Every great restaurant brings you on a journey. One taste comes to you layered over another – each wine paired to a specific flavor and each flavor in a pre-determined sequence. It is only upon seeing the many parts of anything – upon peeling them back and observing them individually that you can allow yourself to actually let them fade away right back into the whole to which they so dearly belong. There is a point in every great practice where effort becomes effortlessness – where all parts are so harmonious that the result can only be described as some state of lovely perfection. Every great experience is about splitting things apart, working them out, and watching them seamlessly and beautifully morph back into one.
Fleur de Lys is a San Francisco institution. Like the symbol of the Fleur de Lys itself, the restaurant is an emblem of historical, artistic and cultural dynamism. To say Fleur de Lys is great – to talk about the service and the food and the wine – feels repetitive and boring. It’s like trying to push air into a balloon that is already full. What is important to talk about is that this restaurant is not just an establishment of culinary excellence, but a unique hybrid of child-like humility and sophisticated French grace. It is refreshing to step foot into a royal palace and be made to feel queen rather than jester, princess rather than pauper and like you have the right, no matter who you are and what you eat, to be there. This is where Fleur de Lys, above all the shi-shi pretensions of upscale dining, gets its fifth star.
Our meal at Fleur de Lys was seven courses – although I remember each, to go through all seven is not my purpose here, and would remove certain elements of surprise that make visiting Fleur de Lys what it is – a true journey into the creative passion of the chef. My list of complaints are as follows: the vichyssoise was so good that the small spoon with which it was served presented a test in self-restraint. I had to stop myself from drinking the entire portion straight from its dish. The consommé, which arrived to the table in a French press, sent my nose so far into heaven I found it hard to touch back down to reality. And the rhubarb coulis that accompanied my fish was so superb that it almost killed my long time obsession with dessert by translating my favorite flavor beyond the realm of pie. In other words, since Fleur de Lys has truffled my popcorn, snack time at the movies will forever let me down.
The essence of my experience at Fleur de Lys can best be described through the essence of my experience with Hubert Keller. He has been executive chef for twenty years and he and his wife, Chantal, are what make Fleur de Lys what it is, from the outstanding food to the plush tent-like interior to the sultriness of the bathroom with toilet paper tied by satin bows. Fleur de Lys is a testament to the fact that nothing great is ever done alone. Before meeting Hubert, Chantal was in the world of fashion. “But when you marry a chef…” she says, and needs to say no more. He is French cuisine and she is French design and so this is what Fleur de Lys is – it is French culture – summed up by its two best tangible elements. It is velveteen curtains designed by Chantal with colors she calls parsley, pomegranate, and saffron. It is sorbet of Campari, gin and grapefruit. It is a floral arrangement you want to read a book beneath. It is red and golden beets and shrimp over fennel confit. It is design meets taste, eye meets mouth and modernity meets tradition. It is about respect – for the food, the décor, the clientele, the technique, and the perimeters of French culture – perimeters that you need not go beyond, but upon which you have chosen to plant bougainvilleas.
It is funny to hear Hubert Keller speak about his childhood in Alsace. He is the son of pastry chefs and yet as a child he recalls the kitchen as little more than a room to run through. In France he was a late bloomer, having not entered culinary school until the age of sixteen. Perhaps those small details are alone what set Keller and Fleur de Lys apart – a childhood that was really about being a child instead of succumbing to the overall seriousness the world tends to associated with age. Just as Fleur de Lys is a testament to teamwork it is also a testament to childhood. The tiny chocolate hamburger we have for dessert is the finale in a series of gestures that, throughout the meal, add whimsy to an array of sophisticated flavors.
Just as Marcus, Fleur de Lys’ sommelier, is determined to bring you the right wine, Hubert Keller is determined to make you smile. He, without question, caters to every diet and every allergy. Fleur de Lys was one of the first upscale restaurants to offer amazing vegetarian fare and his vegetarian entrée can only be described as a kaleidoscopic sensitivity to all things vegetable. The beauty and character with which it was prepared matched that of any meat, fish or poultry selection elsewhere on the menu. The vegetable, no less powerful than the chicken, the lamb, the fish or the cow – is, at Fleur de Lys, worthy of being a terrific main course.
It is sad but true to say that from music to food to the way people treat each other, so many things in life are forgettable. It is refreshing to be somewhere that pays homage to both tradition and curiosity - somewhere that operates by the rules of grace and graciousness, intention, and fresh ingredients. A place where the sweets culminate into “a-ha” and “yeah.” If we lived even a small fraction of our day with the intention with which Fleur de Lys conducts every evening, we may actually, as a species, find ourselves acquainted with bliss. That is what it feels like to experience the layers of effort that make something effortless – that make Fleur de Lys simple, lovely and perfect.
