REDEFINING LUXURY

9 Questions for Chef Marcel Ravin

By Sarah-Linda Forrer


In our "9 Questions" interview series, we sit down with chefs, food lovers, and hospitality professionals we admire to talk about food and the culinary world. Through their personal memories, unique perspectives, and the experiences that have shaped their approach to gastronomy, these interviews offer a glimpse into the minds of those shaping the way we eat.

To start with a bang, we talked to Marcel Ravin, two Michelin-starred chef of Blue Bay Marcel Ravin** in Monaco.


I very much admire Chef Marcel Ravin for his culinary philosophy, his dedication to sustainable gastronomy, and the way he seamlessly blends Caribbean and Mediterranean flavors. I had the chance to meet him in Monaco. We had a fascinating conversation, and I was lucky enough to experience his cuisine at lunch.
Born in Martinique, he trained in France before becoming Executive Chef at Monaco’s Blue Bay in 2005. Under his leadership, the restaurant earned two Michelin stars. His cuisine, infused with the bold spices and ingredients of his Caribbean roots, tells a story of heritage and innovation. What I admire most is his commitment to sustainability—sourcing from his organic garden and local producer —proving that exceptional cuisine can also be responsible and thoughtful.
"The problem is that people forget the origins in their pursuit of originality."

1. What is your "Madeleine de Proust"?

It's cocoa.
My grandmother used a cocoa paste to make her chocolate when I was a child, and that scent has stayed with me. Every time I have a piece of chocolate in my hands, it inspires me and takes me back to that childhood taste. From these flavors, I am also able to create new things.

I work with it a lot, both in savory and sweet versions.

2. Is there a table code or etiquette that you prefer to ignore?

No, no. For me, there are no strict rules. The most important thing is for customers to feel comfortable in a restaurant. Not everyone is familiar with etiquette, and I want every customer to feel at home in the restaurants I work with. These restaurants are deeply connected to my identity and culture, which is essential to me.

We even have dishes that can be eaten with hands, and people should have that freedom. Of course, cutlery is important, but I’m not someone who imposes a specific way of eating. Everyone should be able to choose. That’s what makes the experience interesting—transforming a meal into a moment of pleasure and freedom.

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

My mother.
I’ve had the privilege of cooking for presidents, royal families, and important figures. But the person I’d love to invite is my mother.

She is very far from me, and it has been years since she has been able to see what I do. She knows what I do, but I’d love for her to sit in my restaurant and taste my cuisine, inspired by my childhood memories with her and adapted to today’s tastes.

I would let her taste all my dishes because each one tells a story. I would love for her to tell me if she shares the same memories. I hope that one day she can discover my world and my evolution. We grew up in a very modest family, and I believe that through my journey, I give her a sense of pride. That would be an extraordinary moment for me.

We shouldn’t wait until our parents are gone to realize that we should have given them such moments. They are the foundation of our creation, the ones who nurtured our passion.

4. Is there a food trend that you secretly think should disappear? And one you’d like to see?

The problem today is precisely this idea of trends, which make things fleeting. For me, cuisine shouldn’t be ephemeral. It’s easy to follow a trend, but the important thing is to create lasting pleasure, a memory that stays.

There’s too much gimmickry in some kitchens, flavor combinations made just because they’re trendy, micro-portions because it's fashionable.
I think we need to go back to basics, to the essentials, to authentic cuisine.

Every cuisine has an origin, and for it to be meaningful, each chef must infuse it with a part of their identity. The problem is that people forget the origins in their pursuit of originality.
A great dish, a great chef, is one that you remember long after you’ve eaten it.
As Paul Bocuse said: “The hardest thing is to last. Who will people remember?” I want people to remember my cuisine, and that’s why I wanted to master the basics before writing my own story—without forgetting who I was.

"Every cuisine has an origin, and for it to be meaningful, each chef must infuse it with a part of their identity."

5. Has there been an experience that changed your approach to cooking or food in general?

Yes, my trip to Japan about thirteen years ago. I was given free rein to express myself in two restaurants that were placed at my disposal. The enthusiasm of the customers for my cuisine pushed me to go further, to break free from the constraints that sometimes held me back. I completely let myself go with what I wanted to do. I found total freedom of expression.

It was an incredibly exciting, poetic, and moving experience. The Japanese people I worked with also gave their best to satisfy me. People say that perfection can never be reached, but I felt like I came close to it.



