A Good Restaurant's Rhythm Should Be Like Sex

I'm drinking coffee with Simone Tondo, head chef and owner of Roseval, a tiny bistro in Paris's 20th arrondissement. When he arrives, he assures me that we've met before at the restaurant, but I struggle to remember. It doesn't take long for me to realise that for Tondo, relationships matter—for him, cooking is a way to connect with the people around him.

"I want to be remembered as kind. You can't be a good chef without being a good man as well. You share something with people, you have to like people," he proclaims, quickly correcting himself with a sly smile. "Actually, no, a cook. You can be a chef and a bad man."

I probe him on the difference between the two. "A cook makes food, a chef thinks it," he says. And what is he? "I like both."

That's lucky, especially since Tondo's former business associate and co-chef Michael Greenwold left in September 2014, he is running the show solo. Named after a type of potato and situated in the backstreets of grungy Ménilmontant on Paris's right bank, Roseval opened in 2012 when Tondo was 23. It quickly became a haven for those enchanted by the fresh flavours of Paris's "naturalist" food movement. In 2013, Tondo and Greenwold were awarded the coveted Le Fooding table of the year.

Tondo is positive about the split, conscious that Greenwold's departure, three years after opening, was a good time to take stock of where they were at and where they wanted to go. The result is a slightly stripped-back approach, which Tondo describes as "more clean, more precise, probably more simple"—fewer ingredients, more classic. "I decided it was a bit too late to be experimental," he says. "People look for consistency."

Despite being born in Sardinia, Tondo doesn't cook Italian food at Roseval (although he admits that the pasta-heavy staff meals are a chance for him to go back to his heritage). He describes his cooking style as "a French technical base with the flavours of Italy—my roots—and the products of the market." He elaborates on the difference between two of the great European cuisines: "In Italy, bitterness is a typical taste—think olives, anchovies, pecorino cheese. In France it's softer, rounder—more fat. Good, but not much acid."

He likes cooking with seafood, an ingredient that not only pays homage to his beachside origins but is also professionally demanding. He explains that when using ingredients like fresh fish, the biggest challenge is keeping a deft touch—enhancing nature's gifts without overpowering them. "It's like music. You need to know the notes to create a structure, to make a song." How does he know when he's got it right? "You feel it," he muses and, as if thinking about his customers, he laughs. "Silence is no good."

"The restaurant is a place for me to share my ideas. I created a restaurant to say how I feel," says Tondo. "A restaurant is not just good food—it's smiles, quickness…and rhythm. Rhythm is important! It's like all good things—concerts, sex, cars—if you go 200 kilometers per hour you can't stop! When you're making love, you can't pause for 40 minutes. Food is the same, you need to pace it."

That whole package includes details from the playlist, the design of the space, and even the uniforms worn by all the staff—an old-school approach to dining, Tondo says. "What I like about the old ways is the elegance. I like fashion and art. I want someone who works in fashion to be able to come into the space and be impressed."

Service is the clincher, though—Tondo and his team recognise the importance of backing up the style with substance. Roseval is housed in a small space, and offers only one menu each night and a maximum of 20 covers, which gives staff the luxury of being able explain the food and wine to customers at their leisure.

"I'm happy when people like my food. I want a full dining room, happy staff, and to meet interesting people," Tondo says. He affirms he has already met great people through opening Roseval, and not just customers. He speaks fondly about feasting on couscous and chatting with the owners at a local Algerian canteen after service. He's interested in the neighbourhood—Ménilmontant is home to a large North African population, and Tondo says he'd love to learn Arabic. "They're not far from our [Italian] Mediterranean culture."

As if to underscore the point, during the interview we both receive notifications of the attack on Charlie Hebdo. Understandably concerned, his thoughts quickly go to the potential repercussions for the people around him. "This won't be good for Ménilmontant," he intones, pensively.

It's when Tondo is talking about people—friends, family and staff—that he is most animated. He tells me the story of Lincoln, one of his assistant chefs who started off as a dishwasher at Roseval. "He's Bangladeshi and it can be hard for him here—to get a job, to get a house. I remember the day when he asked me to change his title on his pay slip," he smiles. "I realised how proud he was of what he was doing".

In the long term, Tondo dreams of heading back to Sardinia, taking his new protégés with him, and starting a restaurant at home. Although he knows he needs to plan for the future, he admits he usually makes decisions in the moment. "I'll stay if I feel good and I feel happy," he says. "The day Roseval stops being interesting, I will close."