Florida is a state I associate with traffic-clogged highways lined with fast food joints, body shops, psychic readers, and strip clubs. The locals call people like me Q-Tips.

Nevertheless, Annette and I were invited to a Florida wedding we couldn’t miss. As we started out for Logan Airport with boarding passes for a flight to Miami, the car thermometer read 6°above and soared to 9° by the time we arrived at the terminal. I can gripe about flat, scrubby landscape and the high-rise blighted beaches, but when you walk out of any Florida airport, including Miami International, you smell vegetation and warm soil. Coral Gables is an exception to my prejudiced view of the Sunshine State, and the Biltmore Miami Hotel, where our hosts had reserved a block of rooms has a lot of class. On the evening we arrived we went to dinner at the Plame d’Or restaurant in the hotel.

My memory reaches back to the day when waiters in French Restaurants were stiff and condescending. When you ordered, they’d repeat what you said, correcting your pronunciation. On at least one occasion I pronounced my selection properly, and a wannabe French snob got it wrong. Usually they managed to give me the feeling I’d somehow gotten in where I didn’t belong.

I remember a dinner in The Spanish Pavilion in New York City, which was a fashionable restaurant at the time. The wait staff hovered so closely we couldn’t relax. I’d take a sip of wine, and a waiter would instantly replace it in my glass. There was nothing like that at the Palme d’Or. We were attended by a team of wait people who were gracious hosts. They were knowledgeable about the food and wine and helpful as we made our choices from a five course tasting menu. They were solicitous about how well we liked the food and were pleased when we did.

To begin we both chose an appetizer listed as le pompano. The marinated fish was served cold and accompanied by crisp shallots and ginger foam. Deep fried shallots are what angels nibble instead of onion rings. This was my second encounter with foam, which is the de rigueur with any chef pretending to modernity. My previous experience was at the White Barn Inn in Maine where I was served an elaborate meal that was utterly lacking in sensual allure. The restaurant gets raves from critics, but I won’t be back for another try. Chef Gregory Pugin of Palme d’Or taught me that foam can be more than an affectation. In the hands of a talented practitioner it can enhance a dish with an aura of pure flavor without the weight of a sauce.

Annette had resolved that she was going to eat caviar, and she chose L’oeuf au caviar. An egg was wrapped in phyllo dough, perfectly deep fried, set on a bed of crème fraiche flecked with smoked salmon, and topped with a mound of osetra caviar. “Oh it spurted!” she exclaimed in delight as she dug her fork into the egg, and the yolk became a sauce for the little black sturgeon eggs. It was one of those exquisite pleasures one should allow oneself during one’s sojourn on earth.

She offered me a generous taste, and I managed to spare a bite of my foie gras poelle, which was seared foie gras, panettone, citrus compote, and granola. Young chefs have been straying outside the box for so long there is no more box, but one needs to be sure-footed to safely wander far from the established path. Yes there was granola on the plate, and panettone as well. It’s traditional to offer a taste of sweet with foie gras. Pairing it with sauterne is a classic combination, although not one I personally like. The small disk of panettone upon which the liver rested and the sweet little nuggets of granola made an enchanting mixture of taste and texture.

Next came the fish course. I’m a fan of monkfish so I chose lotte d’Atlantique. It was served on a bed of green lentils, wrapped in bacon, accompanied by roasted endives, enhanced with black olive sauce, and capped with a slice of black truffle. Annette selected le loup de Mediterranée. Also called branzino, this sea bass was served with cipollini mushrooms, carrots, black mushrooms and salsifis. This last we know as salsify, which is a weed in Florida. The roots may be eaten, but I if I got any in the sample she gave me I neglected to note the taste. There was a sauce made with Barolo wine and clams enriched with butter and cream. There were bits of bacon and a crown of leek foam. This sounds like a lot, but the elements retained their identity, and she grazed the plate finding delights that built a majestic whole like passages in a sonata.

For our next course we both chose a dish we’d been waiting for throughout the meal. It was la degustation du cochonett – a tasting of roast suckling pig. It comprised small bits from different parts of the animal including a succulent slice of pork belly, a savory blood sausage, and some crisp skin. With it were eggplant, porcini mushrooms, and a fan of golden apple slices.

The menu had an enchanting selection of sweet desserts, but I lusted after le chariot de fromages. All right it wasn’t a chariot; it was more like a cart, but considering its cargo I’ll grant their poetic excess. The cheeses were numerous, mostly French, and served at the perfect ripeness and temperature. Tommes, époisses, and blues were arrayed before me, and all I needed do is point. I was in fromage heaven. Strong in my memory is the little puddle of truffle-flecked honey that accompanied them.

In choosing the cheese, I was forgoing some delightful pastries, but I hadn’t the slightest regret, and besides the wait staff came around with a selection of little sweets to see us on our way. Our dinner at Palme d’Or was definitely a splurge, but it was more than a meal; it was an experience Annette and I will remember and talk about for a long time to come.