At Rabanel’s restaurant, we are at the southern school, i.e. that of the pleasure of living. There is desire in the air, a blissful smile on customers’ faces, and the chef and his assistants’ joy of cooking is tangible. The man has the wind in his sails all right.

 

But that’s not all. No more freelance work as international gastronomic consultant, always going from one plane to the next. This Gascon by birth has found himself, adopting Arles, its music and bullfights, the Camargue, its changeable skies and superb organic kitchen garden. This is where he sources most of his fruit and vegetables, transforming them into tapas or sushi that are as light and airy as they are tasty. There is no menu but a burst of suggestions that you discover bit by bit – suspense and surprises. With something of the god Pan about him, the man with the black locks offers his “gourmandise” generously – all at the price of a set meal equivalent to the cost of one dish on the menu of a two-star restaurant.

 

The whole “magical world” of his passion is available, from the most tart notes to the crispest or softest ones. We spoke of “tapas” for want of a better word: it is more a question of little Leibnizian monads, perfect units that suffice in themselves, and where the vegetable takes the lion’s share. Rabanel has, for example, created an exceptional five-tomato gazpacho.