At the table: are our meals being revolu­tionised by “withouts”?

Who are these consumers who ban meat, fish, sugar, gluten, eggs, alcohol, etc. from their diets? Are they the pioneers of tomorrow’s plate? Are they sounding the alarm for our health and that of the planet? Or are they radicals in search of a culinary identity? Is our table being communalised?

Has the family meal, which used to gravitate around roast chicken, coquillettes and crème caramel, washed down with a little vin de pays, now become an occasion for division? “The table has become a boxing ring,” laments the food critic François-Régis Gaudry. “It’s sad to see everyone eating differently in their own corner,” laments Alice Tuyet, the chef-founder of the vegan restaurant Faubourg Daimant. In the crosshairs are those who could be called the “withouts”, who conceive of their food as “without” certain ingredients: sugar, meat, fish, gluten, lactose, cooked foods, alcohol, etc. The tribe is growing by the day. Admittedly, some of them have legitimate medical or religious reasons for adopting these dietary peculiarities, but for François-Régis Gaudry, “there are also a lot of coquetries” and the journalist sees behind these deprivations “the rather worrying rise of ‘à la carte diets’, influenced by Anglo-Saxon-style individualism.” “In the ‘withouts’, you can see a gesture for the planet, and therefore altruism,” estimates Alice Tuyet, “but also a form of navel-gazing, of egoism; for example, I don’t eat gluten because it’s not good for my performance!”

Healthier eating
So, who are the “withouts” and what exactly are their motivations? “It was a bit of an accident,” says Hughes, 57, an industrialist who quit alcohol 15 years ago. “I was on antibiotics and one evening, with friends, I didn’t drink – it was a revelation! It wasn’t a moral issue, but rather a concern for my well-being.” Eléna, a 23-year-old student, had the same revelation: “I stopped eating gluten six months ago. The result is that I feel much better, with no after-­ meal crashes and a feeling of being lighter!” At the age of 43, Vincent hasn’t eaten meat for 10 years, even though he used to love it: “I thought I was eating too much, so I stopped for health reasons.” Clearly, for the “withouts”, depriving themselves of carcinogenic-at-high-dose red meat, addictive sugar, eggs likely to be contaminated with salmonella, and gluten that is poorly accepted by our bodies provides the assurance of adopting a healthy lifestyle.

A climate of mistrust
According to Gaëlle Pantin-Sohier, a professor of marketing at IAE Angers, recent scandals in the agri-food industry, such as mad cow disease and horsemeat lasagne, have largely contributed to “a very strong climate of mistrust” towards the food industry, especially among the new, better-­ informed generations looking for more natural, respectful and transparent products. A mistrust shared by Esther, a 21-year-old student who has decided to give up meat at the table to become vegetarian: “We want to consume what is healthy and ethical; our generation is very concerned about the industrialisation of food.”

This desire to take control of one’s health through one’s plate goes hand in hand with a greater awareness of ecological issues and challenges, as the author and researcher Kilien Stengel points out: “For these consumers, defending the planet conditions their relationship with food with ‘no’ waste and even ‘no’ cooking.” For Henri, cutting out meat also coincided with his commitment to the environment: “This awareness of animal welfare, the carbon footprint and the need to think about tomorrow’s agriculture played a big role in my decision.” “A world that takes an interest in animals only to (over)exploit them,” admits Gwenaëlle, aged 35, a more radical vegan, “is, in my eyes, a world devoid of humanity, one that’s on its way out. So, at 7 years old, I made the most sensible decision of my life.” Very precocious, she became a vegetarian in primary school, then a vegan around the age of 13. This archipelago-like take on the table, where everyone opens the fridge and eats according to their own desires, is not without consequences for our society, as Kilien Stengel sees it: “The ‘without’ allows each individual to create a culinary identity, with its own virtues, but also with the risk of leading to food communitarianism.” So how do we go about reinventing this “living” or rather “eating together”? In some families, living under the same roof can be complicated when parents have to adapt to their children’s demands. Esther, a 21-year-old student, has experienced this kind of situation: “When my father served meat at family lunches, I had to bring my own tofu,” she recounts. “But in the end it was a positive experience: everyone wanted to try it, and it created a convivial atmosphere. Today, he himself prepares it sometimes. He’s learned and he likes it!”

