Redefining Luxury

9 questions for Arnaud Lallement

By Sarah-Linda Forrer

In our 9 Questions Interview Series, I sit down with chefs, food lovers, and hospitality professionals I admire to talk about food and the culinary world. 

I try to get a glimpse into the minds of those shaping the way we eat, through their memories, opinions and lessons around food. What has shaped their approach to gastronomy, and where do they think the future of food is going?

Arnaud Lallement is a renowned French chef, born in the heart of the Champagne region, and I’m proud to count him among my Michelin-starred clients. Son of restaurateurs, he developed a passion for cooking at an early age by watching his father, Jean-Pierre, at work in the family restaurant’s kitchen. After graduating from the Strasbourg Hotel School, he honed his craft alongside great names in French gastronomy such as Roger Vergé, Michel Guérard, and Alain Chapel.

In 1997, Arnaud joined his father at L'Assiette Champenoise, the family establishment located in Tinqueux, near Reims. In 2000, he took over the reins of the restaurant and set out to carry on the family legacy. Under his leadership, L'Assiette Champenoise regained its first Michelin star in 2001, earned a second in 2005, and achieved the ultimate recognition with a third star in 2014.

Arnaud Lallement’s cuisine is distinguished by a perfect mastery of acidity, balanced by the natural sweetness of the ingredients, offering an authentic and emotional tasting experience. He places great importance on showcasing seasonal produce and working closely with local producers, reflecting his deep connection to his native region. His motto, “Mangez vrai!” (“Eat true!”), illustrates his commitment to sincere cooking that respects the original flavors of each ingredient.

Today, L'Assiette Champenoise is not only a three-Michelin-starred restaurant, but also a five-star hotel, a true embodiment of excellence and hospitality in the Champagne region.
"I always tell my front-of-house team: work seriously, but don’t take yourselves too seriously."

1. What is your madeleine de Proust?

Champagne. I’m from Champagne, I was born there. I'm surrounded by winemaker friends who produce excellent things, so it's true that champagne is what I always enjoy the most. I became a grandfather two months ago, and ten days after our granddaughter was born, we dipped our finger into a glass of champagne and touched it to her lips. That’s always the very first memory for people from Champagne.

Then, on the culinary side, there are certain products I always get excited about in restaurants. Langoustine is one of them. There’s a natural iodized quality in langoustine, with a vegetal note inside, that works beautifully with champagne. So we always come back to champagne, really. Those two are a bit like my signature products.

2. Is there a dining etiquette or convention that you prefer to ignore?

Malice and a lack of empathy in service. That’s something I can’t stand, no matter where we are. For me, kindness and empathy aren’t a matter of price, or the category of the restaurant, or the budget, or the setting. Anyone in a service role, whether in a pizzeria or a three-star restaurant, must demonstrate kindness and empathy. The joy of doing the work, the joy of being around guests… That’s essential to me. It can ruin a meal.

Service mistakes don’t bother me. In every house, from zero to three stars, there are young people starting out, still in training. You can be served bread incorrectly, or there might be a mix-up with the butter. But we have to accept the learning curve of young staff — otherwise, we’ll stop training people altogether, and that’s a disaster.

That said, a mistake made with a smile and genuine empathy is always easier to accept than one made with a careless attitude. That’s why I always emphasize kindness.

I always tell my front-of-house team: work seriously, but don’t take yourselves too seriously.

3. If you could invite anyone to dinner, who would it be? And what would you cook for them?

I lost my father when I was very young. He was 50, I was 27. He never saw the evolution of the house, of my cooking. He passed away just after we received our first Michelin star. Later, with my wife, we got the second, then the third. So he never got to see any of that. If I had the supreme power to invite one person, it would be him.

And if I had that ultimate power, even just for one time... I think I’d cook everything I possibly could. Absolutely everything.

4. Is there a culinary trend you'd like to see disappear? And one you’d like to see emerge?

There are trends I like less, ones I don’t follow. And others that I do. Some trends, we even start ourselves. But there’s none I want to deny or see disappear.

If we look back twenty years, there was the Spanish molecular cuisine trend. It was never my thing. But even so, some techniques from that movement are still used today — discreetly. Then there was the Nordic wave, which didn’t really appeal to me either, but again, there were interesting elements.

So I think all trends should exist. They should be brought to light and talked about. You can always learn something, even from a direction you wouldn’t take yourself.

You need to keep an open mind. That doesn’t mean copying everything.

"That constant movement, the renewal of each season... That’s what excites me."

5. Has there been an experience that changed your relationship with food, or the way you eat or taste things?

There have been several, especially over the past 25 years. But the first big revelation came when I dined at Alain Ducasse’s.

Back then, 25 to 30 years ago, Ducasse was a giant, a sacred figure. His restaurant pushed every element to the highest level: the art of the table, the welcome, the wine cellar, the cuisine, the service... Everything was perfected.

He wasn’t just a great chef, he was also an exceptional restaurateur. I remember one dish in particular: an egg yolk with Paris mushrooms. Sounds simple, but it was perfect. Just like all of his dishes, there’s always that sense of perfection behind each bite.

