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As the afternoon progresses, the visitor is overwhelmed by a cacophony of sounds and a bouquet of smells. A peek into the larder is enough to tickle even the most jaded palate. Fresh foie gras de canard and turbot flown in from France, mallard ducks and wild morel mushrooms newly arrived from Washington State, plump pheasant and succulent little grouse shot in Scotland, live crayfish shipped up twice a week from New Orleans.
Shortly before 6, the dining room at Le Français has reached a state of burnished perfection. Above, dark wood beams and bronze chandeliers. Below, fresh flowers, crisp linen, the gleam of silver and crystal. Doris Banchet, the German-born wife of the chef, appears by the entrance in a chic black dress adorned with a golden rooster brooch, "the sign of good cuisine," she explains. Now it is the waiters, formal in their tuxedos, who take over, announcing the program and pacing the elaborate performance. The first guests arrive: James and Judy Horn, a pair of young Chicago attorneys. They are celebrating their tenth wedding anniversary. George, a jolly pink-cheeked waiter whose wife has stitched his name in yarn across his jacket, takes charge of what Banchet has labeled "Le Show," wafting a silver platter laden with treasures under the noses of the astonished Horns. There is a colorful vegetable pate studded with bits of broccoli and tomato as bright as jewels. A paupiette of smoked salmon filled with fluffy crab mousse. A lobster sausage served with two sauces—one made with sea urchins, the other with lobster. "They've shown us eight things already," giggles Judy Horn. "I shall never be able to remember which I like best." Says George: "We're going to come back for a test later—whoever scores the highest gets the biggest dessert." The Horns will return, though like most patrons, they reserve these caloric excursions for special occasions. Says Judy of tonight's feast: "I can feel my little arteries clogging already."
Banchet devised Le Show as a way of introducing his American clientele to the unfamiliar wonders of French haute cuisine. Through the inventiveness of the waiters, Le Show has evolved into a ritual of anticipation as each day's off-the-menu specials—often more than 15 dishes and as many sauces—are described and displayed in mouth-watering detail.
Eating at Le Français is serious business, and tablemates frequently converse with the intensity of opera buffs at intermission. Detroit Businessman Ed Connelly is a Le Français fan. He and his wife Pat popped into their eight-seat Cessna 421 a little over an hour ago and flew down to Wheeling just for dinner. They brought along Paul Mann, a wine importer, and his wife Rosi. The first courses are just arriving. Ed has ordered oysters: half a dozen embedded in their shells over spinach leaves and lobster mousse. Each is covered with julienne leeks and a beurre blanc sauce. Ed slips the first oyster into his mouth. His eyes close. There is a weighty pause as all at the table attend his reaction. His verdict: "It's like I've died and gone to heaven."