Benoît d’Onofrio
One sommelier’s fight for sobriety and against “all alcohol”

Welcome to the “sobrellerie” of Benoît d’Onofrio, proprietor, sommelier by trade and a self-converted “sobrelier”: “I brought out these neologisms because they have the advantage of highlighting the word sobriété, which means measure and above all not abstinence!” That morning, he was bottling his latest preparation, “la mûre du risque”, a non-alcoholic, fermented beverage to be consumed at a table in a restaurant; the drink is concocted with blackberries, Tanche olive juice and toasted white sesame. Benoît never focused on wines. He used to add non-alcoholic drinks to his menu: fruit juices, infusions, teas and coffees. And yet, one evening, frustrated by the lack of choice, a customer ended up drinking wine by default. “It obsessed me all evening,” he remembers. “I realised that a fruit juice or a coffee didn’t match this moment of conviviality that is a restaurant meal.” Benoît took stock of the alcohol-free offerings on the market, and his findings were eye-opening: “Some 95% of them are ersatz,” he deplored.  “De-alcoholised wines, alcohol-free beer, fake spirits or sodas, fruit juices and fermented drinks like kefir and kombucha.”

For the sommelier, it’s time to create his own liquid universe. Benoît’s ambition is to appeal to everyone, to deconstruct the “diktat that has forced a certain number of people to drink alcohol.” It’s important that “the cause of the ‘without alcohol’ drinkers is joined by those who do drink alcohol. The aim is not to demonise alcohol but to broaden the field of possible drinks.”

After selling his five Parisian butcher shops, Yves-Marie Le Bourdonnec, nicknamed the “butcher to the stars”, changed his life. In spring 2023, at the age of 55, he set up shop once more, this time 200 kilometers from Paris, in the middle of nowhere, in Bouhy, a village of 448 inhabitants in the Nièvre region. In his old-fashioned store with its wine-coloured façade, behind windows showcasing garlic sausage and “grandma-style” pâté, the butcher lives again, because here, not once has he been threatened because of his livelihood: “In Paris, my stores had been attacked several times by ‘vegans’ who sprayed the window with fake blood. I’ve tried to talk to them, but it’s impossible; they’re against meat and that’s as far as it goes.” This radicalism, this ‘meat-free’ culture that has been growing over the years, worries the butcher: “To withdraw from a whole universe seems to me unbearably sad.” Between two strokes of a sheet to cut a pig’s trotter, Yves-Marie raises his voice: “Meatless means denying part of what we are: omnivores. We have to accept it! I’m passionate about animals and their sensitivity, but that doesn’t stop me from eating them.” The butcher works with small-scale producers, and his customers, whether local or from the capital, prefer to eat good meat, but less often: “I think we consume far too much industrial meat; we need to move towards a world in which we eat far less of it than we do today, but it’s not going to disappear completely!”

Things get tougher when the “withouts” are invited out: “I don’t have a sectarian position,” says Laure, 64, a vegetarian. “I never say ‘I don’t eat meat’ because I’m not in the mood to upset everyone with it.” In the event that meat is served at the table, she takes it upon herself: “I eat a little to show respect for the cook. It’s not a big deal for me or the planet. What’s important is being together.”
It’s the same story with Elena, who has banned gluten from her diet, in “make-no-waves” mode: “If there’s pasta, I eat it so as not to offend the host! I also know that it won’t endanger my health, unlike those with celiac disease!” Even if tofu is still a source of easy jokes for those who like to mock vegetarians and vegans, the lines are moving and so are reactions to the “withouts”, as Hugues, who no longer drinks alcohol, found out: “The taboo has fallen; the fear of looking old-fashioned or uncool by refusing alcohol is disappearing, being deconstructed.”
“Deconstruct” is the key word. Are we witnessing the deconstruction of our classic and dominant culinary models? Today, people are speaking out, and the “withouts” are less reluctant to accept their choices.
For Benoît D’Onofrio, a “sobrelier” who invents non-alcoholic drinks, it’s time to establish a form of consent at the table: “In the past, roast beef was imposed on everyone, and we didn’t ask ourselves whether a guest was forcing himself or herself to eat it to avoid offending anyone. In order for being at the table to remain a time of conviviality, you have to reach out to others to understand them.” This deconstruction of yesterday’s table will undoubtedly take time, as prejudices die hard, as Vincent, a vegetarian, has found out at a cost: “I’ve had more problems in the provinces, where I’ve already been scolded by a restaurant owner when I asked for a Caesar salad without chicken! Sometimes saying you don’t eat meat is taken as an insult!”

