There exists an Empyrean in the tourist battlefront that is the Champs-Elysées of 2013, with the allée Marcel Proust nearby, Le Laurent is unmistakeably modern and yet a historic cache of the Elysian Fields of the Belle Époque – acting as the morsels of madeleine dipped in lime flower tea, involuntarily evoking the splendour of bygone times, a key spiritual ingredient at Le Laurent.
The princely and reserved building on the avenue Gabriel (just within walking distance of Hôtel Le Bristol) formerly the hunting lodge of King Louis XIV, one notices the mouth-wateringly classical exterior – a foretoken of the nectarous repast diners are regaled with. The several private rooms available, each with its own individual charm, all share the particular allure of the terrace – offering an arresting yet silent view of the heart of the city. The chef, Alain Pégouret, a youthful Cannes native, was educated in the culinary arts with Christian Constant (Crillon and Violon d’Ingres) as well as with Joël Robuchon who feeds us Londoners at L’Atelier. One can say that we are all too familiar with French cuisine, yet Alain brings it to the valley of the uncanny.
I was recommended by a sagacious member of staff a house cocktail – the cocktail Gabriel, a rose tinted confection that seemed tailor made for my taste, like everything else I had there. Pre-starter, I was served a velvety chicken pâté as well as elegant bites of salmon– exhibiting an astute awareness of its place in the meal, delicately uninterruptive yet appetite building. The generous portion of pan-fried foie gras with a dentelle thin tube of gratinated macaroni with truffles and fresh garnish alongside piquant drops of truffle sauce was the first of the sensory experiences of colour, texture, olfaction… My main course consisted of sumptuously slightly browned scallops on top of saccharine pumpkin with balm and fragrant chestnut foam – all polished and buttery. For dessert I had a lemon sorbet laitier – both milky yet icy, sherbety yet tart… Post-dessert I was presented with a selection of four different finger-desserts, each as palatable as the other, my favourite being the raspberry: rubicund pastry with framboise cream inside.
The cultists of Le Laurent hold high the hyperdulic homely air not able to be found in the Michelin blockbusters of the Champs Elyseés, though no compromise in the quality of the food, setting, or service – its hard not to be seduced, if you find yourself in Paris anytime soon, join the following.
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