Foodnote: Septime (in Paris, 11th arr.)

Let's fast forward the greatness of this restaurant to the end: clementine a la mode (sprinkled with fennel seeds) on a bed of yogurt and olive oil boat. That it is a dessert is a miracle, let alone scooping it like seven fruits in one on seven seas. The invigoration of a "sailing sweetness" taste is the sexiest attribute of this food invention. And appropriately so for this New Year's Eve. The ice cream was the best "gin and tonic" of my life, with notes of lime twist and juniper berries blending their freshness together, and the timing of their sweetness slow like a blue morning melting in the ice from the sun through the restaurant's garden window like an edge of a kiss. The great poet Neruda is love's bard because he prepared a table for her, like this that you see, with bass tartare seasoned in tarragon leaves, grapefruit dices, breadcrumbs and eyes of roes assembled apothecaries. Powdered parsley the make up on oyster soup. Truffle chips on grilled crosses of Jerusalem artichokes. Urchin glaze and salted ferns on amulet scallops. And the cognac streamed the game with a hand of dandelions and disorienting endives, falling pomegranates, falling in love. Yes, I am writing a review of this restaurant. Yes, this is the poem.