In 2012, I was alone in Paris with a dark secret. Despite writing about food for years, I had never been to a three-Michelin-star restaurant. I needed to fix that. I felt like I needed a benchmark meal to help me calibrate my criticism: how could I know what was good if I’d never eaten at the best? So I booked in at Le Meurice, at the time a three-star restaurant helmed by chef Yannick Alléno. (It’s since slipped to two stars and is under the auspices of Alain Ducasse.) Le Meurice is palatial, over the road from the Louvre and the Tuileries Garden and matching them in presence and prettiness. Pablo Picasso hosted a wedding banquet here. Salvador Dalí was an honoured guest. And then there was me, ready for lunch.
The dining room is overwhelming, modelled
