La Petite Folie, with a lunchtime excursus on the Grand Lux Cafe in Chicago

Sunday 6 January

We had to check out before noon, which meant we had some time before Barbara had to chair a session at 1:30. Prompted by a helpful concierge, we decided to walk up Magnificent Avenue ("the Michigan Mile") and have lunch at the Grand Lux (sic) Cafe (sic).

As we were nicely dressed (if we do say so ourselves), they seated us on pouffy chairs in the windows of the round room, to gaze at the ceiling murals of Klimtian women (the Grand Lux is decorated as if Vegas did the Wiener Werkstätt). What with all the glitz, we didn't know what to expect of the food, as the concierge had only assured us that it was good and there were plenty of choices. And indeed, the menu went on for pages, with even breakfast things still available, not to mention the affable waiter swishing by with a dozen additional specials.

As we'd had our meat the night before, we went for fish. Barbara chose a seafood salad, which turned out to be an enormous platter of dressed greens with bands of color - white crabmeat and fish salad, yellow corn, orange and red roasted peppers, green beans and avocado - swathed lavishly on top. Holt got two appetizer-sized specials, both of 'ahi tuna: a crispy (fried!) sushi roll, and wonderful slices of seared rare fish, served with cucumber salad, benrinered carrot, and all the other Japanese-style accompaniments. Unexpectedly good, and we've already written the hotel to praise our knowledgeable concierge.

But the topic is dinner, and for that, we went from the grand to the petite; specifically, to La Petite Folie, with our friends John and Peggy. They live in Hyde Park, and this choice restaurant nestles in a strip mall only a few blocks from their house. The owners, also local residents and Chicago alumni, started the place after one of them happened to be first in her grand diplome class at the Cordon Bleu.

The interior acts as an antidote to glitz: two quiet lace-curtained rooms, low lights, pastel walls, white tablecloths, and fine glassware, like good restaurants in France. Prompted by John, whose motto is "no wimpy wines," we immediately got a bottle of Domaine Brusset 2005 Gigondas (Tradition de Grand Montmirail), as well as a glass of 100% pinot noir burgundy he wanted to try. The Gigondas won, hands down.

We started with a typically Alsatian slice of onion quiche, with red cabbage on the side; and a smoked pheasant salad with pear and walnuts among its greenery under a black-currant-walnut vinaigrette. And who knew that sliced smoked pheasant would look and taste so much like ordinary ham?

We then proceeded to the mains. Barbara chose saddle of rabbit, slices filled to bursting with truffled hazelnut mousse; it had a double mustard sauce, and was served with French (but of course) beans, potato purée, mushrooms, and walnuts. Holt couldn't resist the roasted boar chop with truffled port sauce on a bed of acorn squash flan scented with winter spices - i.e., just like a pumpkin pie. Though a mite resistant, it was flavorful meat, and came with braised leeks and apple strewn with jewel-bright pomegranate seeds.

Though tempted by the thought of chocolate bombe, we resisted dessert and walked back to Peggy and John's, where she served her homemade winter fruit compote and ice cream, and he got out a bottle of Rosemount Estate Balmoral Syrah - the unwimpiest of red wines, or what our Aussie friends would call a very decent drop. We licked up everything, and we thank Peggy and John (and La Petite Folie) for a marvelous evening.