"Ducasse's transformation from the youngest ever three-star chef (age 33), to six-star super-chef, to international conglomerate has occurred with a swiftness that is breathtaking - and a little unsettling, leaving some to question whether the ubiquitous "Ducasse" is anything more than a brand name that says "fine cuisine" the same way that the name "Swanson" says TV dinners."











L'Atelier of Alain Ducasse :
The Artistry of a Master Chef
and His Proteges





































Although his schedule of 'round-the-world openings and appointments, which he undertakes with a supporting entourage, would take its toll on the sturdiest CEO, the forty-five year old Ducasse maintains that he does not suffer jet lag and needs no sleep beyond what he is afforded in his business-class seat: "I am not stressed," he told Fortune with characteristic froideur between sips of espresso, "I prefer to make others stressed."
Turbot Without Genius:
The Travails of Alain Ducasse.
by C.S. Stone


"Turbot without genius is better than genius without turbot."
Alain Ducasse
I

The last twelve months have been busy ones for Alain Ducasse, the planet's most famous, and most diversified, French chef. In December 1999 alone, the restless Ducasse displayed an entrepreneurial energy that makes Martha Stewart seem dull in comparison: At the Hotel Saint Geran on the island of Mauritius, Ducasse premiered Spoon des Iles, a replica of his bubblegum-ice-cream-serving Parisian bistro; he then transformed, with a business partner, an 18th century Provencal abbey into an exclusive country inn; next, he launched www.ducasse-online.com, giving the ever-growing number of Ducasse faithful a cyber opportunity to purchase Ducasse cookbooks, Ducasse-approved cookware (a silver-plated duck and lobster press, 7845F), and Ducasse-sanctioned preprepared gourmet foods (foie gras, cassoulet, civet of hare), priced conveniently in both francs and euros.

But what might seem a full plate to some was just an hors d'oeuvre for the man Gael Greene has dubbed "Robo-Chef." In April 2000, Ducasse brought forth London Spoon. ("In what can only be described as the most exciting new restaurant launch in the most exciting new hotel in the most exciting city in the world, the restaurant in Ian Schrager's eagerly-awaited and unabashedly hip new Sanderson hotel in London, brings together a mind-bending array of talent," so began the unabashedly modest press release.) By July, while a few critics grumbled about franchise sprawl, yet another Spoon materialized on the other side of the world, this one in Tokyo. Then, in September, Ducasse's eponymously named Michelin three-star Parisian restaurant moved from its previous location on the Avenue Raymond Poincare, the spot he had inherited from Joel Robuchon, to the Hotel Plaza Athenee.

Of course, Ducasse was still operating his other Michelin three-star restaurant in Monte Carlo, the somewhat insouciantly named Le Louis XV: he is the only chef to ever oversee two three-star destinations simultaneously. And the Michelin love affair with Ducasse does not end there: an Italian eatery in Paris, Il Cortile, and a rigorously conceptual French take on surf-and-turf, the Bar & Boeuf (sea bass and steak, the only items on the menu, prepared in an "infinity" of international styles), open only during Monte Carlo's summer yachting season, have earned Ducasse an additional star each, bringing his grand total to eight. While juggling his many stars, Ducasse also runs another Parisian bistro, Le Relais du Parc; a second Provencal country inn; serves as the chairman of a chain of French hotels; and is the director of Alain Ducasse Formation, a school for food service professionals in the suburb of Argenteuil outside of Paris that is busily shaping the next generation of restaurateurs, the "Alain Ducasse Generation."

Ducasse's transformation from the youngest ever three-star chef (age 33), to six-star super-chef, to international conglomerate has occurred with a swiftness that is breathtaking - and a little unsettling, leaving some to question whether the ubiquitous "Ducasse" is anything more than a brand name that says "fine cuisine" the same way that the name "Swanson" says TV dinners. Considering the sheer geographical difficulties, it is perhaps not surprising that Ducasse does not cook in the restaurants that bear his name. Perhaps more surprising, he does not, as a matter of principle, believe that it is necessary, or even desirable for him to do so. It is a view delivered frequently, and with the dismissive disdain of an 18th Century absentee landlord: "a chef must do more than get fat behind his stove." It is the essence of what a French food writer has termed the "Ducasse Paradox," even though it is, on its face, not terribly paradoxical. Ducasse views himself as a conceptualizer, an "idea man," who does all his cooking in his head, and leaves the work, the "interpretation" to underlings so well trained in their master's wishes that Ducasse need not be present to supervise their efforts.

Ducasse was born in 1956 in the town of Castelsarrazin in the Landes region of southwestern France. It is a rural area that was better known, until the postwar economic boom, for its poverty and isolation, as for the raising of geese and ducks for foie gras, the trade by which his family eventually prospered. Brought up in a food-loving family, Ducasse early coveted the metier of chef, and was apprenticed to a local restaurant by the age of sixteen. For almost a decade, Ducasse followed the grinding series of apprenticeships that still mark the path of French culinary upward mobility, while cooking in a number of top kitchens along the way: Michel Guerard's restaurant in Eugenie-les-Bains, the Parisian patisserie of Gaston Lenotre, Roger Verge's Moulin de Mougins, and two years at Alain Chapel in Mionnay. Already an executive chef at the tender age of twenty-four, Ducasse was awarded his first Michelin stars four years later, in 1984, winning a two-star ranking.

That same year Ducasse survived a plane crash that killed a number of companions. It might be fairly said that from that time Ducasse combined his precocious talent with an unmistakable urgency that sets him distinctly apart, his desire to get things done and done quickly, his almost frantic need to be in two, or even three places at once. In 1987, he became executive chef at Le Louis XV. Ducasse contractually bound himself to achieve three stars after four years; an objective he reached in 1990, in only his third.

There was genuine astonishment and disbelief in 1996 (France being a country that cares deeply about such things) when Ducasse brashly announced that he was taking over the kitchen of the god-like Robuchon, who, at 51, was going into retirement. Could one man maintain two establishments at the demanding peak of French gastronomy, especially when they were separated by the 600-mile breadth of the country? The venerable Guide reacted cautiously to the novelty of a commuting chef by removing one star from Le Louis XV in the 1997 edition of the red guide. Yet Ducasse persevered, and in 1998 he regained his lost star.

His official biography portrays a man who is the very essence of French dualism - half tireless executive, half bon vivant: "Even if he appears...to be a very busy man who has clocked up hundreds of flying hours between Monte-Carlo [sic] and Paris, and Singapore and New York, he always takes the time to taste: a new Italian olive oil, a Lebanese cheese rolled in pepper, a leavened bread, or a wild strawberry, for ever [sic] sharpening his senses and his savoir-faire." Although his schedule of 'round-the-world openings and appointments, which he undertakes with a supporting entourage, would take its toll on the sturdiest CEO, the forty-five year old Ducasse maintains that he does not suffer jet lag and needs no sleep beyond what he is afforded in his business-class seat: "I am not stressed," he told Fortune with characteristic froideur between sips of espresso, "I prefer to make others stressed."

Given the circumstances, there may have been a few doubters when, in June 2000, a self-assured Ducasse and his globe-spanning empire of haute cuisine commenced what was probably his most ambitious, and most perilous, project: Alain Ducasse New York (or ADNY, as it appeared, stamped like an imperial seal, on the restaurant's tableware) at the Essex House Hotel on Central Park South.

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