Blogs and Stories
A Superstar Chef Does the Unthinkable
A conversation with Olivier Roellinger, the famous French chef who is giving back his Michelin stars.
Three weeks ago, my partner and I had the best meal of our lives. We had made the pilgrimage to Cancale, France, specifically to dine at the Relais Gourmand Olivier Roellinger, the only restaurant in Brittany to be awarded three-Michelin stars (the food world's highest honor).
At the first bite of each of eight courses we closed our eyes in reverent silence, trying to work out what, exactly, we were tasting. There was lobster with cocoa, chili pepper and lime seed oil. Lamb with tamarind. Poached pears in curried cream. It was pleasantly disorienting, like being momentarily lost in a foreign city and regaining one's bearings at the sight of a familiar landmark.
It was a meal so unusual and exquisite we almost wept. We promised ourselves to return year after year after year.
“It’s not accurate to describe me as a French chef. Above all I am a chef of the sea. The cuisine of the sea has never had borders.”
Just last week, we learned we would never have the chance. Roellinger, who worked twenty-six years to earn his three Michelin stars, had decided to hand them back and close his restaurant. The French food media was stunned. Imagine De Niro announcing he's giving up his Oscars; in France, this is the equivalent. Roellinger, only 53, is a softspoken culinary hero whose personal legend looms as large as his professional reputation.
In a statement announcing that Relais Gourmand O. Roellinger would close its doors on 14 December, he explained: "After twenty-six happy years behind my ovens, my physical condition no longer permits me to do two services every day … and it's not my nature to make others work in my name for very long."
I think it came down to a simple palindrome: success is getting in the way of who he is, and it's who he is that led to his success. Roellinger has always been an outsider in the world of haute French cuisine. Born in a sea merchant's house in Cancale, he was studying for a degree in the sciences when an attack by a crowbar-wielding gang left him in a coma, then confined to a wheelchair for two years. Weekend dinner parties organized to lift his spirits led him to see cooking as a more fulfilling pursuit. He changed careers, and vowed to spend the rest of his newly-reclaimed life enjoying it.
In 1982, Roellinger saved the sea merchant's house from foreclosure by opening a table d'hôte (prix fixe restaurant) inside. Everyone thought he was crazy to attempt haute cuisine in a land known for simple fare such as crepes and oysters on the half-shell, but within two years his intricately spiced, comfortably priced cuisine earned him his first Michelin star. A second followed in 1988.
It was a long haul to the third. Some say the Michelin judges, big on diplomas, didn't quite know what to do with a chef with just two years of cooking school and a few internships under his belt. In the meantime, along with his wife of 26 years, Jane, he opened two inns (one housing a more informal bistro), a compound of luxury cottages and a salon de thé. A spice boutique and cooking school now complete the "Maisons de Bricourt" armada.
Eight days before Roellinger made his announcement, I had the chance to sit down with him in Cancale to discuss his history and love of cuisine. At the time, there was no hint whatsoever of the shakeup to come.
"Growing up Malouin," he told me, referring to natives of the St. Malo region where Cancale is located, "You don't play cowboys and Indians. You play pirate captains." This heritage has so influenced his cuisine that Roellinger is often referred to as "the privateer chef." A description he accepts less comfortably is "French": "I am French, of course," he said, "But it's not accurate to describe me as a French chef. Above all I am a chef of the sea. Chefs of the sea, whatever coast they happen to live on, all have the same ingredients to work with: what's in their pantry, whatever comes out of the potager (kitchen garden), and what arrives off the conveyer belt from the ocean every day. The cuisine of the sea has never had borders."
John Talks Joe
Lloyd Grove is editor at large for The Daily Beast. He is also a frequent contributor to New York magazine and was a contributing editor for Condé Nast Portfolio. He wrote a gossip column for the New York Daily News from 2003 to 2006. Prior to that, he wrote the Reliable Source column for the Washington Post, where he spent 23 years covering politics, the media, and other subjects.
Being a chef, when you have a physical presence in the kitchen, is a very physically demanding young man's game. Very few old chefs can work 12 plus hours on their feet in the constant sturm und drang of a professional kitchen of such high quality while procuring and prepping food as well as possibly having to run the day-to-day business.
I would much rather have a chef be honest about not being the kitchen and letting his talented staff make their own names than have a Food Network star just slap his name on a menu he or she planned and never actually serve food to anyone save for the investors that approved the initial tasting menu. Which is more honest and which is more of a fraud to the consumer?
What an interesting article for us "infuriating foodies". Though I can't appreciate making a pilgrimage to a location simply to eat at a specific restaurant or a meal that would make me cry it was so good, Roellinger's story is utterly fascinating.
Excellent, informative, insightful interview/article. Thank you.
I thought it was interesting that this article appeared so close to the release of the article denouncing the very behavior expressed by the article's author. That aside, I found it to be an interesting insight into the level of dedication of a revered chef. As someone not terribly knowledgeable about high cuisine, I found it a fascinating look into a world that I have never been fortunate enough to experience for myself.
I began my restaurant career by learning pastry arts from my grandfather in 1974. I was 13. Two years later, I spent a week as a dishwasher in a German restaurant before becoming prep cook. 25 years later I was running my own restaurant but age had crept up on me. After years of getting into the low boy coolers, my knees are shot. I've lost most of the cartilege in my knees and will need a knee replacement. The only thing I can do now is write about food and shre my experiences with others. My kitchen days are over. I know how he must feel having to say goodbye to the line. (Tony Bourdain has the same problem).
Great article, and thanks.
what a great article! i want this to be a PBS special or something.
I recently ate at an incarnation of Wolfgang Puck's Spago on Maui. I had remembered it as an excellent food experience. This time the risotto was "crunchy" & the overpriced menu uninspired & so-so. I thought what would Wolfgang Puck think of this mess but that's what happens when you lose control of that which is cooked in your name
A very interesting article, although I'm not sure I'd call the act unthinkable since Marco Pierre White did something similar in the late 90's.
I have just returned from Relais & Ch�teaux's annual congress in Vienna, where Olivier was reluctantly called up on stage to one point to share his news with the 479 fellow chefs and hoteliers of this esteemed association. It was incredibly moving, with many brought to tears and all compelled to stand long on their feet in applause and shouts of adulation. In an industry that is too often fueled by ego, I must tell you that Olivier is the real deal. He has a purity and sincerity about him that is, I think, unequaled. If you ever met the man and spent time with him, you would recognize these traits...as Amelia did so beautifully in her piece. Thank you for sharing that story with us.
Thank you.
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