Food, music and the life worth living

We found ourselves, by accident, at Restaurant Laurie Raphaël in Montréal on a Wednesday night in July. One look at the menu told us we were way over budget. But what the hell, we were on vacation. We went for it: The tasting menu, seven courses paired with seven wines. Stupendously pricey.

It was worth it, and here’s why.

The room is gorgeous, Japanese clarity coupled with a decadent luxury of materials. All seven small plates were brilliantly creative. Each element was new to me (hey, I cook and watch the Food Network). The dishes came straight from the brain of chef Daniel Vézina. (He says they’re based on traditional French and Quebecois cooking.)

Everything was fresh and from local sources. I had the lovely sensation (OK, illusion) of nutrition doing good things for my body as I dined. The portions exactly met healthy appetites. The individual flavors were exquisite, and so was the plating.

But sustenance, flavors and eye candy were just the beginning of the pleasures of this meal. Even the pleasure — the sensation of it — was but a step toward a sort of enlightenment. The wine steward and two servers, all discreetly attentive, understood the meal and wanted us to understand it, too. They talked about each course and glass as they set them before us. They paced the meal to give us time to think about each course. Increasingly as the meal went on, we discussed the courses with each other and with our servers as they came to clear the table for the next course.

The conversation was not the usual canned waiter-speak. The purpose was serious. They wanted to help us pay attention to the food, to attend to its nuances, to make the expenditure worthwhile. They did not want their meal to be lost on us. They brightened as it became clear to them that we appreciated their achievement, that we were getting it.

I won’t give you a blow-by-blow of this dinner, as it would only break your heart. But I’ll give you a taste. In the hierarchy of the meal, the spacer, between entree and dessert, would come in seventh. But like everything else on the tasting menu, it was essential to the whole and intense on its own. It comprised goat cheese foam, lemon marmalade and banana bread, with a Vin de Pays des Côtes de Gascogne, Les Premières Grives, Domaine du Tariquet, from 2009. A salty, creamy tingle; a sweet-sour; grain and earth; and the dark nuttiness of the wine hit the palate one by one. They persisted as a vibrant collective on the taste buds and in the mind.

The wine reminded me of Spanish fino sherry. (If you could crush wine out of almonds, fino would be it.) The steward was a little anxious about the wine. It’s unexpected and unusual; I had the feeling that he might have fielded a few complaints. Delight crossed his face when I mentioned the affinity to fino and told him how much I like it. A customer understood, and it made him happy.

Each course was like a chord, a bitter, sweet or savory triad beneath nuanced extensions. The seven courses accumulated into a grand progression of sweet harmonies and taut dissonances as one course led to the next in a canny blend of satisfaction and surprise. To get all that, we had to think as we dined, just as you have to think about a Brahms symphony as you listen.

Oh, it’s easier to let the music just wash over you, but you get more out of it if you remember, compare, and locate yourself in the form even as you live in the moment. The physical sound is only there to prompt enhanced synaptic activity, which is the real experience of music.

Likewise this meal. The flavors on the tongue and the satisfaction in the belly were lovely. But the real value be lay between the ears, in the heightened awareness of the passing moment and of its place in the larger picture. We have just so many moments in our lives. The trick to living is to be aware and live them fully. Art helps us do that. Food, at the Laurie Raphaël level, is art.