Le Jules Verne was hardly Ducasse's first challenge: with twenty-one restaurants, four hotels, a cooking school, a chefs' training center, a publishing company and fourteen Michelin stars to his name, he has built an empire that spans four continents, eight countries and even outer space (Ducasse's team develops dishes for the International Space Station). He is revered, feared and at times criticized for his vaulting ambition and his implacable business approach; after all, the French still entertain the fantasy of the small couple-owned bistro fueled by love rather than investors. Nonetheless, the fifty-one-year-old Frenchman remains an inspiring example of someone whose passion and determination have propelled him up the restaurant ladder since his first apprenticeship, at age sixteen.
At 1 p.m. sharp on the day of our lunch reservation, it is with sky-high expectations that my boyfriend, Maxence, and I board the elevator that is to take us on a spectacular ride along the southern pillar of the Eiffel Tower. When we reach our destination, 410 feet aboveground, we are led through a corridor and into the sun-drenched restaurant, where our window-side table awaits.
Le Jules Verne seats 120 in three glass-paneled dining rooms fanning out around the tower like the leaves of a clover. They are identical except for the wide-angle view of the city that each offers beyond the tangle of metal beams: from the Trocadéro gardens to the Arc de Triomphe, from Montmartre to Notre-Dame, from the Invalides to the Champ de Mars. And on this limpidly clear day, the sight takes my breath away.
Ducasse's first task when he took charge was to entirely remodel the place in as short a time as possible. French architect Patrick Jouin was entrusted with this prestigious project; he created a warm palette in shades of cream and caramel, adding padded-leather walls and leather banquettes all around. The tasteful decor doesn't detract from the view and exudes a retro-futuristic vibe, a nod to Gustave Eiffel's vision when he built the tower for the 1889 World's Fair.
But there is more to this new look than meets the eye: the Eiffel Tower is a high-maintenance dame. For one thing, she watches her weight religiously; all furniture and equipment had to be carefully designed with featherlight materials to minimize strain on her 10,000-ton frame. An underground facility was constructed beneath the Champ de Mars, the park that lies at the foot of the tower, to accommodate a wine cellar, where most of the bottles are stored, and a lab, where ingredients are prepped before each service. No unnecessary vegetable peels or fish heads are brought up to the restaurant; every ounce counts.
The safety measures protecting the tower from fire are just as rigorous. The kitchen is equipped with electric ranges, induction cooktops and planchas; gas is out of the question. There isn't a chef's torch in sight, so forget crèmes brûlées and crêpes flambées. And tables are lit with rechargeable lamps rather than — are you crazy? — candles. In fact, the lighting posed perhaps the greatest challenge. The ceiling fixtures look like a network of Paris streets, but to make sure diners could still take in the panorama after nightfall, lighting designer Hervé Descottes dimmed them just so and treated the windows to diminish the dreaded mirror effect. With Paris at the tips of our toes, though, we are quite oblivious to these technical matters. Tearing ourselves from the view, we turn our attention to the other reason we've come: the food.
Ducasse's culinary vision for Le Jules Verne is simple enough: to celebrate contemporary French fare and ingredients (fusion would be unthinkable at such a French landmark) and to offer a dining experience as luxurious as the location is exceptional. To preside over the kitchen and its brigade of forty-seven, he appointed protégé Pascal Féraud, a native of southern France who is in his mid-thirties and previously worked for Ducasse in Monte Carlo and London. Both chefs aim to attract an international clientele, but Ducasse also intends to "give the Eiffel Tower back to the Parisians," who may once have dismissed it as too touristy.
Our lunch lives up to this vision. We start with a broccolini mousse served in a martini glass and topped with slivered scallops and French farmed caviar, a refreshing three-note chord that hits the bitter, the sweet and the salty. Then comes a clever play on endives au jambon, a staple of French home cooking I've always loathed. Here the conventional béchamel is replaced by a lavish truffle sauce, and the endives are impeccably braised, their hearts tender and their exteriors lightly browned and crisp. I lap it up and hope my mother will never know.
We are next presented with a fricassee of Bresse chicken, the prince of free-range poultry, prepared three ways: poached, roasted and stuffed. In a classic pairing, the chicken is surrounded by curled morsels of crayfish. One head gazes steadily up at me; I will suck out its juice while everyone else is engrossed in the view. The dish is finished off with a bisque that's poured table-side by one of the many waiters who tend to our party of two, working in perfect harmony throughout the afternoon under the supervision of Frédéric Rouen, the amiable maître d'.
Finally dessert appears, in the form of a baba au rhum. This old-fashioned liqueur-soaked yeast cake is making a resounding comeback these days, and understandably so. It's a cake and a digestif rolled into one: what's not to like? Rather than rum, Le Jules Verne's baba is steeped in Armagnac — the diner gets a choice of two, one aged, one young — and is topped with a toque of softly whipped vanilla cream.
The meal matches the magical environment. The flavors are fresh and direct, the dishes sophisticated without being showy. And we are not the only ones succumbing to the appeal of the place; the staff falls for it as well. Rouen confesses that he spends every minute of his precious late-afternoon break in the Trocadéro dining room. "I just sit here and watch the colors change in the sky," he says, sighing. "C'est magnifique."
I nod and, squinting hard, peer down at the esplanade far below us. If I can find a curious little girl somewhere in the crowd, I will wave and give her the thumbs-up.
Le Jules Verne Ave. Gustave Eiffel, Paris; 011-33-1-45-55-61-44; lejulesverne-paris.com. Reserve well in advance, especially for dinner; there was a one-month wait at press time.
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