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Time of India

A vegetarian at Granite, or, how to melt in Paris with grace 'n' ganache

Led by chef Yoshitaka Takayanagi, the Granite team Tempura carrot The amuse-bouche of hummus was not just a spread, it was a statement 'Choose your knife,' we were told, as if selecting a wand at Ollivanders The pre-dessert cherry ice with hibiscus as palate cleanser was so cleansing, it could have solved diplomatic crises Securing a table at a Michelin-starred restaurant in Paris is pretty much like convincing a Frenchman to abandon his baguette—possible, but only under extraordinary circumstances. And so it was that my beleaguered colleague, already juggling lunch logistics like a Cirque du Soleil contortionist, found himself accommodating a last-minute addition: yours truly, a wandering vegetarian armed with no reservation, but plenty of persuasion. Thus began our midday odyssey to Granite—not to be confused with the countertop, but equally hard to get is on Rue Bailleul in the Halles district. The street, a 5 min walk away from the Louvre, is historic for being home to what a soup salesman, Mathurin Roze de Chantoiseau a.k.a. Monsieur Boulanger, is credited with opening around 1765 -- the first modern 'restaurant', the term initially referring to a restorative broth, a standard at taverns and inns for travellers. The first restaurant, rather obviously named Boulanger, marked a revolutionary shift in dining culture. It introduced privacy of individual tables and choice of meals from a menu, a stark contrast to the communal, unsophisticated meals of taverns and back here in the 21c., a 6-course vegetarian meal, curated by chef Yoshitaka Takayanagi – who had taken over after his stint at La Scène Thélème near Arc de Triomphe -- awaited us at Granite. We were warned in advance to arrive by 1.30 sharp -- or the soufflé shall not rise!The restaurant, abiding by France's famously uncompromising labour laws, promised us 2 hours of gastronomic ballet before the curtain fell at 3.30. We waltzed in at only space to accommodate our party of four hardcore vegetarians was a charming corner table on the ground floor—cosy, if your definition of cosy includes a mild simulation of Mumbai in May. The air conditioning, like a faded French romance, tried its best, but fell short. Enter Fredrick and Sarra, the unsung heroes of this tale, who dashed across to a neighbouring restaurant and returned like knights with a borrowed stand now to the food. Oh là là! The food! Each course arrived like a meticulously choreographed opera—hostesses serving us in perfect synchrony of porcelain and produce. Phone cameras clicked. Tongues danced. Our Nutcracker Suite amuse-bouche of hummus was not just a spread, it was a statement: a minimalist brushstroke on the canvas of our palates. The smoked pickled onion brought tears, not of sorrow but of came vegetarian sushi that looked like it had graduated from an art school in Kyoto. This was followed by a parade of tomatoes so colourful, I briefly considered hanging them in the Louvre next door. Sautéed spinach led us into a crescendo of the showstopper? Morel mushrooms with spinach gnocchi, prepared and presented by Chef Takayanagi himself, who described his creation with the quiet reverence of a monk unveiling a sacred scroll. The gnocchi did not need explanation—it needed a standing the cutlery had its moment. 'Choose your knife,' we were told, as if selecting a wand at Ollivanders. I picked one with a wooden handle, convinced it added character to my as our senses were considering retirement, came the pre-dessert: cherry ice with hibiscus, a palate cleanser so cleansing it could have solved diplomatic crises. But that was merely the overture. The final act: chocolate and banana with chocolate mousse. This wasn't dessert—it was a sonnet Shakespeare would have written had he traded iambic pentameter for all, Granite offered not merely a meal, but a culinary rasa-lila, where every sense was invited to dance. Tucked away in a charming Parisian alley, this restaurant is a celebration not just of food, but of thoughtful hospitality, artisanal flair, and triumph of imagination. And yes, even vegetarians can find heaven in Paris. You just have to get there by 1.29.