It is sad when a restaurant that was once at the pinnacle of its time is no more. Having lost its three stars and been demoted to two, you do have to wonder what is going on. Well, I didn’t have to wait that long to find out, as we found ourselves in Village Blanc, once again visiting Georges Blanc in Vonnas. I have been a long-standing customer here, having written about it for the first time two years ago. (You can find take 1 at the bottom of this page.) I have seen it at its best, and I have also seen it at its worst—which is right about now. I am not going to walk around pretending that everything is great, like many writers do, not wanting to disturb the peace. It is a blessing to be able to write freely and tell the truth—not having to say, “everything is wonderful!” or “Oh, it’s all so delicious!!”—when clearly it isn’t.
What absolutely struck me this time was the rude attitude. We had pre-ordered the poularde de Bresse, which I know involves a little more waiting than usual (and some planning), but it was taking the mick when 1 hour and 40 minutes went by and we still hadn’t even been offered any bread. “Excuse me, how long will it be? I am really starving.” The reply I received was pure comedy: “You have a whole chicken coming soon!”—the delightful response. He may as well have said, shut up, woman—who do you think you are, asking such an entitled question? Had I just caught a glimpse of the manosphere? Is this the new-generation treatment I was so lucky to experience just now? Wow. The future is looking bright.
By the way, I eventually had to ask for bread after two hours, as nobody was checking the table—or my angry face—as the team passed skittishly across the dining room. It looked to me as though they didn’t have a clue what they were doing. The chef has hung up his jacket and told everybody, “You are running the show now.” Which would be fine—if they had had proper training beforehand.
“Finally…” I muttered under my breath as a young man put my plate down the wrong way round in front of me. I immediately turned it the right way up. I shook my head from side to side, thinking, “It’s really not that hard,” and added a small eye roll. OK, this was probably rude too, but you have no idea how hungry I was, and this wait of eternity was unacceptable for a restaurant of this supposed standard. Almost two hours! If they had thought about what they were doing, they would have known to bring an intermediate course—or at least offer something—to their hungry guests. But no, they prefer to let them suffer. Don’t be surprised, then, if no one is nice when they are wasting away. The poularde was tender and, thankfully, the product was a plus point of this dinner—the only thing that passed its exam tonight. But the entire dish was miles away from its former self.
“And now we are delighted to share with you the second part of the dish: a chicken salad, made with the rest of the bird!” announced the waiter. I am sorry—a what? A salad? “No wonder they lost their third star,” I whispered to my half-famished guest, whose colour had completely drained from his face at this point. (It took a while to come back.) Lightness can be a good idea, but why not use it in a broth if you want to keep that trend? Create a selection of dishes for sipping and tasting—something that does justice to the rest of the bird and the price point. This is not the salad from Piazza Duomo, assembled by Enrico Crippa. Forget about it, guys.
I will make the rest of the story quick and put you out of your misery (or mine!). The cheese was naff (I could find better in a French supermarket), the soufflé texture was too eggy and the execution was off, and the petit-fours technique was a joke. I thought to myself, “They are playing with me. This can’t be serious.” But unfortunately, it was. Did they think they were doing well? Or did they know it was a shambles, but carried on anyway? It would be vital to understand what is going on in the mind, because the answer would explain a lot. It might just be the end of an era for Georges Blanc—after all, all good things eventually go down that path. Unless you can reinvent and make it better before it reaches this point, there is no coming back. Often, icons like this don’t know how to change—and they can’t. I wish the restaurant the best of luck as it enters its new chapter.
