Decadent distractions

As culinary experiences go, it had the edge on fish and chips eaten out of paper wrapping, and not even newspaper, while walking from Shepherd's Bush to football at Loftus Road.

  Photograph: ParisDailyPhoto (Eric Tenin)

Exactly one week on, just as fans had jostled for position in the fish shop queue on the Uxbridge Road, sharp-elbowed Parisian ladies in cocktail dresses were making their presence felt at the Hotel Lutetia in the grander St Germain des Prés.

But who's to blame them? They'd sat or stood loyally through the 40th annual Prix Culinaire International Pierre Taittinger awards ceremony.

Those able to squeeze into the small hall where the announcements were made had warmly applauded Charly de Wijs, the Dutch winner of this year's prize. The rest nattered a little noisily in an adjoining room.

Trophies presented, it was now time for the serious business of the evening, a sumptuous buffet in the Salon Président of this palatial hotel on the corner of the Boulevard Raspail and Rue de Sèvres.

I always feel slightly uncomfortable in the Lutetia. It's the thought that within these walls people were tortured by German agents during the occupation of Paris.

Last night's feeding frenzy deepened that discomfort, though not quite enough to ruin the appetite.

Guests surrounded each serving table, two or three lines deep at the most popular ones, presenting a formidable obstacle to satisfying that appetite.

Fortified by a glass of bubbly, I persevered. It was worth the effort.

The president of the judging panel, Jacques Pourcel, celebrated co-owner with his twin brother of the Jardin des Sens in Montpellier, was lurking close to the first table entering the salon, and this seemed as good a recommendation as you could expect.

With his fellow judges, a well fed looking line-up, M Pourcel had spent part of the day in the kitchens of the Ecole Ferrandi for the deciding round of what Taittinger calls its gastronomic Nobel.

The seven finalists were each asked to prepare a whole turbot cooked with two sauces, one of which had to be Champagne-based. Francophone foodies should consult the fuller description* below.

In any event, Pourcel looked and sounded the kind of man who knew a thing or too about la bouffe, so I hovered close by. He was sampling the duck foie gras creation** of last year's winner, Jérôme Ryon, from the Carcassonne restaurant La Barbacane, and it turned out to be as delicious as anything else on offer around the room.

Before making my retreat - the place was probably too crowded with people I didn't know to enjoy for long - I had muscled my way through to the agneau d'Oc cooked with garlic, watched huge plates of oysters being rushed through by waiters to replenish depeleted stocks and grabbed a slice of Tomme de Savoie from a cheese display that also had Cantin, Beaufort, Chêne and Pigouille.

In a city packed with beggars, it is difficult not to feel a pang of guilt when taking part in such a feast, even if you do leave early. But then, they're unlikely to ask me back again next year.

* Each finalist was asked to prepare: Turbot presenté entier, farci de homard et nappé avec trois garnitures libres, 2 sauces (dont une sauce Champagne et un libre) et une tarte au citron meringuée.

** Full description of M Ryon's contribution to the buffet: Foie gras de canard cuit au naturel, "chouchou" et marmelade d'orange sur une brioche tiède.