Remember Pascal Henry?

He was the 46-year-old Swiss gastronome who decided to eat at every Michelin three-star restaurant in the world. Henry planned to do this at the rabbit pace of one restaurant per day. (Maybe there were rest days or days for travel, in the style of the Tour de France, but this was the general idea.) At the time, there were 68 Michelin three-star restaurants worldwide.

Henry ate his way through 40 temples of gastronomy. Then, while dining at Ferran Adri's El Bulli, often referred to as the finest restaurant in the world, something strange happened. As the clock struck midnight, Henry disappeared. Not literally, of course: Henry said (to a journalist) that he was stepping out for a minute to get a calling card (like a business card, but with personal details). He left, and never came back.

The disappearance received heavy media coverage. Reporters always mentioned Henry's everyday occupation: back in Switzerland, he was a deliveryman on a scooter. They sketched Henry's gastronomic world tour. Sometimes, they pointed to the friendship between Henry and chef Paul Bocuse. Usually, they mentioned that there were no leads but that Spanish police and Interpol were working on the case.

Late last summer, there was a follow-up story: Henry had resurfaced. Not at the bottom of a Spanish quarry or floating head-down in the Mediterranean, but back at home in Switzerland. He hadn't really disappeared, after all; he'd just walked away.

According to news reports, ATM surveillance cameras photographed Henry withdrawing funds from his account, back in Switzerland, starting a few days after dinner at El Bulli. So the Interpol alert and the Spanish police investigation were called off.

Since then, the world has heard nothing further from Pascal Henry. This is too bad, because there's still plenty of mystery and, on my part at least, plenty of curiosity.

Why did Henry disappear?

Cynics suspect that he exhausted his funds and retreated shamefully. Some maintain that Henry skipped out of El Bulli without paying his bill. I'm skeptical: a thrifty Swiss, who saved up for this trip, wouldn't have miscalculated.

Romantics (like me) harbor other suspicions: maybe, after a memorable dinner at El Bulli, Henry was seized by the belief that he'd reached –and passed– the peak, and that it would all be downhill for the rest of his trip. Of course, he might have thought differently in the morning. But as he brought a memorable dinner to a close, maybe he thought: this is it; nothing can be better, nothing cas be as good.

Here's an equally romantic alternative: El Bulli as Scheherazade. As told in the Thousand and One Nights, Persian king Schahryar became despondent upon discovery the queen's infidelity. After having his wife executed, Schahryar embarked upon a long series of one-night stands, each concluding with an execution. Then Schahryar wed Scheherazade, and everything changed: one night with his young bride led to another, then another, and so on. On what point did Scheherezade differ from her many predecessors? She told stories. Suspenseful stories. Stories that left the king eager to hear more, the next night. What if El Bulli exercised such an attraction over Henry, leaving him eager to return (the next night!) and causing him to lose his resolve to try another Michelin three-star restaurant?