Eat a meal in a foreign country and you get a crash course in the culture thrown in for free. In Mexico, for instance, dinners often feel like fiestas, enlivened with colourful crockery and voluble conversation. A traditional meal in Japan, by contrast, is more restrained, with each pared-back portion presented like a miniature work of art.
The Europeans do it differently. For them, fine dining is a form of theatre, an immersive experience that is about much more than just food. I'm talking here about the grandest restaurants in France, in Spain, in Germany; the type often recognised by three Michelin stars. Some people write them off as "tablecloth restaurants", pretentious and prohibitively expensive. I used to be one of those people, until I gave it a go.
I'll admit, I went in with a touch of cynicism. I had eaten plenty of fabulous meals in my time. What would these European masters be able to show me that I hadn't seen before?
I was lucky in choosing La Maison Troisgros, in France, for my first grand dining experience. The Troisgros restaurant in Roanne has had three Michelin stars for 47 years, yet the cuisine is superbly contemporary. What impressed me most about the experience, however, was not the food. It was the scale of the enterprise.
Everything seemed super-sized, from the size of the tables to the ranks of cutlery standing to attention beside the plate (that explains the size of the tables, then), to the wagon-sized cheese trolley, laden with wrinkly, ripe and aromatic cheeses.
Working my way through all the courses was a challenge, but I was not about to admit defeat. When I finished the dessert, a delicate citrus confection, I slumped back in my chair with a sense of achievement. I was startled when the waiter came, cleaned the table and laid down another set of cutlery. I asked what it was for.
"For the dessert, madam," he replied. I protested that I had already had dessert. "No madame, that was the pre-dessert," he said gently. And that was the wonderful moment when I discovered that in Europe, desserts travel in pairs.
Troisgros changed my life. I was hooked. I seized every chance I got to dine at one of the Michelin temples, rejoicing in the delicate flower salads at Michel Bras in Laguiole (15 years later, everyone's doing them); the ridiculously buttery mash at Joel Robuchon in Monaco; lobster with truffles at Ledoyen in Paris; and foie gras and onion at Arzak, in San Sebastian.
The more restaurants I sampled, the more I began to appreciate what makes the experience much more than just a meal. A grand European dinner is a carefully choreographed event, designed to make you slow down and enjoy the many small pleasures of life: the taste of the fine food and wine, the feel of the crystal glasses and the linen tablecloths, and the slow unfurling of the relationship between you and your waiter.
Each country has its own breed of waiters. Americans are boisterous, Australians laidback. Europeans are the Fred Astaires of the restaurant world, effortlessly and elegantly steering you through your meal. These men – and they still are predominantly men – seem to glide rather than walk, never hurrying, but always there when you want them.
They are also, of course, the devil in disguise, tempting you to ever greater feats of indulgence. At another of Europe's most venerable eateries – the Schwarzwaldstube in the Black Forest – chef Harald Wohlfahrt has had his three stars for more than 20 years, and trained many of Europe's best chefs in the process. I encountered a waiter who was one of the best of his breed.
After being coaxed into sampling way too many of the delicious house breads, I instructed him not to offer me any more bread. So I was surprised when, working my way through a lovely piece of venison, he murmured in my ear, yet again offering me another piece of bread. When I gave him a glare, he elucidated, "To go with your sauce, madame."
He was right, of course. The sauce was delectable and deserved to be mopped up. So I took the bread and used half a roll to wipe up the sauce. Instantly, he was at my ear again. "Some more sauce, madame, to go with your bread?"
I suspect that, if I hadn't had the willpower to say no, I'd be sitting there to this day.
