There is one restaurant in Paris whose ego will remain even taller than the Eiffel Tower: The Jules Verne, currently run by the Alain Ducasse Group.
Certainly they have a lot to crow about: tables booked months in advance, waiting lists for those unexpected no-shows, and customers from all over the world, clamoring to get in. And when the occasion demands it, a French government ministry wanting to impress foreign visitors will take over the entire restaurant for the price of a small company in Paris. Pourquoi pas?

But for the rest of us, who are working stiffs in search of a good meal at a fair price, we may not buy into this wannabe status symbol, which the French routinely call “piège à touristes” (tourist trap in English).

Like any good red-blooded American, I wanted to impress my husband for his 60th birthday and two years ago, broke down and bought him lunch. We ordered off the menu, and the appetizer was called a “marbré de foie gras”–two postage stamps of foie gras that were layered into two other postage stamps of cold chicken. Not only was the item tasteless, it was also the color of a patient who needed a blood transfusion. That was all that I remember of the meal, apart from a small coterie of waiters standing around gossiping in a corner of the half-empty dining room and ignoring us completely.

The following month I took clients to the Jules Verne for lunch–then we ordered cabillaud à la carte (after all this is only cod fish), and were out within the hour. These are high-rollers who came in a private jet and bought their 16-year-old grand-daughter a Chopard watch for 3500€ in five minutes–but food was not a priority.

Those two experiences led me to believe that if my clients wanted me to book a table at the Jules Verne, I was more than happy to do so, but that I would not go out of my way to recommend this restaurant.

This spring I was asked to book the Jules Verne for 18 guests–the cost of a Smart Car, if you counted the wines. At the same time, without my knowledge, a former assistant booked the Jules Verne for clients using their credit card to do so. It turns out that once the client spoke to me and asked me for my honest opinion I recommended another restaurant in Paris with a great view and fine, dependable cuisine, run by the brothers Pourcel who were chosen to be the caterers for the French Pavilion at the Shanghai World’s Fair. (The Chinese clearly know a thing or two about food as well).

The trip for my client, including the choice of restaurants, turned out to be flawless. Except that when she got home, she discovered that the Jules Verne had without her knowledge or mine, charged her credit card $1300 for a no-show dinner for four. It turns out that the Jules Verne has a no-show policy that is very strict. Since this was a first, I asked politely for the Jules Verne to give my unsuspecting client a credit.

After two weeks of discussions, they told me know, that the payment taken was automatic and they were unable to give a credit. Undeterred, I contacted the director of sales, and ultimately the assistant to the company’s president, who understood the situation completely and in the end, saw to it, that a credit was given. This mess took over a month to resolve. Quel dommage!

In the meantime, the 18 guests who planned to book were reduced to three due to unforeseen circumstances, and I was able to resell five of the remaining bookings to another family celebrating a birthday in Paris.

In the same phone call I learned the following: henceforth, I would no longer be allowed to make bookings at the Jules Verne: something that is totally illegal in France. Without saying anything, because I went to bat for my client, the director of operations at the Jules Verne has blackballed me. I have since written a letter at the request of the director of sales at the Alain Ducasse Group three weeks ago, and have had no news.

Well, being a writer at heart, I have decided that the pen–or should I say, the Internet–is mightier than the wrath of the Jules Verne, or so I would like to think! In any case, it makes for a story that is stranger than the fiction written by the author Jules Verne himself.

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