He has an extraordinary palate, and he manages to bring every dish right to the edge of perfection. That’s the most beautiful thing.

6. Is there something about your creative process that you wish people understood?

I often start with the sauce. I’ve always been really into sauces. Even in the 2000s, when cuisine was becoming more minimalistic and influenced by molecular gastronomy, I still made sure to leave sauces on the table. At the time, sauces weren’t popular anymore — they were considered old-fashioned.

But today, sauces are back in fashion, and I’m happy to have contributed to that, along with chef friends like Yannick Alléno and Arnaud Donckele. The three of us helped bring sauces back to the forefront, and I’m really proud of that.

When I work on a dish — say, a turbot — I begin by imagining the sauce that will accompany it. Then I consider how to cook it, how to season it, what garnish it needs. But the sauce is central. It’s the soul of French cuisine.

I have a framework for my sauces: I always want to include three key elements — salinity, acidity, and bitterness. That’s my foundation.

Then, depending on the dish, I balance those flavors and play with textures — broths, jus, cream sauces, emulsions. The texture is essential; it brings out the dominant notes, whether it's the acidity or the bitterness.

7. What is your view on sustainable gastronomy?

It’s essential. When my generation started cooking 25 years ago, we immediately worked with seasonal and local products. But it wasn’t a communication strategy — it was common sense. Today, it’s become a communications tool, but back then, no one talked about working with local farmers — it was just normal.

It’s like brushing your teeth in the morning. You do it, but you don’t feel the need to tell everyone about it.

In my hotel-restaurant, we’ve implemented many things: a dehydrator for compost, a wine cellar managed sustainably, a digital wine list to avoid wasting paper...

We’ve drastically reduced our waste. In fact, we don’t have a trash bin in the kitchen. All our vegetable scraps are composted and go back into our garden.


But I don’t talk much about it. And sometimes I wonder: do our clients even want to hear about it? They come here to dream, to enjoy a timeless moment. And I’m not sure if bringing up ecology is the right thing in that moment.

What I want is for the client to enjoy their experience, and for me, as the restaurateur, to take care of the ecological responsibility. But without it ever affecting the experience. Sustainability should never feel like a burden to the guest. It’s on us to carry that weight.

To me, ecology is just common sense.

8. What inspires you?

The farmer’s market. Right now, it’s spring, and we’re seeing the first asparagus, the peas, the fava beans, the young greens… And we’re already thinking about the tomatoes that will come in two months.

That constant movement, the renewal of each season… that’s what excites me. If I lived in a country without seasons, I would be miserable.

We have a two-hectare park in the middle of the city. A small part is used for a garden, but our real vegetable garden is managed by a farmer just ten minutes away. He grows 1.5 hectares of produce exclusively for us.

"In our hotel-restaurant, the kitchen is the heart of everything."

9. What is the ultimate luxury for you?

Space. Room to breathe. Space between tables, a terrace, a proper bar, a spacious bedroom...

Luxury is air, light, greenery, big bay windows. And of course, the art of the table.

In our hotel-restaurant, the kitchen is the heart of everything. It has large windows, and it lives with the seasons. I want my team to feel the light, to see the snow, the rain, the sunshine. 

You can’t cook well if you can’t sense the weather outside.

Imagine this: it’s the middle of winter, you arrive in the morning around 8 or 8:30 a.m., and it’s still almost dark. I lived through that in Paris. I worked there for a few months. We’d enter the kitchen at 8 a.m., and it was dark; we’d leave at midnight, and it was still dark. We wouldn’t see daylight at all. And after three months, I burned out. It just wasn’t possible — I couldn’t go on like that.

And yet, I was young. Sometimes we think that when we’re young, we can handle anything. But the lack of natural light destroyed me. From that moment on, I quickly returned to the countryside. And the next place I went to work, I chose it specifically because I made sure that daylight came through the kitchen. Because for me, that’s essential. You can’t cook properly if you don’t feel the weather outside.

You can’t create something enjoyable without natural light. You can’t live the seasons if you can’t see them pass. That’s why, for me, it’s fundamental. Sometimes, when I taste a sauce, I tell the team: “Look, we’re entering spring now, so let’s lighten the sauces a bit, use a little less cream.” In summer, we use even less.

And sometimes, when a sauce is a bit too reduced, a bit too rich, I look up, glance outside, see the beautiful sunshine and think, “It’s spring — we want something lighter.” I tell them, “When you’re making your sauces, lift your head, look out the window, and you’ll see that you feel like making something more delicate.” And when winter comes, then we can slightly thicken our sauces again.

That’s how it works. In winter, most people crave a raclette or heartier dishes. But in summer, they don’t. I often tell the younger team members: “It’s exactly like this — in summer, on the beach, you want a tomato salad. But in winter, by the fireplace, you don’t want a tomato salad, and in summer, you don’t want a raclette.” For me, these things are obvious — it’s just common sense. That’s why we need an external view in our kitchens.

So yes, for me, luxury is space, having room, openness, and a view of greenery and the outdoors.

To see more:
Back to journal