The macaroni and cheese in the golden egg, served as part of the tasting menu at the French Laundry, was absurdly delicious. The short noodles, cut by hand, had a tender spring. They were bound in a light, melting cloud of Parmesan. The result was simple, built on the retro American dishes that the chef, Thomas Keller, once wittily reimagined as high culture and maxed out to total extravagance.

The meal was structured a little oddly, jumping from a dish of poached lobster directly to an English muffin with a pool of burrata, which seemed like a cheese course, then to the macaroni and cheese. But regardless of the sequence, the dishes, and the ways they were delivered, reminded me of what’s possible when both the kitchen and the wait staff are operating at the highest level: sustained indulgence in an atmosphere of total comfort.

The servers brought the gold-rimmed dish sets out and placed them down in unison. After lifting the egg tops and revealing the macaroni, they rained down a messy shower of black truffles, half on the food and half on the table, filling the air with perfume.

It was a stunning production. But the oversize golden egg on a series of gold plates did seem archaic — and not just because the French Laundry has used this presentation, for various dishes, for years. In the Trump era, gold seems a bit too eager to assert its value.

I found the most vivid moments at the French Laundry were more quiet and unexpected — a gleaming lump of sea urchin with a little spicy mango purée, served with no fanfare.

At the end of a meal, caught up in conversation with friends, I forgot about my espresso. A few minutes went by and maybe the coffee cooled, and the toffee-colored crema dissipated. Without asking or making a show of it, a server brought out a hot one to replace it. The staff exuded confidence and warmth, and their attentiveness was thorough ( even after the check was paid) but never intrusive.