Chez Colette

Inside the lobby, business people lounge in Bergamo-upholstered sofas while being served Grey Goose martinis at La Bourse bar fifty yards from the entrance to Chez Colette. In the art deco atmosphere of La Bourse, waitstaff promenade in glamorous Diane von Furstenberg-inspired wrap outfits. A torch singer and pianist entertain the circadian clientele, including Air France pilots and personnel, amongst flutes of Moet et Chandon. Meander toward the restaurant, it's magnifique.

With great luck, you will have ordered a bowl of Cappuccino De Champignons Sauvages Aux Marrons ($6), a deeply satisfying winter soup replete with wild mushrooms and chestnut cappuccino. One's mouth is enveloped by frothy foresty morsels, sweetened by a chorus of nutty nuances: a profluent picnic in the woods.

Entrées, aussi, are studded with successes. Loup De Mer Rôti ($22) is roasted Chilian sea bass bristling and pompous above a throng of crushed Peruvian potatoes surrounded by shallot sauce. The bass is thick and wondrously white, as if it were a grand opaque iced wedding cake. It mists and quivers as your knife nudges generous flakes from its fish flanks. A spoonful of dense potato catches a bouquet of golden shallots before you swallow.

The crème de la crème of Chez Colette are the desserts. And the Praline Soufflé Glace ($6) is without peer. The Count of Monte Cristo would have stayed in prison, if it were served there. Père Goriot would never have been written if this dessert were on the table. Chevalier should not have smirked. Lautrec couldn't have painted in its presence.