge is to find a single bottle under $200. I uncovered an $80 Meursault and a $70 Burgundy. True, they were half-bottles, but think of the calories I saved.

Good thing, too, because at evening's end we were presented with a loaf of brioche, the size of a child's head, to take home. Which made for a delicious and very rich breakfast the next morning.

Total (tax and tip included): $1,212 for two.

now we all know this is not me, but By Phil Vettel,Chicago
Tribune restaurant critic
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