Dinner at Le George, Paris

If you have been following my Instagram handle, you’re probably concerned for my health and well-being with all the cheese I’ve been consuming. But no worries, I’m still thriving over here and I’ve developed a warm layer of beluga blubber to keep me toasty all winter long.

That is, if I ever come home from France. Which I’m not confident I even want to, considering how delicious all the food is and how lovely the people are.

So far, we have covered Paris and Lyon and today we hopped on a train to Avignon. But there was way too much good eatin’ in Lyon for me to cover it in this post, so I will tackle all of the glory of my time here at a later date. For now, let’s do a quick recap of Paris.

First of all, big fan. I get why the world is so ga-ga for Paris. It’s adorable, the food is spectacular, every building is photogenic, and everyone is a model. And I mean that literally. Or at least they seemed like they were when we visited because it was Paris Fashion Week. Nothing will ever make you hate yourself/your wardrobe more than wandering around Paris during fashion week and getting snared in between the talons of two 6-foot tall Brazilian models at a stop light. They looked at me like, “Danny DeVito, I love your work!”

I will say, it’s easy to spend all of your money in Paris. An omelette, 25€. A bottle of water, 5€. A glass of champagne at a nightclub that used to be a brothel with phallic carpeting, 18€.

And if you’re someone who likes to dabble-do in designer goods, wow. It would actually be criminal *not* to buy a bag or a wallet here because it’s SO much cheaper than in the U.S. I had to do my civic duty and buy at least a few new things for my closet so that I could try to fit in with the models.

But when I wasn’t eating canapés in Prada or sipping Saint Laurent-branded mineral water, I was shoving my face full of red wine and cream-based sauces. Our first night in the city brought an excellent tasting menu at Le George, the 1 Michelin starred-restaurant at the Four Seasons George V hotel. Despite it being the first big meal in France, it was not French food. It erred on the side of Italian, (my safe space), and did not disappoint. The hotel itself is stunning. Classically beautiful and old on the outside, strikingly modern and impeccably designed on the inside. There are three restaurants at the hotel (Le George, L’Orangerie, and Le Cinq) and all are Michelin-starred. That’s like having three children and all of them going to Ivy League schools. Impressive.

The tasting menu at Le George was surprisingly reasonable (110€ aka roughly $127 per person for 7 courses, not including alcohol.) The first three courses came out together, and included hamachi crudo, semi-cooked ahi tuna with fresh truffles, and salmon tartare on little blocks of arancini.

Hamachi - hard to screw up if you have decent fish, so this was an easy point. Very light and citrus-y. Score one, Gryffindor.

Side note: in case you couldn’t already tell, I shot these on my t-mobile sidekick in a low-light restaurant. So, really lower your expectations on these photos.

Semi-cooked ahi tuna with truffle... dear God this was good. I wish every course had been just this. It was so truffle-y and so fresh and delicious.

Salmon tartare with aracini was a confusing moment in my life. Like, a) why would those things be served together. And b) if you do serve them together, you better make sure that all parties involved taste good. Which in this case, the arancini did not. It tasted like Fancy Feast cat food. The tartare was wonderful, and the first of many we have had so far on this trip, but the arancini was seriously gross. One step forward, two steps back.

I would have whisper-bitched about this to Chris if it hadn’t been for the arrival of the next course, which was a caramelized onion tart with PARMESAN ICE CREAM. It was ice cream. But it tasted like fresh Parmesan cheese. But it was ice cream. I died.

The next course was the pasta course, and although it was only three simple ricotta ravioli, it was spectacular. A bright lemon sauce over insanely fresh pasta that Four Seasons’ resident Nonna must have made that day, and the lightest ricotta stuffed inside. We were all trying to cut them into little baby bites to make them last longer. So. Good.

And thennnnnnnn it was time for the 36 hour goat. Or should I say the 36 hour G.O.A.T.

No, I should not say that. Because I hate when people say that. But it was very, very delicious. Tender, succulent (can I say that word or did you get the chills in a bad way reading that?) goat slow cooked for a day and a half. That’s commitment. It was served with a potato-celeriac mash that complimented it perfectly. If you’re ever in Paris... get this goat.

The dessert was a lemon cheesecake that had been brûléed on top. Days later, now that I’m reflecting on it, it was just one of the many lemon desserts we have had this week and certainly not the most memorable. Not bad by any means, and actually quite tasty. But when you’re just a run-of-the-mill lemon dessert in a world full of spectacular ones... you’re really just a Danny DeVito at fashion week.

All in all, it was a very good meal for the price. But the service was a bit slow, and that arancini was not ideal... so for that reason, I’m out.

The Forkling says: 8.5 forks out of 10.0.

So I don’t leave you feeling glum and that maybe you, too, are a Danny DeVito in a world full of Bella Hadids, here’s a few more Paris food pics to cheer you up.

One of thirty cheese plates I’ve eaten in the past week.

Each meal we had in Paris now holds a special place in my heart (my aorta, where there is presumably now a blockage). I look forward to seeing how much red wine my teeth can handle before they turn purple and fall out.

Au revoir!