Today would have been the 93rd birthday of Paul Bocuse, named by many as the Chef of the twentieth century, a genius. I am privileged to have the memory of a glorious meal at his restaurant in Lyons so many years ago.
For reasons that escape me, in about 1974 or 1975, I was working on marketing for a haulage company in Bristol, England. One of our major customers was a huge steel company in Lyons. A meeting was arranged for a group of us to travel to Lyons, tour the factory, and, hopefully, to sign a long term haulage contract. I have a very hazy recollection of a huge engineering works, with furnaces and hundreds of workers; and no recall at all of the negotiations for a new contract. But things must have gone well because on the second morning we were driven to Paul Bocuse’s restaurant.
I remember we arrived at about noon. By the time we emerged more than five hours had passed. I have a vision of a grand rustic hall and a central table seating at least twenty-four. I don’t remember any women being in the party, though that may just be a fault of memory. What we ate, and what we drank — vast amounts of both — I cannot possibly recall in detail but there were many courses. Before dessert was served, as I recall, M. Bocuse came to the table and we each solemnly shook hands with him, offering our thanks.
I knew two things by the end of it: I had certainly never eaten so well in my entire life maybe never would again, and, I would always crave creme fraiche.
I haven’t returned to Lyons since then. Paul Bocuse died about a year ago.