The plan was to eat our way to the biennial world chefs championship called the  Bocuse D’Or. Flying non-stop into Frankfurt makes it easy to get to eastern France by way of western Germany. It also makes it easy to tour the Mosel region before hunkering down for a Michelin-starred road trip.
   
WALDHOTEL SONNORA
Auf dem Eichelfeld 1, Dreis, Germany
Tel: 49 6578 406
    After a quick stop in Bernkastel to sip a few current releases at Weinbach Thanisch Erben-Thanisch, we barreled thirty minutes down the road to the Waldhotel Sonnora, tucked deep in the woods between the wine village and the city of Trier. Unfortunately, we’d lingered a bit too long with vintner Sofia Thanisch, so we were a half hour late for our reservation. Normally, this would not be a big deal in a three-star Michelin restaurant, deep in the countryside, on a Saturday afternoon in the dead of winter. But this was not your average destination restaurant. This was a German destination restaurant, and if you know anything about Germans, you know that they take punctuality very seriously. (In France they would've shrugged at our tardiness; in Italy they would've smiled; in Spain, the chefs wouldn't have arrived for another hour.)         
      Calling the Sonnora picture perfect is an understatement. To get to it, you wind down a narrow road, a tributary of a local road off the main highway. Gorgeous conifers and deciduous trees line the driveway, and in winter you can imagine yourself entering a storybook land of wood sprites, apparitions and snow elves. It's about as cozy as a country inn can get and has the effect of putting you in the mood for something magical,  in this case the culinary stylings of chef Helmut Thieltges, who has held three Michelin stars since 1999.
    Because of our delay, we were informed (in a very German, matter-of-fact way), that all of us would be taking the tasting menu. "You mean we all have to eat the same thing?" I asked the proprietress. "Yes, you will order it and you will enjoy it," she replied. (The only thing missing was an "Achtung!")
   
 And thus began our week-long eating adventure. The food and service at Sonnora were perfectly fine, but having everyone (five of us) eat the same thing, at 175 euros a head, for lunch, is not my idea of an epicurean outing and, figuratively, left a bad taste in my mouth. What made up for that taste was a venison dish (left) of uncommonly rich, wild, gaminess. The menu stated it came from the Eifel Forest, not far from the restaurant, and the flavor made you believe it. This wasn't some namby-pamby deer that tastes of denatured animal flesh; this was the real deal, the kind of wild deer hunters live for, gorgeously enhanced by the wine-laced reduction sauce. It didn't compensate for my overall disappointment, but it came close.
    The venison came on the heels of a number of noteworthy dishes—a creamy, intense mussel soup with saffron; a hockey puck of lacquered goose foie gras; plump scallops dressed with lemon foam; and a meaty rectangle of sea bass sitting atop green ribbons of thickened olive oil-balsamico vinaigrette, each dish a high-wire cooking act displaying the precision and balance you expect from a top flight kitchen.
    The service was equally precise, and the wines,  Egly-Ouriet champagne, J.J. Prüm Kabinett Riesling, Roblet Monnot Bonnes Mares Burgundy, were wonderful, as was the selection of schnapps offered. And those wines were a relative bargain: Thanks to the strong dollar, you can drink very well in the gastronomic temples of Europe, if you're willing to spend around 120 euros a bottle.
    With a setting right out of a fairy tale, a knowledgeable staff, and garden gnomes aplenty to bring you luck, it's hard not to be charmed by the Sonnora. We didn't feel rushed, exactly, but the setting was a lot more relaxing than the meal. Next time, we'll try to show up on time. 

LE SAUVAGE
64 Rue Monge, Dijon, France
Tel: 33 3 80 41 31 21

    After a night in Trier, it was off to Burgundy, three hours south by car. I had always wanted to see Dijon, but quickly found that winter is not when this classic medieval city shows its best. Mostly, it just seemed deserted and dingy, but our overnight stay was salvaged by an incredible cut of beef.  Guy Savoy once told me that he didn't serve any beef in his restaurants in Paris because he didn't like French meat. I love Guy Savoy, but after tasting a local Charolais côte de boeuf at Le Savauge in downtown Dijon, I think he needs his head examined. The grain may not have been as fine and supple as some wagyu and American beef, but the char was perfect and the flavor was a knockout. It was every bit the equal of any steak I've had in America—rich, dense and almost sweet with intense beefiness.
      Dijon may not have impressed, but this restaurant was a treat—an informal atmosphere with an open grill, a superior wine list and one of the best steaks of my life (58 euros for a gigantic steak for two).
      The jambon persillé (left) was trés magnifique as well, as was the frisée salad—it being "garnished" with thick rounds of Époisses cheese the size of a walnut. In all, a fabulous little find in dreary old Dijon, thanks to the concierge at the Hotel Woodrow Wilson.

