The Argument for a Full Day Affair
My most special meal of 2024 was a 10 hour outing
Last week’s right on Franklin was a week long Paris itinerary, a full diary of everywhere and everything I consumed during a memorable holiday. Just as I wrapped up that newsletter, I wrote that, ultimately, what sets Paris apart from New York is a level playing field between the newest hottest restaurants and the oldest, timeless bistros. That feeling is central to what makes Paris’ dining scene all the more compelling—the reality that tourists and locals alike allocate as much attention and desire to restaurants in touristy neighborhoods and have been popular for decades as they would to the newest fusion fine dining in the 11th.
You can read the full Paris itinerary here:
Beyond what becomes and stays popular, the key difference between dining in New York and dining in Paris is the pace. New York’s pace is one of my favorite things about the city. I love to move every second of the day, get home after sundown, and realize I had been out for 14 hours, jumping from neighborhood to neighborhood, plan to plan, errand to errand, only to decompress as I finally get to bed. In Paris, though, each meal felt leisurely in a way that felt novel and refreshing. There was never any rush, no matter how busy a restaurant was. We were slowly guided course by course through each meal, each glass of wine. We reclined and chatted and ate. A sense of urgency, in any respect, was notably absent.
That pace, that feeling of having no where to be other than the exact chair you occupy, hit its peak during the final meal of our trip. This week, we’re closing out my Paris reminiscing with a full write up on a truly special restaurant, our final lunch, and by far our most memorable.
Thank you all for being here, we are approaching 1 year of right on Franklin, and I am so so so grateful for the support, likes, shares, and words of encouragement. A reminder to subscribe for weekly letters, and upgrade to paid if you want full archive access, and the right on Franklin map.
My line is open for recommendations, suggestions, requests, questions, comments, etc.
Le Doyenné
By 10am, we were running out of the house. I was adequately underdressed for a mid-30s day and wearing loafers that always give me blisters. We walked, with purpose, to the metro in hopes of catching the one train that would deliver us to our destination before noon. Mistakes were made along the way—we failed to buy the correct tickets for the out-of-zone train…things went downhill from there. When we finally made it out of the train station, we were just a short Uber ride with 5 of us crammed into a compact car away from a grand gate in Saint-Vrain.
Stepping beyond the gates onto the estate, we were greeted by a long cobblestone road winding through the farmland. Freezing, we walked briskly and watched enviously as cars drove past us, they had planned better with a car to park just outside the restaurant’s doors. Once we reached the main building, within moments of stepping inside, I could feel myself thaw. Cream colored walls and antique wooden furniture greeted us as we entered the expansive farmhouse dining room—walls lined with wood framed windows, large round benches, a terrace, a bar, a beautiful kitchen, and two leather couches placed around a glowing fire.
We checked in for our reservation 30 minutes early, as planned. We were offered a chance to recline by the fire and order drinks—dad had a hot chocolate, I had an Americano bianco with a light and floral white vermouth and a sprig of rosemary, Hallie had a pourover that took 8 minutes to prepare—usually a good sign. We sat, warmed up, and relaxed—our table was sitting there waiting for us, but there was no hurry for us to begin our reservation, their team made sure we were comfortable and waited until we had each finished our aperitif to show us to our table.
Once seated, surrounded by light from overcast skies and grass fields, we were greeted by the kindest server who ensured any and all dietary restrictions were met. They were unbelievably considerate of my mom’s nut allergy. I opted out of indicating that I didn’t eat meat—I figured I would want the full experience, whatever it ended up being.
We started with wine, each of us trying our own glass. I had an incredible Spanish pet-nat that I have been looking for since. We gushed over the wine as our plates began arriving. First, was a never-ending snack course that included charcuterie from the farm, jamón so buttery it hardly tasted like meat at all, with small sticks of buttery puff pastry wrapped in ham, mini brioche filled with boudin noir, and incredible pumpkin and walnut wontons. The bread was some of the best I have ever had—soft and tangy sourdough with a chewy crust, slightly crunchy from a sesame coating. Le Doyenné has one team member responsible only for baking their bread. As it should be. I would also like all of my salted butter to come in a silver shell dish moving forward.