It has to be said that, faced with an onslaught of dietary particularisms, the restaurant world is having to rethink its approach. According to the OpinionWay survey for Sirha Food, 86% of the restaurateurs surveyed who are confronted with these special diets offer adapted dishes, especially vegan or vegetarian versions. A headache for restaurants whose menus are based on traditional, classic French recipes, to the point where some establishments are resisting. At his historic Auberge Pyrénées Cévennes in Paris, chef Pierre Negrevergne is proud of his bourgeois menu featuring blanquette de veau and pâtés en croûte. For him, adapting is out of the question: “I don’t want to change to seduce this new clientele, certainly not! I’m staying the course, I’m a defender of traditions with real cream, real butter and real meat!”
And when vegetarians or vegans push open his door without knowing what plate awaits them, the chef doesn’t have much to offer: “When someone asks me for a vegan dish, I always have the risotto on the menu, which does the job; I’m not going to make a special menu, otherwise we’d be stuck! The further we go, the more ‘withouts’ there are, so at some point you have to say stop!”
A reaction that doesn’t surprise Gwénaëlle, a vegan who is shocked by the development delay of France, the land of gastronomy: “In many rest­aurants, there are no vegan offerings, probably due to a lack of curiosity and knowledge. It’s also a question of generation: the generation before us doesn’t want to budge and change things.”
Gwénaëlle notes that the situation is very different abroad, citing for example Israel, “a vegan paradise”, Germany and now even Spain: “The excuse that traditional cuisine is not compatible with ‘vegan’ is false. We want to defend our traditions too. In Scotland, the iconic recipe for haggis has a vegan version, so why doesn’t this exist in France?”

So, should we welcome the arrival of restaurants and bakeries specialising in plant-based or even vegan cuisine “Vegan restaurants just for vegans feeds communitarianism,” worries Gaëlle Pantin-Sohier. “It forces people to live together. I’m not sure it’s a good idea to split up the offering so radically.”
Alice Tuyet, chef and founder of the Faubourg Daimant restaurant, might feel taken advantage of, but her vision is the exact opposite: “There are no vegan labels on the front of the restaurant; everyone is welcome. I don’t want to create any silos.” She adds with a touch of provocation: “I’m delighted if one of my customers eats a quality ribeye with a glass of red wine for dinner! At the end of the day, at least here they’re eating ‘plant- based’ food, and that’s already a good thing because it has a positive impact on the planet and the animals.”
Above all, she doesn’t want to hear talk of “no” meat, “no” cream to define her cuisine: “Our discourse is not ‘without’, but ‘with’: with forgotten vegetables, with new cooking techniques, with gourmet sauces; we’re here to propose, not to impose. I want to make people want to eat vegetables!” Or, in short, to encourage peaceful dining instead food fights.

Winner of the title of “World’s Best Pastry Chef” in 2019, a first for a woman, Jessica Préalpato, the pioneer of “naturality”, is on all fronts: since last November, she has been delighting Eurostar first-class travellers with her desserts; fans of “de-sugared” cakes flock to the chic, gourmet goûter she oversees at the Hôtel San Régis, while her boutique is due to open in June in the gallery of the Louvre. She owes her success to the identity she forged in contact with Alain Ducasse, who hired her. “After hearing him tell me ‘it’s too sweet, less sugar please,’” she admits, “I progressively removed it in favour of honey and caramelised fruit juices to achieve the naturality he wanted, which has become my philosophy.” Her ambition: to create more natural, more authentic desserts by sublimating ingredients like fruits and plants. “Be careful, ‘desugared’ doesn’t mean zero sugar,” warns the young pastry chef, who considers sugar indispensable in pastry. Otherwise, as she puts it mildly, “It’s inedible!”