LE MONTRACHET
10 place du Pasquier de la Fontaine
Puligny-Montrachet
Tel: 33 3 80 21 30 06

     It has often been posited that the reason French food is so good is because the wines are so good. Or maybe it's vice versa. However you slice it, it's no coincidence that France's most iconic cuisine begins at Dijon's doorstep, which is exactly where the great vines of Burgundy begin to grow. When you dine at Le Montrachet, you feel as if you’re eating in the center of the wine universe. The restaurant is part of a small inn tucked on one side of the town square in the village of Puligny-Montrachet. Surrounding you are the vineyards of the greatest white wines in the world, and the signs (Montrachet, Chassagne-Montrachet, Puligny-Montrachet, Meursault) clip by with the kilometers as you drive down the Route des Grand Crus, or turn up into the villages that host these iconic vineyards.
     As charming as these villages are, good restaurants are few and far between. Le Montrachet came highly recommended and proved the perfect spot for a midday repast after hiking around famous vineyards in sub-freezing weather. This being white wine country (the famous reds of Vosne-Romanée, Chambertin and Nuit-Saint-Georges are made about 12 miles to the north), we settled on the Les Jardins de Puligny menu, which, at 64 euros for five courses, including cheese, was a steal.
     This is hearty Burgundian fare—pâté de campagne, squash soup, torchon of foie gras, guinea hen with lentils—lightened by a 21st century chef's touch; food paired perfectly with a mid-weight, earthy Aloxe-Corton and a Puligny-Montrachet from Vincent Giradin.  And then, of course, were the cheeses course, all local, all unpasteurized, each one having that deep, animal funk that comes from the earth and gets lost in the voyage across the pond.  Le Montrachet is not especially fancy or formal, but it is exceptionally of-its-place, and its one Michelin star is well-deserved for a great lunch amidst the world's greatest vineyards.

    One of the finest originators of France’s la nouvelle cuisine, Alain Senderens, died last week at the age of 77 at his home in southwest France.   Among his colleagues he was universally respected and was mentor to some of France’s next generation of great chefs.
    Senderens was not so much an iconoclast—he never betrayed the principles of classic French cuisine—but when he introduced dishes like lobster with vanilla sauce and roast duck Apicius (a dish from ancient Rome), he was considered among the true innovators of the movement called la nouvelle cuisine that began in the late 1960s.  La nouvelle cuisine was never doctrinaire and was many things to many people; the accepted rubrics of the movement, which encompassed everyone from Paul Bocuse and Michel Guérard to Alain Chapel and Roger Vergé, were to simplify menus, respect regionality, buy only the finest seasonal ingredients and to take heed of their guest’s health, although the idea of la nouvelle cuisine being much lighter than traditional French cuisine was only a small part of the movement.
    I met Senderens twice, once when he consulted on a restaurant (briefly) in New York and again in 2012, towards the end of his career in Paris, where he had taken over the legendary Lucas Carton (opened in 1925) on the Place Madeleine. His own first restaurant, named L’Archestrate, opened in Paris in 1968, when he was in his heyday.  He closed that Michelin three-star flagship in 1985 to go to Lucas Carton, where he maintained the restaurant’s three stars.  There he introduced the concept of wine pairings with each dish.
    Then, in 2005, he shocked gastronomes worldwide when he chose to “return” those stars—Michelin refused to accept them back—downscaled the restaurant’s décor, changed its name to Senderens, and charged 100 euros for a meal—less than half what it was at Lucas Carton. "I feel like having fun," he told the NY Times. “I don't want to feed my ego anymore. I am too old for that. I can do beautiful cuisine without all the tra-la-la and chichi, and put the money into what's on the plate."
    On meeting Senderens at his namesake in Paris, I found him extremely affable, despite elementary English, and still very excited about new ideas for his menus.  I remember enjoying an appetizer of foie gras with fava beans and wonderful bread, and a variation on his lobster with vanilla—open ravioli and lobster flavored with vanilla, served with spinach.
        A more classic side was shown impeccably with a rabbit à la royale, as well as squab with corn and a puree of peas.  Scallops came with glazed turnips and the crunch of hazelnuts.
       The desserts included a mousseline of pumpkin with vanilla jelly and bourbon ice cream, lemon zest and "chips" of pumpkin, as well as "pom. . . pom. . .pom," a dessert of apple confit, cooked very slowly, and roasted in wine.
    In retrospect, I now think that Senderens’s best contribution to French gastronomy was not in those innovations of the 1970s but in using his name to promote the idea that haute cuisine had indeed become too haughty, with not enough clientele to support it.  That idea paved the way for many of his three-star colleagues to open their own bistros and brasseries (which, ironically, made them more money than their three-star flagships) and to stop agonizing over whether next year the draconian Michelin Guide might take away a star.
    Throughout his career Senderens was about loosening things up in French cuisine, nudging not pushing, winking not declaiming, and always showing concern that his guests truly enjoyed their experience.   The older he grew the younger his attitude became, and that made him a very lucky man.

