Destination Dining: Le Recamier, Paris

The restaurant has an enclosed terrace walled with foliage to preserve the privacy of the clientele. Photo / Instagram

4 Rue Recamier, St Germain des Pres, Paris

I arrived: on a very cold afternoon having asked my hotel to book a table. I had seen online reports of some hopeful diners who said they booked, but when they turned up were told there was no record of a booking and no room at the inn. Parisian waitstaff can take "dismissive" to a unique level.

I chose here because: a friend had recommended it after a visit during the summer. There is also a plethora of online rave reviews, largely for the souffles, of which there are more than 15 varieties.

My first impression: down a side street, the restaurant has an enclosed terrace walled with foliage to preserve the privacy of the clientele. This is in the 7th arrondissement, or district, one of the richest in the French capital and many of its inhabitants are BCBG (bon chic, bon genre or good style, good class).

There was a clutch of people inside the door, waiting hopefully. I said I had a booking, gave the name and they came back with the name of my hotel — which may well have swung my acceptance. I was ushered to a small table with my back against the wall - so in a prime seat to observe and soak up the atmosphere. The walls had framed quotes by The Unbearable Lightness of Being author Milan Kundera and large tableaux. American accents came from a bank of tables to my right and in front of me was a multigenerational family group who seemed in familiar surroundings.

A tres well-heeled woman was seated close to my elbow. Her friend arrived, they chatted for several minutes then both women rose, leaned over the table and officially greeted with the two-cheek kiss.

I started with: some delicious rosé. I exercised my French with a personable-looking waiter and said I thought Le Recamier was not the sort of place that offered wine by the pichet (carafe). He concurred and said it came by the glass, the bottle and — with a pause — the magnum. "Perhaps later," I suggested.

I ordered the in-season Coquilles St Jacques. Among the restaurant's savoury souffles is one featuring the big scallops and spinach but my molluscs came with a silky sauce and a scattering of green beans and parsley. To stretch out my visit, I had also ordered a dish of green salad.

The highlight was: the dessert. I decided on the Grand Marnier souffle, fresh from the oven. Much bigger than expected, the souffle rose high out of its dish and was the size of a circle made with thumbs and middle fingers. The centre glistened with orange and beside its serving board was bottle of the bitter orange liqueur. It looked stupendous and tasted like heaven.

Come here if: you can. It is a special place serving delicious food and the memory makes a special souvenir.

The bill came to: $103.28 on the exchange rate of the day. I had noticed that the women to my left — who had had savoury souffles — had not left a tip, nor did I notice any discreet "palming" when they departed. I assumed it was an addition on the bill but no mention of "service". I quietly questioned the absence with the lofty gentleman who brought the bill and was given a full performance of disdain. Already swivelling his face away to the right, he assured madame that service was now included "all over France". I had been fully prepared to leave at least 10 per cent ... but who was I to argue?

- Maureen Marriner