Sébastien Tantot, the shadow is the light

All around is a game-rich forest. You can see deer and wild boar passing by, and along the ponds, disdainful herons. Emerging from the woods, you enter Saint-Jean-aux-Bois almost without noticing, with the contours of the abbey barely visible behind the foliage. Every day, Sébastien Tantot comes here to meditate, sitting in the nave of the church, always on the same bench, facing the silence of the high stained glass, beneath the rough stone vaults. 'My body is in the church, my heart is in the crypt,' he says with the unwavering resolve that never leaves him. One could stop there, thinking they've grasped the character—a demanding, taciturn monk, a Jansenist chef.

But beneath the dark attire, a light emerges, the kind that seeps through cracks, revealing an intense love for life in all its forms. Whether he's talking about vegetable gardens, beehives, or the team at his Auberge à la Bonne Idée, Sébastien Tantot conveys a fiercely joyful and vibrant spirit. It's the spirit of an insatiable thirst to create, to nourish, to share. And it's the embodiment of a dream, nurtured since adolescence, to reach the heights. 'Early on, I wanted to leave the housing projects where I grew up; I wanted to see beauty. I started my apprenticeship at 13, and with my first paycheck—300 euros, if I remember correctly—I took the RER to Orry-la-Ville and went to Paris to have tea at the Ritz. I've always been drawn to invisible details, to understated elegance, and to the pursuit of perfection.

The Opaque and the Transparent

Today, it’s at Le Baiser Salé, the most tropical jazz club on rue des Lombards, that Sébastien Tantot heads when he’s in Paris. It's another form of contemplation, musical this time, for someone who never excludes anything and doesn't mind being unpredictable, seamlessly shifting from a game of Call of Duty to discussing a Rothko painting. The cuisine at L'Auberge reflects his personality, defying classification. Of course, there’s the grand menu, a masterful counterpoint of technique, where dishes interact with astonishing intelligence, far beyond mere gourmet indulgence, like a fugue with constant twists. But once a month, the dining room, with its slightly outdated bourgeois decor, becomes the setting for gargantuan banquets, featuring roasted poultry and fish, while at La Table de César, the adjoining brasserie, they serve Maroilles tarts and decadent floating islands.

Neither one nor the other, Sébastien Tantot seems to say in his silences. Neither modern nor traditional, resistant to trends yet eager for novelty, both a creator and a guardian of tradition. Certain names come up in conversation: Arnaud Lallement, Bernard Loiseau, Florent Pietravalle... For someone who was the executive chef for Gérald Passedat in Marseille, hard work and integrity matter more than fame and recognition. 'I don’t want to work with stars; my team is made up of passionate and humble people. We are united, and everyone is ready to give their all. L’Auberge has evolved naturally, without abrupt changes, through small, sometimes invisible touches. For example, we changed our table linens, still using double cloths, but added napkins with buttonholes, in the old style. We collaborate with contemporary artists to renovate certain parts of the hotel, but without turning everything upside down. L’Auberge is a reflection of myself, fragile and powerful; it’s a foundation, a grimoire where we write as we please.'

Chef at Heart

With 26 employees and millions in investments resting solely on his shoulders, Sébastien Tantot, at 32, fully understands the responsibilities of entrepreneurship. The farmers' unrest in January deeply affects him, as does the surge in energy prices. 'We rely on our local network, develop synergies, and even go to the markets in Senlis and Compiègne to offer our vinegars, sugar tarts, and Maroilles gougères. I can't say it enough: it's the daily work of all the teams that sustains us and allows us to keep inventing.' The honors and media buzz that have made him the darling of critics across the board touch him but quickly make him wary. He prefers to talk about his quest for a new dessert. A simple fruit salad, which he wants to serve as the conclusion of the meal, yet he's still searching for the ideal formula, unsatisfied. How to convey the juice? How to convey the fruit?

Then, the complex measurements of the menu were revisited with a new perspective. This liquid pâté as an opener, a meaty blast of extraordinary concentration (an extraction of Muché—a Picard country terrine—pressed and served as a broth); the pike loins, like flourless, eggless quenelles, made with the collagen from fish bones; the translucent frog’s legs, resembling lollipops; the stained glass, like a mystical gargouillou with components that change with the seasons. It’s a cuisine of unprecedented technicality, but behind the rigor and perfectionism, it remains the work of a kid having fun.

Is it because he has been so close to death that Sébastien Tantot proves to be such a source of life? His desire to be reborn into the world, to confront the pain of living and make it the driving force behind his generosity, continually takes on the qualities of chiaroscuro.

"I don’t wake up in the morning thinking that I am happy. I would like to be fully happy one day. To find rest. I am Sébastien Tantot; I am not L’Auberge à la Bonne Idée. There will be a future, perhaps in Marseille, my city of heart. But history is written step by step.” In the garden and vegetable plots of the Auberge, everyone sows and plants—cassava, azaleas, or white peaches. Grégoire Malardel, the essential sous-chef, comes to whisper in the chef’s ear. The winter sun hides momentarily behind a cloud. In the backlight, Sébastien Tantot shines.

By Peyo Lissarague

Photos Romain Bassenne