Okay. So, I started — it’s now 14 years ago. That was when I lived back home in Riga, Latvia. I started to cook because, at that time, my best friend’s father was a famous chef in Latvia. I spent a lot of time at their house and saw him being so happy in the kitchen. It was a very positive environment and I thought, maybe let me try too. So I tried. I worked in some restaurants back home and then, when I was 19, I left Latvia. I went to Berlin and worked there in different kinds of restaurants — nothing too crazy. Afterwards I moved to Iceland. I lived in Reykjavík for three years. I worked at the only Michelin-star restaurant there at the time, called Dill, and at a place called Skúli Craft Bar that was more for local Icelandic people in Reykjavík. It was really fun — a concert venue, beers brewed on-site, a really cool atmosphere. I spent three years there because I wanted to learn about Nordic cuisine. In Latvia, because of our history, we’re not very rich culturally in terms of cooking traditions. So I wanted to understand: if we had had the same opportunities, what could our cuisine have become? That’s why I went to Iceland. After Iceland, I moved to Stockholm for three years and worked in restaurants like Kagges and AG. That’s where I really developed my skills. My dream was always to move to Paris and work in a Michelin-star restaurant. I planned it as a short-term thing, but when I arrived here I took a job at Frenchie. I worked hot station, proteins, everything — and little by little I fell in love with Paris. The plan was to leave, but here I am, five years later, and I’m not planning to move away anymore. I’ve been here at Le Grand Bain for three years now. I live in the same area, in the 20th arrondissement. It’s really the best neighborhood.

Through a friend. His sister was close friends with the old chef here — not Fabio before me, but Emily before him. She told me, “This is my favorite restaurant in Paris. You should go if you’re interested in small plates, crazy flavors, and a bit more of a punk kitchen.” So I came here for dinner and immediately really wanted to work here. A couple of months later, when I finished at Frenchie, I came back and Emily recognized me. She said, “Why don’t you come here? I’m looking for a prep chef. You’d just work mornings, butcher fish and meat, do some larger prep, then go home.” I took it. Honestly, it felt like relaxation after Michelin-star kitchens where everything is very strict, very fast. I was really tired. I worked with Emily for three months before she left, then Fabio — who had been her second — became chef. Afterwards I stayed on, became sous chef, and really enjoyed the atmosphere here. My boss, Edouard, is the best restaurant owner I’ve worked with. We do everything correctly and it fits my philosophy about the restaurant industry. That’s why I’m still here.

We’re in this transition between old-school and new-school kitchens. I was brought up in a very old-school environment: chefs yelling at you, verbal abuse, too many hours. I felt like things needed to change — kitchens should be more humane, with more freedom. Here, I finally saw that. I’m very proactive about creating a healthier environment. Old-school kitchens are often very misogynistic too, and here it was refreshing to see equality in the kitchen and in the restaurant generally. It felt like a breath of fresh air.

Historically, when Edouard and Edward opened the restaurant, they wanted it to be based around small sharing plates — very inspired by Catalan-style tapas. That concept has stayed. We always do sharing plates. The menu is long: around 15 dishes — fish, vegetables, meat — so people can taste a bit of everything. But within that, there’s complete freedom. Right now I’m very focused on surf and turf — mixing fish with meat, meat with fish. About half my menu works around that idea. Because of the history of the restaurant, the clients already come here expecting experimentation. They enjoy it. And there’s also a culture in the south of France of combining fish with foie gras or unexpected pairings like that. My goal is to liberate the idea that fish and meat always need to be separated. Once you understand ingredients better, you can combine almost anything. For example, we have a croquette made with blood sausage, topped with Camembert and marinated sardine. Meat, fish, and cheese together — things you’re “not supposed” to combine — but it works. I think we’re moving beyond rules someone created a long time ago.

Yeah, exactly. We’ve always had a lot of freedom here to cook what we want. The customers are open-minded and willing to try something crazy, which gives me the opportunity to experiment. A lot of it is trial and error. At home I spend a huge amount of time researching. I read books by famous chefs around the world and look for inspiration. Usually I begin with one ingredient and build a dish around it. Right now I’m obsessed with goat’s milk. I’m exploring every possible way to cook with it. We’ll probably spend a month discovering different ways to use that ingredient until the obsession ends.