When I returned, I decided to stop following trends and to stop cooking just to please. I wanted to cook in a way that reflected who I am, that brought me joy and passion, as it has since my childhood. My team and I decided to stop trying to be like others. This realization led us to our first Michelin star.
When the inspector came to dine, he told me: “You have finally arrived. We can now see the identity of a man. We've been following you for a long time, but we couldn’t understand where you wanted to go, what story you wanted to tell. And today, we can see your identity.”
The following year, I received my star.

Of course, it is essential to be open to the world, but I realized that I might not fully know the richness of my own culture. This Creole culture, to me, is the very essence of my cuisine. My story is marked by mixing, and it is this blend that allows my dishes to resonate across different cultures.  

When I became aware of this heritage, embarked on a true journey of self- discovery.
I sought to understand myself better, to explore my history. This history is not limited to my birth, it has deep roots in an ancient blending of cultures.
One day, my mother revealed that my great-great-grandfather was Chinese. This discovery pushed me to explore my origins further and to understand what it really means to be Caribbean. I understood that Creole is not just a language but a universe in itself. Writers like Édouard Glissant and Aimé Césaire have beautifully described this identity, the concept of "négritude," and everything that comes with it. From that point on, I began to write my own culinary story.

"It’s not enough to talk about seasonality; we must embody it every day, including during major occasions like the end-of-year holidays or Valentine’s Day."

6. Is there a small change that could make a big difference if adopted by everyone?

Yes: to truly practice what we preach. It’s not enough to talk about seasonality; we must embody it every day, including during major occasions like the end-of-year holidays or Valentine’s Day. Just because it’s Valentine’s Day doesn’t mean it should be synonymous with strawberries, and we shouldn’t feel obligated to serve them for dessert. Nature is incredibly rich, but we don’t always take the time to observe, listen, and analyze it.

We talk a lot about sustainable cuisine and the environment, but we, as chefs, must be true role models for future generations. Some ingredients come from far away, from our homelands, and don’t grow locally, but it is still possible to cook while respecting what nature offers us each day—whether it’s fish, meat, or vegetables.

We all know the planet is suffering, that it is fragile, yet we often settle for nice speeches in front of the media. But do we really practice what we preach? The problem is that we have forgotten that we are first and foremost artisans, not artists. Today, many chefs want to be perceived as artists before being artisans.

7. Is there an ingredient you think you should stop using?

If I had to name one ingredient that we might need to avoid, it would be avocado. People put it everywhere—in toasts, salads, etc. However, avocado farming poses a real environmental problem. Most of the avocados we consume come from Mexico or Africa and require an enormous amount of water, not to mention the ecological impact of their transportation. We consume avocados that ripen in containers on ships.

Personally, I don’t use them systematically. If I do, it’s because I can source them locally from Menton, where there are avocado trees. But I refuse to put them on the menu if I cannot guarantee a sustainable source. Unfortunately, customer demand is high, and many don’t understand the issues, even when we explain them. But it’s an ongoing educational effort, both for our teams and our customers. For example, restaurateurs should take the time to explain to customers why they don’t serve guacamole out of season.

It’s a daily battle. You will never find a fruit tart with berries in my display case in the middle of winter.

8. Are you an epicurean? What does that mean to you?

Yes! Being an epicurean isn’t just about enjoying good food. It’s about taking the time to understand what we eat. When I go to the market, I select my vegetables carefully to cook them simply but in a way that makes them delicious and brings pleasure to others and to myself.

In haute cuisine, there comes a moment when you need to pause and reflect.
Eating is a sacred act. Not everyone has the privilege of enjoying a multi-course meal with different textures and techniques.

So yes, I am an epicurean who pays attention to what I am given. I stay seated at the table. I won’t get up to smoke a cigarette between courses, and I won’t be on my phone.

Being an epicurean is about education, respect, and appreciation.

9. What is true luxury for you?

Freedom of expression.

You know, so many people can’t say what they think. Yet, if we listened to them, things would progress. But often, we prefer not to know, not to hear.
People self-censor to protect their jobs or positions.

It is important for freedom of expression to return to what it once was. We live in free countries, yet invisible barriers prevent people from speaking out. Expressing oneself doesn’t mean seeking conflict — it means being able to exchange and accept disagreement.

So for me, true luxury is the freedom to express oneself.

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