Solstice: Where the Seasons Pause – Paris 5e
There are places in Paris that whisper instead of shout. Where light and silence matter as much as seasoning. Solstice is one of them.
Chef Éric Trochon, Meilleur Ouvrier de France, has created something rare.: Solstice is a restaurant that doesn’t try to impress, but rather to express. Every plate is measured, balanced, and composed not for show, but for sensation. The space is hushed. The light is gentle. The service glides. And the meal unfolds like a quiet dialogue between season, soil, and soul.
Solstice doesn’t announce itself. No velvet ropes. No mirrors. It’s a room bathed in soft light and silence. You step in, and it feels like the world has pressed pause. The kind of pause you don’t want to break.
It began with a whisper — petits pois and Centogiorni from the Vesuvian slopes, in conversation with brocciu from Mireille Mameli, and a mint note so delicate it might’ve been a breeze. It was springtime, in spoonfuls. A silky Sole followed, paired with white asparagus and Osciètre caviar, in a Chardonnay sauce so refined it seemed to vanish before it arrived.
But the moment I’ll carry? The Breton blue lobster. Poached in butter, its tail nestled beside delicate gyoza filled with a silky lobster mousse. Deep in flavor, but never overpowering. The same richness returned in a sauce touched with kimchi, bringing just enough warmth to lift the whole plate. It was both clever and comforting, like someone told a childhood story in another language, and you still understood every word.
Then came the Filet de boeuf — grilled, glazed, and glowing with quiet depth. Rich without weight, tender without asking for attention. It lingered with a kind of grounded warmth, like something familiar you couldn’t quite name, only feel.
The final note was citrus — pomelo, bergamot, and a lemon cream so delicate it seemed to lift off the spoon. Nothing heavy, nothing loud. Just a finish that shimmered, like a window opening above the forest — quiet, green, and unexpected.
The wines? An entire story in themselves. The sommelier with a quiet smile and thoughtful manner asked gently for a budget, and then disappeared. He returned with bottles that not only respected it, but transcended it. My guests never knew. Discretion was the art, and generosity the result: a Saint-Joseph 2023 from Domaine Gangloff that hummed alongside the fish, and a 2021 Magis Châteauneuf-du-Pape that held its own next to the beef. Even the farewell sip of a dark, rounded Pineau François 1er was presented with the same quiet respect for ritual.
The menu was returned at the end of the evening, signed by Chef Trochon himself, as a quiet gesture of thanks. A final note to the evening. And later, a personal reply I will never forget:
“Votre critique justifie à elle seule les nombreuses heures que nous passons à conduire notre maison.”
In other words: “Thank you. You reminded us why we do what we do.”
We didn’t expect this meal, didn’t book weeks in advance or come chasing stars. And somehow, without words, they knew exactly how to care for us - from the first pour to the last quiet spoonful.
Solstice isn’t simply a meal. It’s the rarest of things in Paris: a place where you feel time slow down.
A place where just for a moment the seasons pause.
Solstice
45 rue Claude Bernard
Paris 5e
T : 09 88 09 63 52
Price : €€€€ (€150)
Open : Wednesday – Saturday : 12h-13h30 19ho0-21h00
Métro Stop : Censier-Daubenton