Like a tragically beautiful opera

We often imagine a large, elegant room. The lighting is soft despite the dazzling hanging chandeliers. Nothing is out of place. The men are impeccably dressed in their finest coats and the women look like dolls in their glittering gowns. The art-nouveau ambience is reminiscent of a nostalgic past of grandeur. The room is quiet, everyone speaking in hushed whispers as the servers dance their graceful ballets around the tables looking sharp in their tails. They dance in tune to the tinkling of glasses, the happy clattering of silverware on porcelain plates, the occasional muffled peal of laughter. The spectacle continues as glinting silver cloches reveal magnificent concoctions from a mysterious kitchen. They gasp their oohs and ahs, politely savor each bite and interiorize their pleasure.

Is this the famous “Repas Gastronomique Français”? The one of fairy tales that many institutions so shamelessly try to carry out? The true French Gastronomic Dinner resides in hopeless abandon in our pleasurable indulgence. No feathers and glitters are needed, only good food, good wine and good company. The louder, the more boisterous the table gets at the end of the meal, the more success your dinner has.

A delight: Almond-coated scallops, snail ragout ravioli on crispy lard and lettuce sauce

I’d like to think of it as an orchestrated symphony, a tragically beautiful opera. The chef starts with fresh, coquettish notes to tease your palate, followed by slightly more complex compositions to entrap and enchant you. Slowly you fall completely under its spell, it rises in intensity, the flavors getting richer, the dishes don’t stop coming out, you find yourself falling hopelessly into the depths of pleasurable gluttony. They torture you with beauty. Calypso to your Othello. When you think you can’t take any more, there’s a respite of kind awakening. A double-entendre palate cleanser meant also to cleanse your conscience. Regained forces help you to enjoy the crescendo, which suddenly drops into mellow delight by the soft embrace of velvety cheese. The entire meal ends in sweet longing. Remembering the lingering flavors, appreciating the peaceful sweetness of the end.

How long has it been since I’d truly had a gastronomic feast? I mean, a real one complete with aperitifs, mignardises and a digestif to help appease the senses? It is not often that one comes by this opportunity, cooked by the Philippine’s best French chefs to boot. To celebrate the inscription by UNESCO of the French Gastronomic Meal on the Representative Roster of Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity, the Alliance Française organized a special dinner prepared by chef Marc Aubry, chef Cyrille Soenen and chef Laurent Maleval.

Chef Marc Aubry, chef Laurent Maleval and chef Cyrille Soenen Photo by WALTER BOLLOZOS

The evening was worthy of Brillat Savarin with his non-negotiable requirement of a “pièce truffée” (He claimed that a gastronomic dinner without truffles is like a beautiful woman missing an eye”), all the way up to Proust with tiny little madeleines to take home.  No stone or classic recipe was left unturned. The basil aspic was an innovative take on what is usually a strange, cold, meaty gelatin. This was bright in the mouth, tempered by sweet tomatoes and tart goat cheese. The dry 2010 Entre Deux Mers that accompanied it truly excited the palate. It was followed by what had to be my favorite part of the evening, only rivaled by the oozing piece of Epoisses.

The poached Pamora egg with mashed squash and truffle cream was divine intervention. Which came first, the chicken or the egg? The egg clearly wins: luscious creamy yolk, sweet roasted squash and the heady scent of truffle given pops of excitement with crunchy squash chips. A masterful wielding of reticent genius, highlighting a few choice ingredients and making them work. Paired with a Domaine Huet Vouvray Sec Le Mont 2006 by Francophile and the premier vice president of Alliance Française, Bernardo Sim. The Loire Valley wine was just as elegant as its numerous 16th-century castles. Made entirely of versatile Chenin Blanc grapes, the crisp wine was a good foil to the sensual dish.

The snail ravioli was a delight, the wild boar tourte rich and decadent. The Trou Normand, or Calvados and green apple sorbet — often lauded by Guy de Maupassant as essential between courses — was a welcome respite before the flavorful stuffed capon served with the busty and complex Cotes de Castillon, Chateau Cap de Fougères 2007. Then came the cheese. Yes, my beloved cheese: tiny pungent morsels of love and devotion. Languid flavors of the innocent Saint Marcellin, the sophisticated Epoisses and the bold Roquefort paired with walnuts honeyed by the port wine.

Rich and decadent: Wild boar and mushroom tourte with a foie gras sauce and arugula salad in mushroom dressing

Dessert was a welcome, towering beauty of soft sweetness served with a golden 2004 Barsac. By the time the mignardises showed their cute little faces, I must say we were all happily flushed. It started with polite conversation and as the fountain of perfectly paired French wines overflowed, social decorum gave way to witty repartee, political discussion, laughable innuendos and even a rather entertaining moment of heated scandal. It was the perfect gastronomic dinner par excellence, a true triumph for the bons vivants.

Far from the farce of feigned elegance that we often imagine, the French gastronomic dinner is just as much a social exercise as it is a culinary one. There is a sense of dignity in the epicurean philosophy of forging new friendships through food and wine.

“Only good things on the table

Where we will eat!

The delectable wine

A little cloud of luscious heaven: Poached Pamora egg with mashed squash and truffle cream

That we will gulp.

The sober ones, away from here ... away from here those who drink boiled water.

If you come here, you come to go crazy.

Show a little courage,

Let’s drink to our necks!

Those who seem the most innocent,

Will prove to be the craziest…

Let’s shout like wolves.

Throw our hats and wear our napkins on our heads.

And beat our knives on our plates…

Oh that the wine may send us

A pleasant fury.”=   — Paul Scarron, 1610-1660