THE JULES VERNE RESTAURANT: As magical as it is enchanting
Slavik: “We wanted to convey a sense of luxury, and so, among satin blacks, glossy blacks, and a dominant matte black—which is more luxurious and refined in a certain way—we delved into caviars: pressed caviar, large-grain caviar, sevruga, beluga… so the walls are Pétrossian, in a sense (smile…)!”
Starting in 1981, a vast renovation project of the Eiffel Tower took place, as it would turn one hundred years old in 1989. This project included the goal of bringing back Parisians who had long abandoned the Eiffel Tower.
For the 100th anniversary of the Eiffel Tower in 1989, the operator Elitair-Maxim’s created a 500-square-meter platform on the second floor of the Eiffel Tower to house a prestigious gastronomic restaurant.
In early 1983, Slavik, whose creative genius could best harmonize with the soul of the Eiffel Tower, was entrusted with the responsibility for the décor. Together with his partner, architect Jean-Jacques Loup, they envisioned an ultra-sophisticated airplane cockpit with a minimalist décor of great refinement, 123 meters above the Champ de Mars, showcasing the Parisian panorama.
“I wanted a black color like a Steinway piano, a gondola in Venice, or a taxi in London; in the evening, one is bathed in moonlight lighting.”
The décor was difficult to conceive: it was necessary to simultaneously avoid diverting eyes from the immense Parisian panorama, highlight the metal architecture, and create a sufficiently sophisticated ambiance. Slavik and Loup won this triple challenge.
Slavik imperceptibly raised the floor in the center of the room so that the view would not be obstructed by the guests seated along the windows.
December 1, 1983 : Inauguration of Le Jules Verne
Sumptuous dinner for nearly one hundred people with all of Paris society, in the presence of descendants of Gustave Eiffel and Jules Verne. Louis Grondard achieved the feat of serving an absolutely remarkable dinner.
Set in the middle of the fabulous elevator machinery and large wheels, this ship in the sky, timeless, is enchanting and, at the same time, the luxury of the service evokes travelers of the 1920s.
It was the gastronomic-touristic-Parisian event of December 1983 and the year 1984.
For the first time in decades, the Eiffel Tower offered its visitors cuisine prepared with genuine talent.
It was a resounding success that drew all of Paris society and became an essential stop for many foreigners.
Le Jules Verne became the favorite spot for Parisians, some making it their regular haunt, not to mention French visitors to Paris. Some, like Mr. and Mrs. Tyssier, then owners of the Pub Sir Winston Churchill, came to lunch there every Sunday. Le Jules Verne was open 7 days a week.
Chef Louis Grondard directed Le Jules Verne until 1992, when he took over the management of the Drouant restaurants. Alain Rex took over until the closure of Le Jules Verne at the end of 2006.
The adventure begins at the foot of the tower, in the vestibule of “Le Jules Verne,” where one can read this phrase engraved on a glass panel: “Whatever I invent, whatever I do, I will always fall short of the truth. There will always come a time when the creations of science surpass those of imagination.” (Jules Verne)
The private elevator that slowly rises above Paris through the imposing metal structures already seems to transport the restaurant’s guests on an “Extraordinary Voyage.”
“From the Earth to the Moon” in 3 minutes. At 123 meters above ground, one leaves the shuttle to enter the vessel.
Engraved in the black mirror wall of the entrance, this phrase by Jules Verne: “One will tread the air, as one treads the earth.” (Robur the Conqueror, Jules Verne, science fiction novel published in 1886)
Subtle interplays of grays and blacks, dark mirrors, sheet metal, rivets, gray glazed linen tablecloths, and cast-iron armchairs.
The low ceiling creates an intimate character, but a third dimension is provided by the glass pyramids through which one discovers above the metal forest of the tower soaring another 150 meters higher. Behind a window, one sees the immense wheel of the elevators turning.
The atmosphere is so unreal that one watches for the countdown signal and the imminent departure toward vast spaces. But at the same time, one feels curiously protected in this celestial nest where one experiences no trace of vertigo.
In the monochrome gray décor, everything is matte, no shine, no reflection (gray matte laminate with studs on the partitions). The black lacquered perforated sheet metal ceiling is punctuated by a lattice recalling the geometric framework of the tower. Carpet speckled with black and gray, salt-and-pepper wood tables with matte black legs, covered with gray glazed linen.
The French cast-iron armchairs feature an Eiffel Tower “lattice” that, at the request of guests, was padded with gray ostrich leather cushions. They are equipped with “fighter plane wheels” (Slavik), roll, swivel, rise, and lower.
This quest for rigor and this uncompromising elegance are softened by halogen lights on all tables that provide two light intensities adjustable by guests.
Sleek silver-plated metal cutlery, black octagonal plates (“like bolts”)
Only the collars of the gray shirts of the servers, cinched in long gray aprons “à la française,” are white.
The matte black steel bar evokes, with its rivets, the metal framework of the building and contrasts with the black lacquer of the piano with transparent lid facing it.
The windows graze the beams and machinery of the two rack-and-pinion elevators that ascend from the ground floor. “Genuine Tinguelys in motion,” as consulting architect Duhart likes to say, who, to add to the transparency of the space, designed the two large openings in the ceiling so that one can follow the succession of beams to the summit.
