Chef Pierre Orsi

The older mansion on Place Kleber stands fiercely independent among the unappealing modern buildings that line the grid-like streets of the 6th Arrondissement of Lyon. Muted pink spotlights shine on the three-storey stone building, each level with wooden framed windows and hanging flower beds, giving the stone building a rose glow. We will learn that rose is a basic theme of the restaurant: on the building, on the menu and on the plate.

The door is locked so we ring the bell; a young man answers and beckons us inside to wait in the vestibule. There's a large glass table with three old-fashion burgundy-stuffed chairs, a large reception desk, and several glass cases filled with crystal vases.

As we take our seats, Chef Pierre Orsi appears from behind the kitchen door. He is in his chef whites, including the classic tall white toque.

"Welcome, I am Pierre Orsi. But we must be quiet, the staff is having their dinner in there", he motions with his head to the direction of the kitchen, "I will be with you shortly." We peek in the kitchen and see the team eating at a communal table. The TV news is blaring. "Look around," he gestures around the room, "I will be back." And he bustles off.

Music from the 70s is playing quietly in the background. The music could be from the soundtrack of The Godfather. "Smile through your tears and sorrow..." Finally Chef Orsi bustles back. He plunks down in a chair across from us, leans in, cups his chin in hand and says, "Okay, now you ask me questions."

Braaang. The phone rings and Chef jumps up to answer it. "Oui, bonjour, c'est Pierre Orsi...oui, samedi soir...à quel nom?...d'accord, we'll see you Saturday night." Chef is taking reservations.

We began our interview, but Chef keeps interrupting to answer the phone to take more reservations, to talk to his buddy in Cape Cod ("J'adore Cap Cod," he stage whispers to us as he's on the phone), to transfer another call to a line upstairs. We can't get a question in edgewise.

He's wired: a bundle of energy, bustling to the phone, bustling back to his chair at our table. "Now," he says once more, "ask your questions." But, Chef is again interrupted, this time by his wife who has come down from upstairs, wearing a housecoat and slippers. She hurriedly apologies to us in French, presses Chef about some urgent matter, and bustles off. It must be a family trait.

Pierre Orsi is almost 76 years old, but he still wants to be involved in every aspect of this large and famous restaurant...