Too Bourgeoisie for my Blood!
On the eve of her 6 year anniversary, my sister let me tag along with her and her husband to a reservation at a restaurant with three Michelin stars, which usually means "exceptional cuisine that is worth a special journey." You can imagine that the restaurants location in the heart of Paris France likely meant it had earned those stars ten times over.
I had been nervous about having room in my stomach for an eight course meal that I had no say over, but the first thing they did was hand me a glass of red wine the size of my head. It really took the edge off. The first course to come out had only a mouthful of something squishy with some fancy sauce and garnish. Apparently, it was some kind of giant squid egg. The smell was mouthwatering. I scarfed it down trying not to cringe at the texture. The flavors evolved from sweet to tart and savory as I chewed.
It was delicious, but it was only enough to make me more hungry. They didn't bring out anything (except more wine because: France) for 15 minutes after we finished the morsels. The next two courses consisted warm truffle wraps and some kind of salty mousse. Yummy and unique, but again not nearly enough.
My French brother in law signaled for some more wine. I didn't want to embarrass him even though I was getting lightheaded, so I let the waiter fill my glass all the way up. After one (or was two?) more unsatisfying tease of a meal, they brought out the main course-- a delicacy the likes of which I had never tasted -- banana foie gras. It sounds utterly disgusting, but it tastes like heavenly butter babies soaked in silky wonderful.
For real, I'm a horrible person for eating it. In the months that followed, I learned things and actually became a vegetarian out of guilt because it's actually pretty messed up what they do to ducks to make it. Jamming fat down their throats till their livers can't take anymore. So don't go trying it if you want to keep your conscience clear. That little culinary ecstasy isn't worth it... But I have yet to find anything of comparable delectability.
To be fair though, I was almost certainly the drunkest I'd ever been in my life trying to keep up with a natural born Frenchman drinking fine wine. The last few courses were a blur of strawberry sweetness and frothy chocolate with coffee. (And more wine; do they not have water in France?)
My sister laughed as she half carried me back to their tiny apartment in a state of giddy intoxication that was as close as I've ever been to blackout drunk.
Unfortunately, I coughed up the exotic assortment of hyper-rich foods later that night making that meal hands down the best, worst, and least fulfilling of my life. But also the best travel story.