Between three batteries of double wheels 4 meters in diameter, the space opens in petals onto Paris, through a succession of tall glazed ogives that elegantly punctuate the restaurant’s façade. The latter is organized into three parts: the thirty-seven-seat bar, with a view of the Champ de Mars and Les Invalides; the one hundred other seats oriented toward Notre-Dame or Chaillot/La Défense. The last part is reserved for the kitchen.
January 1987: Le Jules Verne receives the Creation Trophy for the most beautiful contemporary décor
Once again, a sumptuous dinner bringing together all of Paris society as well as descendants of Gustave Eiffel and Jules Verne, but this time to celebrate the awarding of the Trophy for the most beautiful contemporary décor to Slavik and Loup’s Jules Verne!
Cuisine, however exquisite, does not necessarily make a restaurant a festive place. Décor is the essential link between the art of gastronomy and the pleasures of the table. It was to stimulate a movement in favor of the artistic quality of restaurant décor that Christian Millau, with the support of Gault et Millau Magazine and the prestigious watchmaking firm Vacheron-Constantin, created two annual Trophies for “Most Beautiful Restaurant Décor.” The Renaissance Trophy is awarded to a period décor restored to prominence. The Creation Trophy was awarded to the Jules Verne restaurant, whose décor is due to the talent of Slavik and Loup.
Spring 2006: Sequence filmed at Le Jules Verne for a film about Slavik produced by his daughter and son-in-law.
December 2006: Le Jules Verne closes.
This magical place that should have been protected no longer exists. It was destroyed when the concession was withdrawn from Eliance (Elitair Maxim’s) and granted to Sodexho in 2007 with chef Alain Ducasse, who failed to preserve this jewel.
Location
Av. Gustave Eiffel, 75007 Paris
Press Review
Twenty Thousand Leagues Above Paris, Philippe Courderc
I do not know what will remain of Mr. Chirac’s tenure at the Paris City Hall, but at least I can acknowledge, with my ground-level view, that he enabled the new company responsible for operating the Eiffel Tower to build a restaurant there that is becoming one of the most exceptional in Paris.
I may have already mentioned it at its inauguration, but when it comes to our iron lady, one never finishes evoking it. A dining room suspended between heaven and earth, perfectly integrated into this arachnean architecture to the point of giving the impression of having been designed by Eiffel himself, divided between black and white, as between day and night, superbly comfortable and giving the impression of a space salon conceived by Jules Verne, whose patronage is advanced, it stages Paris like no other restaurant in the capital, seeing things from higher than “La Tour d’Argent” and more beautifully than the “Tour Montparnasse.” It gives Parisians wings for their passion for the city.
As for the cuisine, it dominates, oh how much, that of those two. Louis Grondard, who has never put himself forward, seems to gain height in relation to himself and especially to others. He masters, he masters!
This man practices a cuisine that could not be more balanced, and the years brought to his talent have installed him very well in his skin as much as on his plate. Without further prose, one wants to advise many of his colleagues to go eat up there. The small snails à la paysanne with leeks—which would be just as good in a casserole as in puff pastry—the wild boar head cheese with herb vinaigrette, the beechwood-smoked salmon, the sea bream fillet with mint butter and fresh noodles, and a roasted grouse (rare game in Paris) with stuffed green cabbage signed a very beautiful meal, rich in subtleties, nuances, quite dazzling, served by staff at the appropriate level (you couldn’t escape that!). The pastries stopped at the floor below: it would not be useless to raise them to the level of the rest: the coffee and tea menu has certainly made it there!
Many other cooks, down below, in Paris, suddenly seemed much smaller to me.
Testimony from Jean-Jacques LOUP, architect, press illustrator, caricaturist, worked with Slavik on numerous establishments starting in 1965
Slavik brings in oxygen. He has fabulous talent. He is more interested in spatial circulation than in painting. He opened my eyes, he magnified me.
I have never known anyone like him, capable of taking industrial materials and making them luxury materials, of adapting industrial elements to different functions. I have seen him drape cheesecloth over large factory suspensions, and it became absolutely astonishing objects. He is capable of taking materials like Formica—made for us in the United States, after all, but it’s nothing more than laminate—and this laminate becomes caviar in his hands. For that, I take my hat off to him. In the restrooms, it’s a clear mirror painted black behind; one has the impression it’s Chinese lacquer (Jules Verne).
He has a sense of enormity, of over-dimensioning; he is a gentleman who lives at I don’t know how many thousands of meters altitude; when one is at 3,000 km, one sees everything small; him, I don’t know how he manages, he always sees everything large. If you think 60 cm for a table, he will think 90, the table is much better, even if 60 is sufficient, and the extra he added becomes necessary. That’s one of the lessons I learned with him.
In large spaces, he creates what I had never seen before: podiums at different levels, in an amphitheater style, so that people in the back benefit from the view.
He has a projection into the future that is astonishing; he is ahead of everything, current events, fashion, and he has a kind of prescience of what is being done. He has been so copied and poorly copied that there is a tendency to judge Slavik by the copies others have made, but I, who am very close to him, know exactly what the copies are because I know perfectly well what mistakes have been made by others, and which he does not make.
He will place 150 people in a relatively cramped space and the 150 people will be terribly comfortable, whereas an architect will place 100 and the seats will be very poorly arranged.
He increases turnover, makes everyone money, and he is not expensive at all. He is not a businessman, but taking into account the commercial profitability of the establishment is what he taught me first.
