There’s always a bit of Robuchon in the rooms where his alumni land. You may recognize many of his signatures, like the uniform ring of dots as precise as a watch face and the foie-stuffed game bird. But at Gaddi’s, the luster of place takes over.

Seventy two years on, there’s still nothing quite like dinner at the Peninsula Hong Kong’s crown jewel: the discreet private elevator; the blue Tai Ping carpets; the generous acreage between tables, so wide you could snake a tuk-tuk through; the centerpiece of chandelier, as big as palm tree at full mast; the mister and his mistress at Table Four canoodling over caviar and Krug; and the live band enabling these naughty advances. Gaddi’s is where servers take hospitality seriously and who happily field requests for rowdier songs like the ‘Power of Love’. No one, alas, comes here to be judged. Not even the (apparently) single Mr. King.

Those who take food seriously, as they often do here, will find ab accessible, mostly a la carte menu peddling old-school classics, with refreshingly sizable entrées you rarely see in Michelin rooms these days — outside of, say, Le Cinq or L’Ambroisie. Yes, the restaurant’s latest chef, @nicolas.annesophie , is a Robuchon disciple, but the foundation of her training shows up most in the precision of her cooking. Consider the taut, glossy jus; the uniform bronzing on those shatteringly-crisp, potato-wrapped paupiettes; the trio of celtuce, tournéed into miniature canoes, escorting sweet, judiciously poached langoustines.

But Nicolas, unlike her predecessors, smuggles in notes of levity here and there. Which means beneath those heavy, silver cloches and the familiar choreography, you’ll find bearnaise with an electrifying snap or an undercurrent of provencal-ian brightness, like a delicate crab tart set over tomato gelée.

I’ve been lucky to have eaten at Gaddi’s over two decades, and though there have been lulls, I’m happy to report that the kitchen is back in tune, and that the captains still straighten a fork by feel.