Venison Sashimi

I've been of two minds about my Chateau-hotel in Luxembourg, the Chateau d'Urspelt. On the one hand, having been renovated to a modern, four-star (competent but not over-the-top) standard, the place reminds me a bit of a Chateau Novotel. On the other, it is self-consciously a family-run place, with references to the owning Lodomez family more visible than references to the mayoral Daley family in most parts of Chicago.

Where this place departs from the four-star into the stratosphere is its restaurant. Opting for sublime Luxembourgeois bubbly over an intriguingly unfamiliar Belgian beer, I've departed on a breathtaking culinary journey (which I am experiencing as I write, having my blackberry as a poor substitute for a date).

I could tell I was in for a ride when my first course was brought. I ordered "a tartare of smoked venison.".

What emerged looked at first like a lab experiment--a beaker that seemed a bit cloudy looking. But when the waiter lifted the "beaker", the fragrant smell of smoke enveloped the table--for the dish consisted of cubes of smoked-while-u-wait raw venison served on a bed of razor-thin sliced pears and red peppercorns. For the uninitiated, kinda like venison sushi, or more precisely, sashimi.

The main-a very-robust looking Magret de Canard, one of my favorite dishes of the Franco-Belgian-Luxembourgeois kitchen, served with a red peppercorn sauce. Interestingly, it was served with a side of fennel, my favorite vegetable, after fish. Excellent, if more conventional than the first course.

The wine list is interesting, more because of its presentation than its contents--it is printed as a label on a three-litre wine bottle. The vaulted ceilings do well as well. As for the clientele, they are all conversing in a number of languages, none of which I competently understand.

Hungarians have long been fond of saying that "Hungary is the only country in Europe surrounded by itself in all directions.". But they are wrong. Today's Rhode Island-sized Luxembourg is also a rump version of its former self, which once also included Belgium's (larger) Province of Luxembourg, and adjoining parts of Germany and France.

I ponder this as I ponder the dessert menu, which, written in French and German, offers but few clues about what is on offer. To be fair to my Level III London Business School French, this is more because I have no clue about what a "Fantasie autour d'un fruit d'automne" is than it is that I don't understand "fantasy" and "autumn fruit". Inquiring of the waiter, he says it involves a pear, but finds it otherwise difficult to describe. Convinced, I order it.

Another glass of Cremant de Luxembourg arrives. Cremant is a French-authorized term for "good sparkling wine that ain't Champagne.". I have long prized "Cremants" from around the world, partially because they are far better value than Champagne, and mostly because they marry the magic of effervescence with more varied grape styles (such as Riesling and Macabeo), and even colors (try sparkling Shiraz).

But this one beats Champagne at its own game--a full-blooded Pinot Noir rendition vinted less than 100 miles from Epernay, at less than half the price of the most basic chain-store Champagne.

It serves as a good complement to the Fantasie, which consists of a poached pear, a small chocolate-filled wonton, a tiny scoop of gingerbread ("speculoos") ice cream and a slash of raspberry sauce. Everything is excellent--but the ice cream is off the charts.

I am well and truly sated--a really first rate meal with intelligent, attentive and clinically multilingual service. And the location, overlooking the courtyard of Chateau d'Urspelt, could not be better. Particularly since it means only a short forklift ride back to my quarters.