Lisa is not sufficiently distracted by her thick filet of Angus beef, a quite beautiful piece of meat that is unfortunately tasteless, but she appreciates the fingerling potatoes that taste deliciously of olive oil, the bright green haricots verts, thick as threads. I am deliriously happy with my daube, a silky veal stew with a voluptuous sauce of red wine and young carrots and green and black olives. The meat has been cooked so long it barely stays together in its thick chunks. I'm not ready for sweets, so we order a cheese plate. They're all ripe, they're all good, and the balance of textures and flavors is a thoughtful one.
Desserts are again sublime.
Lisa is especially excited by the texture of her chocolate and hazelnut crunch, with orange sorbet and a sharp marmaladey sauce, and I like the bright boozy sabayon made with Beaume de Venise and full of fresh raspberries. We get a plate of tiny madeleines and soft, little truffles, and Lisa gets the sachet. Lunch on the terrace with Jack and Rick is almost too pretty, too blue, too sunny for words. The meal falls closer to the brilliant dinner than the disappointing brunch. Jack's stew of big square chunks of calamari and potato in a pale tomato sauce is very odd, indeed.