With a practised flourish Monsieur le chatty-chat-chat waiter revealed tuber melanosporum, a.k.a. the black Périgord truffle, and fluttered the glass box under our noses. It’s been a bad year for white truffles, he intoned, but a magnificent one for the black beauties. Deep sniff. We went for the truffle menu. Black, smelly and creepy looking – Plutarch described them as ‘mud cooked by lightning’ while other deep thinkers claimed they were the progeny of thunderclaps – we shouldn’t love them but we do. At Salon d’Hélène (Darroze) chef floats truffle slices on a parmesan cappuccino pond with lobster hunks, chestnut slivers and silky Jerusalem artichoke mousse drifting beneath. Classy and really delicious. The truffle dessert – black truffle ice-cream with a gooey chocolate moelleux and hot chocolate sauce – is all about the chocolate, though, with the truffle more an expensive afterthought. In between came a succession of enjoyable, technically accomplished tapas-style dishes: signature Landes foie gras with dried fruit chutney, wild salmon with cabbage and smoked haddock emulsion, just-landed hake with citrusy carrot mousse, doll-sized lamb chops, fresh from the Pryénées, grilled and teamed with chick pea puree, and a standout pistachio cream on crispy biscuit with zingy red grapefruit. Our truffle-bearing waiter plied a frisky spiel, touching on his London restaurant experiences (extensive), his at-home cooking skills (consummate), his close association with Mme. Darroze (working “with” her, not “for” her) and the absolute marvellousness of everything on the menu, especially the choc-tuber dessert. Oversell. Disappointingly, there’s no by-the-glass wine matching for the truffle menu; the sommelier muttered something about it being too “difficult” (really – for 2 dishes?) and instead recommended a €189 bottle of white Burgundy wine. We revisited the list, opting for an €80 one. Menus from €85. 4, rue d’Assas 75006