COSMOS MARX

As those of you who read my twitter/facebook updates probably know, for the past week I've been afflicted with a strain of norovirus, and have suffered meals of half a cup of rice gruel with dignity (read: lots of wailing and teeth gnashing). I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to eat the food of the glorious Thierry Marx today, but I did! And I only felt a little bit horrible! My white blood cells deserve a prize.

Recap: I met with my coworker, S, in the lobby of my dorm (she lives here too) and we made our way by train to our hotel. Our carefully primped hair was destroyed within seconds of stepping outside by the 1,000 mph winds ripping through the air, which were NOT a part of the weather report and could only have been caused by some rogue typhoon that caught everyone by surprise. Would've been a little fun, actually, had we not both been wearing short skirts which kept flapping up indecently at inopportune moments such as whilst we were climbing stairs etc.

So! With hair like madwomen and growling stomachs, we entered the hushed, affluent atmosphere of our hotel's fanciest restaurant, Le Ciel. Le Ciel is well known for its French haute cuisine. It is snobby and posh, with a magnificent view and gold covered surfaces - not to mention Yokohama's top sommelier hovering in the background. Would have been intimidating had S not known the waiters well, having worked in Le Ciel's kitchen for two years before.


The view from our table.

We were immediately supplied with complimentary champagne and hand-signed menu cards, which I think were a very lovely touch.



It was a long wait for the first course, and we kept ourselves busy eating the bread. I'm well acquainted with every kind of bread our hotel bakery produces, as is S (though to a lesser degree), so we were both pleasantly surprised to find that special bread had been baked for this special occasion. Very delicious. Makes sense, since Theirry Marx was raised by bakers for parents. Glasses were also kept full with more complimentary wine, white and red. We were urged by the mischievous waiters to get thoroughly pissed. We both decided that would be unwise.



Finally, our appetizers arrived. Pastrami made with white bread and beef, it reminded me very much of eating a tiny piece of corned beef sandwich. The sauce saved the dish, actually: mustard seed mixed with a special kind of honey. Yummy.



Next course: pineapple scallops. Actually a part of the dinner menu (which is twice as expensive as the lunch menu, for no apparent reason), it was also complimentary since we are employees of the hotel. That alone made it taste doubly good, although still not mind-blowing. It was like a fishy Hawaiian chicken. It was at this point that S and I started exchanging dubious glances.

The fish course isn't worth mentioning, and we were both so busy joking with the waiter about how the fake squid tasted like shrimp and boiled egg to remember to take photos. The little side of Swiss cheese and herb salad, however, was lovely.



Ahhh, main course! One we'd both had high expectations for: beef fillet with carrots. We were under the impression that we'd get a nice big hunk of beefy goodness that would leave us sighing at the tenderness and mopping up the juices with our baguettes. Well... let's just say that after marveling at the taste of the baby carrots covered in shredded coconut, there wasn't much left to do besides joke some more with the waiter about how it was more a carrot dish than a meat dish. Possibly rabbit feed jokes were exchanged. By this point we had abandoned all pretense at being satisfied with our meals.

Of course, we had to keep our voices down, because Marx himself came out with one of Le Ciel's head chefs, who translated for him, and made his rounds to each table. When he reached ours he was lovely, spoke very good English and complimented my looks, which immediately endeared him to me.


Lovely man. Shorter than we'd imagined, though.



Finally, our desserts arrived. The best part of the meal, in my opinion, and I had no complaints. Again this makes sense, since apparently desserts are Marx's specialty. A delicate pain d'epices, rich and fruity, with marscapone icecream. Mmmmm. Just looking at the picture again is making me crave more. I mopped up the melted icecream with my baguette, which prompted horrified laughter from S, although she stopped making fun of me once she'd tried it herself. Soooooooo goooood.



All too soon it was over. We drained our wine glasses, and had tiny little mini-desserts, or mignardise, with our coffee. Corn mousse that instantly reminded us both of sweet Doritos, heavenly mousse cake, and one lone Madeline.

Overall? The Japanese have a word for it: mono tarinai, or lacking a little something. A bit too haute for our common taste buds, I think. There were good moments, though, and plenty of wine, plus now I can say I've eaten his food, so not a complete waste of money.

Then again, Marx himself didn't have a hand in any of the cooking, although it is his menu. He just oversaw it, according to Chef Sirius - Head Chef of the restaurant on our 70th floor, Sirius - who took over as Head Chef and Expediter. (Chef Sirius is a man I will definitely be making a post about in the future - he is without doubt one of my favourite people in the hotel. So, more on him some other time. He came out before we left to ask how we'd liked the food and compliment me on my cleavage (of course, in a roundabout way. very kind of him to notice), and also to complain and gossip about the gorgeous model-like wife of one of the chefs who was sitting near us. Very like him.)

A good day. If I had the chance to eat his food again, would I? Yes. But I'm just gullible like that. I didn't get to eat his signature dish, that probably comes with the dinner course. Next time, maybe.