Towering Achievement

A close-up view of the Eiffel Tower's girders from inside Le Jules Verne.

Jean Marie Del Moral

For anyone who grew up in Paris, as I did, the Eiffel Tower is much more than the 1,063-foot iron lady or one of the world's most visited monuments. She is the slim silhouette you doodle in the margins of notebooks. She is a friendly icon. She is a source of pride and joy, which swell up unexpectedly when you catch a glimpse of her from across the city or ride your bicycle by her giant ankles.

I remember watching the tower at night when I was a child, noticing the lights inside, and asking my parents whether anyone lived up there. "No," my mother replied, "but there's a restaurant on the second observation deck called Le Jules Verne." It was named after the 19th-century author of such novels as Around the World in 80 Days and Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, which I'd read and relished. This inspired a secret wish: one day I, too, would glide up the Eiffel Tower for an exquisite meal.

By the time I was a grown-up with a bank account of my own, however, my enthusiasm had deflated like one of Verne's hot-air balloons. "The food is okay," trusted palates told me, "but to be honest, it's all about the view." That wouldn't do. I shelved the idea and followed other gastronomic pursuits. Then last year the news broke: fine-dining tycoon Alain Ducasse was taking over. Paris's gastro-crowd was atwitter. Everyone loves a good before-and-after story, and this one was bound to lift the genre to new heights, quite literally. A reservation was in order. I had a date with a childhood dream.