We were served Utah Beach oysters which were plump, sweet, and briny, topped with diced radish and horseradish, along with a beautiful crudite plate with tempura cauliflower, radish with herb butter, carrots with fresh ginger, roasted Jersualem artichoke, braised leek with dill, steamed beets, and nasturtium leaves. Each bite felt refreshing, unique yet not overcomplicated. A small crunch with an unexpected flavor and an undeniable freshness. All of the food was grown only yards away, after all.
After a six-part first course, we had scallops with a citrusy pomelo and seaweed butter and Jerusalem artichokes, from the garden of course, with chanterelles, house made ricotta, and a chestnut foam. The scallop was expertly prepared, cooked just through to be tender, and we nearly drank the butter out of the shells. I never knew how much I could love a sunchoke until this trip—the chewy root vegetable with the creamy ricotta and nutty foam was a a delicate composition of rich fall flavors. With nearly ten plates behind us at this point, we were nervous about what of the meal was left to come. When we inquired about our progress, the waiter smiled at us and said “I can not tell the future.”
For the main course, we received Côte de cochon, pork from the farm with anchovy and citrus. The pork was, honestly, unlike any I have ever had. The fat caps were like butter and the meat was tender and juicy—truthfully, I relinquished my plate after one bite. A straight bite of pork is still too much for me, but I had to try it. The pork was accompanied by a rutabaga gratin, an al dente root with a very French cream and cheese treatment, topped with a walnut streusel. It was rich and creamy, though felt far more like a vegetable accompaniment than a traditional potato gratin might. Before we moved onto the sweets, we received an intermediary course of a beautiful plate of greens lightly dressed before a cheese course we opted into (duh). Served with apple honey and a thinly sliced poppy loaf, each bite of cheese was better than the next.
By the time our actual dessert came around, we were all skeptical of our ability to push through, but push through we did. The waitress presented us with a clementine tart before it was cut up and served—the tarts flaky crust was topped with hazelnut and clementine slices, served with lavender cream on the side. We were simultaneously served a silver coup with sunchoke ice cream rolled in meringue, and topped with a scoop of mandarin sorbet. The combination of flavors was unexpected but a refreshing, complex, not-too-sweet bite that felt like the perfect finale to the meal.
With very full stomachs and a minor buzz from a wine-heavy 12:45 lunch, we enjoyed a final coffee and lounged by the fire for nearly another hour before wandering into their provisions store, admiring all of their offerings, before finally starting a very long journey home (we waited an hour for a train that never came, and had to succumb to a nearly two hour uber drive).
There was no point during this meal where I wished it would move faster, nor did I have any desire, even after several hours, to leave the restaurant. Moving from couch, to table, and back again, with careful attention paid by the staff the entire time, we were so comfortable, pampered even. A meal of that duration would seldom take place in New York, and I was so glad to revel in a meal so carefully timed and well orchestrated.
While Le Doyenné is certainly a special experience, akin perhaps to Blue Hill north of the city, it was a reminder of the kinds of experiences restaurants can still offer. In 2025, this is my bid to slow down. To make meals longer, to turn restaurant visits into experiences. To go places for the sake of being there, as long as you’d like, with nowhere else to go. While these exceptional experiences do feel restricted to rural destinations and fine dining, there is no reason why we can’t turn one destination into a day-long affair, to sit and explore and enjoy, to slow down, relax, and spoil ourselves with a bit of leisure.
There’s a lot I’m excited about on the right on Franklin docket this month—stay tuned!!
xx
incredible!!
Olivia, your descriptions along with the photos, were superb. I think a meal like that should be compared (only as far as the time commitment ) to something like a day skiing or a day at Disney. No comparison for me, I’d pick eating every time. So sorry about the train!!! It makes a great ending to the story though! Cheers to 2025 and slowing down.