I went last night for the first time to La Bigarrade, approximately two years after everyone else. This far-out restaurant (in terms of both cooking and location) has been a hit ever since it opened back in December 2007. In the model of Spring restaurant (Daniel Rose was a consultant), chef Christophe Pelé produced a no-choice menu from his open kitchen that was, by all accounts, inventive and delicious. It was also dead cheap – €45 for the standard “gourmet” menu and €65 for the “gourmand” extravaganza.

In February, after failing for perhaps the fifth time to book a table within the week, I surrendered and booked the first available dinner for April 7. In the meantime, La Bigarrade was awarded its second Michelin star and the menu jumped to €85. Between the price hike and the seven week wait, I was being set up for disappointment.

Because I sympathize with this chef, having to cook for people with such hyped up expectations, I feel like I should begin with something nice. Let’s see… the dining room is pretty. Both the sommelier and the wines he recommended were gorgeous. I could drink that Heissenberg Gewurtztraminer from Julian Meyer until I die. As for the food, I quite liked the financier with one roasted and salty hazelnut.

Cut to the conclusion: the meal last night was deflating and befuddled. It was cluttered and careless, like a teenager’s MySpace page that uses seven different fonts. We were subjected, over and over again, to pairings that made absolutely no sense. They weren’t “playful,” they were…  stupid.

There were morsels of pleasure (the veal sweetbread with dried shrimp), but these were padded by a lot of “whatever” and “WTF?!” At least twice I heard Barbra say “they couldn’t possibly have tasted this.”

I have decided to express my displeasure through haiku.

Oh yum, milk-fed lamb!
Too bad about that fresh cheese.
Bottarga, turnip?

It’s a play, with lard
and fish eggs, on something that
really does taste good.

Iberian pork,
size of an index finger:
so freaking hungry.

This passionfruit cream
looks like egg, asparagus.
How playful and gross!

Bitter fava beans
interloping in sweet cream,
then spit in napkin.