A couple of months ago, I mentioned that a daring French chef reintroduced British beef to Paris.
Given the culinary patriotism of my Parisian contemporaries, it could have ended in financial ruin for the chef in question, Yves-Marie Le Bourdonnec.
Instead he became the toast of the town, with the likes of BBC running magazine stories about him.
I tried to make a reservation for weeks. I found two telephone numbers for the place. One was never answered and after five or six rings, you got a recording stating that the voice mailbox was full.
I thought it was either obnoxious or pretentious depending on the intent behind it.