According to Michel Guérard, it is that legend of French gastronomy, “the greatest culinary theatre in the world”, an edible extravaganza so spectacular, so deliciously magnificent, that it has reduced even the most seasoned gourmets to dizzying raptures of gluttonous exaltation. Some call it the Disneyland of déjeuner, others the Sistine Chapel of serious food.
What everyone agrees on is that Les Grands Buffets, an all-you-can-eat restaurant in the south of France, is not only the most sought-after reservation spot in the country, but with an estimated annual turnover of €24 million ( around £20 million) and more than 380,000 customers last year alone, it is also possibly their highest-earning restaurant.
Les Grand Buffets, however, is no ordinary buffet. Forget the ignominy of the typical festival of piling up tall things.
Here, “Le chef vous proposal”… quail stuffed with foie gras, whole roast turbot and veal fillet. In addition to 50 varieties of cakes and puddings, and a cheese “board” that, with its 111 different cheeses, is certified by the Guinness Book of Records as the largest selection of any restaurant in the world.
The lobsters are probably Canadian and a little overcooked, writes Tom Parker Bowles.
The famous lobster tower of the Homards Cascade
What’s even more spectacular is that you pay just €57.90 (around £50) per person to eat as much as you like. There are no limits, except for stomach stenosis.
But first, you have to get a table. The restaurant has a seven-month waiting list, but by some miracle, by logging onto the website in early February, I manage to find a table for four for lunch in mid-May, which means a wait of just three months. Our reservation is for 12:45 pm, although we are allowed to stay until close of service at 4:30 pm Dinner guests are welcome to stay until midnight.
And so, at lunchtime, on the most glorious of late spring days, with an appetite whetted and a stomach ready for battle. The restaurant is located on the outskirts of Narbonne, part of the Espace de Liberté sports complex, in the middle of a nondescript industrial estate, wedged between an ice rink and a swimming pool.
This is not the Moulin de Mougins. As you enter the restaurant, with its walls clad in cherry wood and polished brass, there is a plaque with a quote from Rabelais, that great writer and bon vivant: “Do what you like.”
And there is something splendidly Rabelaisian about the whole place, a temple dedicated to sybaritic pleasure. The service is elegant and charming, on par with any Michelin-starred venue, and within seconds we are seated in the garden in the cool shade of a large parasol, accompanied by the tinkling of small waterfalls and the clacking of knives and forks. .
There are linen napkins, proper glasses and oversized cutlery. There are no paper cups or disposable plates here.
At this point, early in the day, everyone’s eyes are shining with the same slightly manic glee. Will we get our money’s worth? That fear dissipates quickly. We are given a map of the restaurant, along with the wine list (which is extensive and surprisingly good, since drinks are not included in the buffet price) and we plan our attack.
Always remember: this is a marathon, not a sprint.
One of the waiters holds a canard au sang, or pressed duck.
The chocolate fountain is part of an epic show. It would take ten viewings to even begin to do it justice.
A half rooster crab and a couple of Alaskan king crab legs. Then a big spoonful of mayonnaise and back to the table.
So we headed into the main hall and straight to the cascade de homards, the famous lobster tower, a multi-story Moulin Rouge of deep pink crustaceans, all shrouded in a refreshing, diaphanous mist. A couple of them, a dozen oysters, a medium-sized crab and a couple of Alaskan king crab legs. Then, a good dollop of mayonnaise and back to the table.
Once the hunger has subsided, we begin to relax as each of us begins separate raiding parties to different parts of the buffet: the foie gras section or the rotisserie, glowing with radiant heat, where piglets and whole chickens rotate slowly on the spits. You stand in line, order a dish (and only one dish, although you can come back as many times as you want) and then wait for your number to be called.
The only place that seems eternally empty is the crudité buffet section. Apparently, no one craves a piece of raw carrot, organic or not.
There are stations of canard au sang, an excellent old-fashioned restaurant dish that uses a duck press that resembles a medieval torture device; lamb à la ficelle (hanged from a rope and roasted).
Another cart of crêpes suzette, the chef’s face illuminated by a flash of burning liquor; the nine varieties of bone-in ham; battalions of metal heaters filled with slow-cooked beef stew; that fresh and moldy cheese church, full of trucks, pyramids and cylinders. And the puddings and the ice cream and the chocolate fountain and the… Well, I could go on and on. It would take ten views to even begin to do this epic spread justice.
The tower is a multi-story Moulin Rouge with bright pink crustaceans, all enveloped in a clear, refreshing mist.
As for actual quality, well, many dishes are exceptional. Fresh, salty oysters; terrines as ornate and beautiful as Pompeian mosaics; fish soup with all the drunken style of a sailor ashore; the sweetest suckling pig; excellent charcuterie; a slice of deep pink côte de boeuf; some of the best stewed tripe I have ever tasted. And those cakes and puddings: pure pastry perfection.
Not everything is exciting. How could I? The lobsters are probably Canadian and a little overcooked; caviar is a substitute, or at least not for sturgeon; unlimited beluga caviar at this price would truly be something miraculous; the kidneys in Madeira sauce are tough and chewy, having sat too long on their warming plate, while some of the prettiest hors d’oeuvres have the cold smell of airline catering.
Take away all the pomp and circumstance and this is cooking on an industrial scale. Although done very well.
The kitchen knows exactly what they will prepare each day and for exactly how many people. There is minimal waste and leftovers are used in staff meals. Try as they might, few punters will eat their €57.90 worth of food. It’s brilliant business.
But I’m being unnecessarily picky.
Because this is more than just a buffet, it is rather a glorious celebration of French gastronomy from haute cuisine (a plate of lobster, stewed hare), through the bourgeoisie (a beef stew, lemon tart) to the decidedly rustic (tripe, snails, frog legs).
It also celebrates the dying art of the rôtisseur and saucier. Sure you’ll find superior versions of most dishes elsewhere, but that’s not the point.
As Michel Guérard rightly points out, it is a most delicious culinary theater. Although more burlesque than Samuel Beckett. Mon dieu, it’s fun, slow-braised with an excess of bounty. Les Grands Buffets is a passionate cri de coeur, not only one of the best value lunches you will ever have but, in the words of the restaurant’s owner, Monsieur Privat, a Louvre of classic French cuisine.
More than an exciting culinary journey, this is a museum of good taste.
For more details, go to lesgrandsbuffets.com
