Legendary restaurant and club CASTEL in Paris is famous for having hosted the best nights out for many generations of Parisians. Located in a "hotel particulier" in the tiny rue Princesse in the 6th arrondissement, the club's decor is very intimate. Laid out with dark carpet and red velvet on the walls, it's a series of narrow corridors and even narrower staircases that lead to a dining room on each of the 3 floors, some having no apparent windows and the only way out was the way you came in. Not for the claustrophobic.
In December last year I was invited to attend a private dinner organized by a whisky brand that promised to have celebrities, cuisine and entertainment.
The theme of the night was "KNIGHT CLUB"… a sort of medieval chivalry themed evening with owl tamers greeting you at the door. I forgot the name of the chef but he was specially flown in for the occasion and was asked to come up with a surprise menu that would be out of the ordinary.
Up on the first floor, the celebrities (artists, actresses, Miss France.. etc) started to fill in and the nonetheless famous paparazzi (in Paris, there are just 3 or 4 of them that go out every night, the same photographers for the past 20 or 30 years) came in to shoot amicably their subjects. I was seated at the sponsor's table and was turning my back to the "people". I couldn't avoid the yoga back twist to get a glance at them. But I was much more concerned about the subject of conversation with my table companions and to where the shortest way to the street was, in case of emergency, than the who's who I was sharing the room with.
And then came the food. The amuse-bouches were some seafood delicacies that I completely forgot about. It was the appetizer that really opened the dinner, conceived with shaved black truffles: it was build around beaten white egg on a creamy celery sauce. Very airy, flavorful and savory. The delicate scent of truffles were really well staged. Still I realized they were no windows in the room and that there was staff walking in and out something that had to be kitchens -I did not try to picture the size of the kitchen, I started to have trouble breathing already.
The red wine served was not bad at all, a stiff one that eased my anxiety while waiting for the main course to arrive.
Finally it came, and as for the previous course the waiters didn't explain. My companions told me it was wild boar, served with braised leeks and some chili-tomato condiment. Although well roasted, the meat was not very tender but it had that definite taste of wilderness. As I was chewing it I was hoping it would give me some strength and I was making mine the wild spirit of the boar – just in case there would be an emergency so I could use that to storm my way out of the shoe box I was having dinner in.
As the dinner unfolded and dessert was served, the room got busier and noisier. I was starting to feel really uncomfortable despite the great spirit that was at my table. After dessert, we saw the owl tamers coming in the dining room with their beast. Two of them, dressed in period costume, with a leather glove and the fierce looking bird clamping their razor sharp claws onto the arm. The "entertainment" consisted of letting the bird fly from one tamer to the other, and have guests approach and touch them. After a few exchanges back and forth in the tiny dining room, I thought I had feathers inside my throat but it was probably just a symptom of the beginning of a panic attack I was about to have. Not to mention the fact that my vis-a-vis (a French lady) would literally freak out and try to hide under the table every time a bird (straight from a Harry Potter movie) would flap its wings (they flew so close that one could feel the wind on their cheek) but she couldn't, as there was not enough room for her to move her chair back and slip under the table.
After that very pleasant entertainment where everyone had to be photographed with an owl at their arm, we were invited to the top floor where more celebrities were having dinner. The room was all black with black carpet that was laid out with silvery stars. To my great relief I saw 4 windows in the room, but I quickly realized that they were too high above the street to constitute a proper way out. At all the tables the celebrities were smoking cigarettes as if in these 30 square meters in Paris the law against smoking in public did not apply. There was a female DJ spinning cds or playing from her laptop I couldn't really remember. The sound wasn't bad as they installed the monitor right on the ceiling which I could have reached with my hand up. It was electro. We drank some 18 year old whisky. There was a famous used-to-be singer who stared at me. We were once together at the same party 10 years ago, it was at the Amanpuri in Phuket, in someone's private villa. It was a beautiful night that night, very windy with the open skies above our heads, but she probably couldn't remember.
