Every menu begins, in truth, at 5:45 in the morning, on a stretch of cobblestone in the 12th arrondissement. A meditation on the rhythm of a single Parisian market, and the way a kitchen learns to think with its feet.
Read the essay →A short defense of restraint, written after a particularly indulgent Thursday in February.
In the rue de Sèvres cave, learning the slow grammar of affinage from one of its quietest masters.
A return to the kaiseki kitchen of Kikunoi, and what a French cook learns by sitting still.
A thousand years of preservation, and what it still has to teach a contemporary kitchen.
Élise Marchand on the case for old wine, and what we miss when we drink too young.
Marcus Lefèvre on the small art of serving the solitary guest, and why it is the truest test of a restaurant.
Four essays a year, posted at the change of each season. No marketing. No discount codes. Only writing about the kitchen.