Paul Bocuse. France. As he straightens his powerful torso, his head stills momentarily, just long enough for that mischievous look with its smile of the eternal adolescent to appear, a smile recognised by hundreds of thousands worldwide thanks to appearances on magazine covers and in advertisements. Bocuse? The man’s a star in the States, a living god in Japan, an ambassador in France. But how could it be otherwise, for who can escape their own fame? Bocuse, cheeky as ever, is amused by all the titles that people award him. “Pope, emperor, ambassador? I don’t see why not, I’ve already been Napoleon!” With his chef’s toque planted firmly on his head, his spotless white jacket and imperial posture, Monsieur Paul has successfully incarnated the image of France around the world for the past sixty years.
Descended from a family of restaurateurs from the banks of the River Saône, he is now at the helm of a thriving 600-strong company that serves 4,000 meals daily and generates in excess of €50 million annually. The story begins with a climb; one of many to come. Upon hearing that an apprentice chef position had become available at the legendary restaurant Mère Brazier, he set off on his bicycle, climbing the Luère Pass in order to put himself forward for the post. “You’re a very determined young man,” said Madame Brazier, who employed him on the spot. He was twenty years old. Eleven years later, Bocuse took over the family-run restaurant the Auberge du Pont de Collonges, a three-star Michelin establishment for the past forty-two years.
Retirement? It has crossed his mind: “It’s already decided; in twenty years’s time, I’ll let the youngsters take over,” promises the octogenarian Bocuse. But right now he has his business to run. In January he opened a sumptuous brasserie in the heart of Tokyo’s National Museum of Modern Art, the first of eight that will open by 2009. The catalyst behind this latest Japanese venture is chef and businessman Hiramatsu, a longtime Bocuse admirer who has created a veritable restaurant empire in his native land. Each of his eighteen establishments reflects a particular concept, style or era, down to the finest detail. With a background like this, it’s no surprise to find him involved in launching the Bocuse constellation. The main dining room is a space both symbolic and reverential, which appears to float in thin air, seemingly perched at the apex of a glass, netting-clad, concrete cone. Since it opened, a two-hour wait has been the norm — at lunch and in the evening — before diners are shown to their seats. With four services daily, and 180 covers per service, the Paul Bocuse name attracts 700 diners every day. “What Monsieur Paul has achieved for French cuisine is incalculable,” says Hiramatsu. “He’s a man for whom I have the deepest respect. As time goes by, the younger generation forgets. By creating a chain of brasseries in his name, I want the Bocuse brand to live in Japan for all time.”

A taste for aventure

There’s no doubt about it: more than just a chef, Paul Bocuse is an international brand and has made no concessions to either globalised tastes or gastro trends. Jingoistic? The rooster he had tattooed on his shoulder would suggest so. His cuisine — “simple, but not simplistic” — draws deeply on the quintessential French trilogy of butter, cream and wine. Not for him any light-as-gossamer gastronomy, no room here for low-fat products: “With nouvelle cuisine,” he fumes, “you have nothing on the plate, everything on the bill.” So, how to account for the fact that no continent has remained immune from the Bocuse phenomenon? The man himself is unsurprised: “I’m fond of saying that I have American blood in my veins,” he says with a smile. He joined the Free French Army as a seventeen-year-old, was wounded during the Allied landings in France in 1944, and owes his life to blood transfusions received in a US Army hospital. But this tale alone would certainly not have been enough to make him France’s greatest culinary ambassador. The success of the Bocuse brand is no accident.
From his very first visit to Japan, he had already designed a special uniform that would make the meilleurs ouvriers (best craftspersons), the most prestigious title awarded by his profession, instantly recognisable. Thus was born the special grand chef jacket, crafted in pristine Egyptian cotton and sporting a red, white and blue-striped collar. A notable feature was that Bocuse also had his name and the word ‘France’ embroidered onto his jacket. In this, he has since been imitated by every chef, but he remains the only one to wear the 50-centimetre chef’s toque, also designed specially for him. “Bocuse ushered the cook into the spotlight. He created the chef as restaurateur, writer of his own legends, somebody concerned with selling his image as well as providing pleasure,” comments food critic Gilles Pudlowski.