    Back in 1774 John Adams remarked of New Yorkers, “They talk very loud, very fast and altogether.  If they ask a question, before you can utter three words of your answer they will break out upon you again and talk away”—this from one of the great loudmouths of the American Revolution.
    But Adams was right, and it’s no different today. New Yorkers feel the need to talk at the top of their lungs and nowhere is this more evident than at most NYC steakhouses, including in the lounge area up front at the year-old Blu on Park, set in a 1920s East Side brownstone.  Push beyond that, however, and, after the bar crowd staggers out around 7:30, you’ll find yourself in a somewhat refined two-story dining room done mostly in hues of gray and dark brown, with a shimmering wine wall to the rear and widely set, capacious tables set with white linens lighted by clear glass bulb chandeliers.  The decibel level drops to a courteous level, and my request to turn down the unnecessary booming music was granted immediately.
    On my first visit a year ago I found the steaks at Blu on Park (heavens knows why they dropped the “e”) of very high quality, but much of the rest of the menu was lackluster and the service amateurish.  These days new Executive Chef Rory O’Farrell has maintained the high quality of the beef while elevating everything else on the menu, so that the once chintzy crabcake may now be the best in the city—true jumbo lump with next to no binder ($22).  More on service in a moment.
    Other straightforward appetizers include a moist tuna poke tartare with cucumber, radish, mango coriander, red onion, and a mango yuzu vinaigrette that really brightens the flavors ($22), and a roasted beet salad with caramelized goat’s cheese and a balsamic glaze ($14).  Colorfully arranged hamachi crudo  was equally as impressive.  Sautéed jumbo tiger shrimps with baby spinach, baked polenta and a tangy lemon-garlic dressing were meaty, sweet and  delicious ($36).
    Back to the beef: Buying top quality is crucial for a NYC steakhouse, but knowing how to cook it is as well.  Too often the exterior hasn’t enough char (unless the guest asks for it to be lightly seared);  at Blu it gets a true, sizzling crust that combines fat and caramelization, yielding beautifully rare or medium-rare, well-marbled meat beneath and just enough oozing juices to add to its magnificence.  Blu’s is one of the best steaks I’ve had in Manhattan in a while, and I’ve had plenty of very good ones.
    You can get a sweetly-marbled ribeye ($49), a tomahawk (below) for two ($99), a filet mignon ($52), porterhouse cut for two to four ($50 pp), or a hefty NY sirloin ($48), all offered with a variety of sauces.  I also recommend the lamb chop ($48) with goat’s cheese-drenched macaroni and baby arugula.  Lobsters are offered at market price.
    All the sides are ten bucks, including pan-roasted Brussels sprouts, rich creamed spinach, hand-cut French fries and generously buttered mashed potatoes.
    If you’ve got the room, split a classic Jewish-style sour cream cheese cake with macerated strawberries ($12) or a double chocolate mousse with raspberry gelée ($12).
    The wine list is not among the top screeds in NYC but is more than adequate for this type of fare.  Prices are steakhouse high.
    Service is still a problem.  Last year it was spotty and it still is.  After we ordered and received first courses, the few staff members in the dining room seemed to disappear and were hard to flag down. Also a mix-up in ordering resulted in the wrong dishes served or forgotten entirely until reminded.  Blu has a ways to go in this department at a time when the traditional brusque steakhouse waiter has, thankfully, become something of a dinosaur.
    Blu on Park deserves attention for the quality of the food and an atmosphere that contrasts with the boisterous hyper-macho tone of most competitors.  Just get the service in synch and this would rank even higher.

Blu on Park is open for lunch and dinner daily, and brunch on the weekends, with the addition of jazz every Sunday.