When the lights go down in the restaurant, I instinctively wait for someone to appear bearing a dessert with candles and singing happy birthday — or joyeux anniversaire — given we are in France.

However, no one appears and we sit silently in the darkness. I wonder if there has been a power cut, but then there is, incongruously, the sound of birdsong coming over the sound system. Finally, we glimpse waiters silently placing bowls on tables. The birdsong gets louder before stopping abruptly as the lights go up.

A gasp runs round the restaurant. On each table there is a bird’s nest. The effect is magical. Dry ice wisps around the bowls, clearing to reveal a moss nest containing two small “fried eggs” —