Bertrand Grébaut died on 2nd July, at 44, after a long illness he fought quietly and with great courage. The food world lost one of its most influential chefs. And a rare, genuinely kind man.
I met him for the first time in June 2015, on my first visit to Septime. I understood immediately what everyone had been talking about. The room was relaxed, the service warm, the plates precise. And the food was crazy delicious. Vivid, seasonal, mostly vegetal, cooked with a lightness nobody else in Paris had at the time. Ingredient quality and technique that belonged to fine dining, served with the atmosphere and fun of a bistro. It sounds obvious now, but it isn’t. Even today, few kitchens cook this way on that level, and the ones who do get it right were also shaped by Septime, directly or indirectly, whether they know it or not. In 2011, when he and Théo Pourriat opened on rue de Charonne, it was a quiet revolution, years ahead of its time. The 11th arrondissement instead of the 8th, a short menu instead of a thick one, trust instead of ceremony.
From then on, whenever I was in Paris, I went. Septime, Clamato, La Cave. Paris without one of Bertrand’s tables was not the same city. When he cooked at Lyle’s in London in 2016, both evenings sold out within an hour, and I was there, falling in love with a smoked beetroot with lardo and blood sauce – and I am not a beetroot lover. That dish tells you everything about the magic of his cooking. Ana Roš once said to me that Bertrand’s cuisine was for angels. I have never found a better description.
His path was not the usual one. Literature first, then graphic design, a spell as a graffiti artist, and only then Ferrandi, Passard’s Arpège, and a Michelin star at L’Agapé at 26. You could see the designer in everything he touched, in the typography of the menus, in the restraint of the plates. When he wrote for Haut de Gamme in 2015, he chose acidity as his favourite flavour, the thing that gives a dish its balance and its spine, and confessed he could never cook without butter. Precision and pleasure, that was him, in two paragraphs.
But what I will remember most is his humility. He stood entirely apart from the star system, though every ranking and every guide came to him anyway. Once, when I could not book Septime in advance, he arranged two seats for me at the counter. He said he kept those spaces for family and friends. That was Bertrand. At the centre of world gastronomy, and still the sweetest, most generous man in the room. Théo wrote that the collective was what Bertrand held dear and that it is what carries them now. A generation of young cooks passed through his kitchens and learned that excellence and kindness are not opposites.
My deepest condolences to Tatiana, to their children, to Théo, and to the whole team across Septime, Clamato, La Cave, Tapisserie and D’une île. Thank you, Bertrand, for every plate, every welcome, every seat at the counter. Your cuisine was for angels; now you are cooking for them.
Andreja Lajh is the founder of Haut de Gamme, a London-based agency working with chefs, restaurants and food producers worldwide. She writes about food, wine and the restaurant world at hautdegamme.net.