It was also a bargain, even then: five dollars for pate, soup, salad, entree, dessert, and coffee and, a boon for budgeters, BYO booze.

In the mid-60s, Louis Szathmary launched the Bakery, and for a long time after it was the only gourmet game in town. We begrudged neither the long trek to Wheeling nor the considerable dent it made in our bank balance. For a few brief moments during our meal, heaven would be in our grasp even as it was slipping away. Banchet expanded our culinary horizons by tantalizing us with instances of perfection. But in another sense, because it was so good, it was never quite enough. Patrons who ordered inappropriately found themselves complaining of an embarrassment of riches–too “heavy,” too many sauces, and finally “too much.” In one sense, it could be overwhelming: this was cuisine that commanded our complete attention as we ate, we found ourselves talking about the food more than anything else, comparing notes on nuances of flavor and texture. Of course one had to choose properly, and midwesterners are not accustomed to taking food so seriously. Other restaurants gave us both, but at Le Francais dining became art–complex, demanding, an orchestration of tastes and textures as profound as it was fleeting. What made it that was more than just the quantity of food, which was large, or the quality of ingredients, which was always top-notch. Jean Banchet’s Le Francais represented the ultimate, pull-out-all-stops sybaritic celebratory indulgence.

Their passing signals the end of two eras. Both were special to Chicago, albeit in different ways. The Bakery closed its doors this past summer, and Le Francais changed hands.

Va pensiero evanston