It comes in waves. I used to try forcing creativity — sitting at home or in a park thinking, “Okay, now I need to invent a dish.” It never worked like that. Now I usually start with one ingredient or one visual idea. Recently I became obsessed with the way asparagus grows — how a single asparagus spear pushes out of the ground. I couldn’t get the image out of my head, so I wanted to recreate that visually on a plate. For two or three weeks I kept thinking about it. Then I researched what grows underneath the ground near asparagus and slowly built the dish from there. Another thing I love is taking classical dishes and recreating them in a way no one has done before. For example, I once made a version of tagliatelle Bolognese where the “pasta” was actually cuttlefish sliced into tagliatelle shapes, served with ragù Bolognese on top. Those kinds of associations are usually how new ideas appear for me.

There needs to be harmony in how the menu progresses. For example, if I have four fish dishes, four vegetarian dishes, and three meat dishes, there needs to be balance and rhythm. You might start with two raw fish dishes, then move into cooked dishes. Then maybe something softer and lighter — a vegetable dish with fruit — before moving back into stronger flavors and finishing with meats that really hit you. That’s the harmony for me. The difficult part is fitting each dish into the story of the full menu. We used to change the entire menu every day here, but it’s very hard for the kitchen team to absorb new information constantly. Now we evolve things more gradually. I still change small details depending on product quality. Maybe today one vegetable arrives in incredible condition and tomorrow it doesn’t — then we adapt accordingly. Usually I change dishes fully around twice a week rather than rebuilding the whole menu daily.

Yes and no. It depends on the kind of casual dining. What makes me happy is that many chefs from my generation spent years in fine dining and are now bringing those techniques into more casual restaurants. We still have the precision and discipline of fine dining, but we want to make it more accessible. Sometimes fine dining becomes excessive. You don’t necessarily need five interns picking herbs. I like seeing high-level techniques enter casual dining. At the same time, I still think fine dining should feel special — something you treat yourself to once in a while. It should surprise you in a deeper way, something you think about weeks later. Casual dining in Paris can already surprise you a lot, but fine dining can still create that unforgettable feeling.

Maybe when too many people say, “That was really good.” I like being challenged. I like feeling a little unsure. There are dishes we repeat every year — for example tempura asparagus with smoked sabayon. Every spring we bring it back. I’m excited for the first week, but after that I start getting bored, even though guests still love it and come specifically for that dish. That’s the difficult balance. Sometimes the most exciting ideas come when something goes wrong — a product doesn’t arrive, or something is unavailable — and suddenly you have to invent something completely new at the last minute. That’s often when a dish stops being boring again.

This bar, Café Denoyez, opened three years ago. People come for drinks before or after dinner. It’s really lively. We know a lot of the regulars. At 7pm the first service is mostly tourists. Then around 9 or 9:30pm the second service becomes more local — regulars, people from Paris. There’s a hotel nearby, so people exploring more alternative neighborhoods often end up here by accident. Edward, one of the founders, also had a TV show in America years ago, so some people still come because of that. Sometimes they’re disappointed when they see me instead of him. Belleville itself has become known as a very hip neighborhood, so people come exploring and stumble into the restaurant. We always keep space at the bar for walk-ins, which I really like.

It’s more “bistronomy.” The food is more technical than a classic bistro, but still relaxed and free. There’s a famous chef in Paris, Iñaki Aizpitarte from Chateaubriand, who was one of the people who really pushed this bistronomy movement. Now, ten years later, we’re continuing that spirit. For us it’s about experimentation, freedom, high technique, and cooking based on feeling. And because we’re in Belleville, surrounded by strong Asian influences, there’s also a natural blending of Asian spices with French techniques. That mix becomes part of the identity too.

Honestly, I don’t focus too much on expectations. If I focused on what guests expect every day, I’d probably have a headache constantly. I just cook what I want to cook. I try to tell a story through the food and make things differently. I hope people enjoy it. That’s really it.

I think you need to adapt to change, but also stay true to yourself. There are a lot of fast-moving trends in Paris, and if you follow every trend you just become part of a larger movement and lose your identity. I try not to chase trends too much. Edouard has been very good at selecting people who each tell their own story in a unique way. I think maybe that’s the reason the restaurant continues to last.