introducing ESU LEE

a few months after his quiet arrival, he became a sought-after figure in paris's ever-bubbling culinary scene. first came cam, a small marais joint whose meteoric story-cut short by covid-has become a sort of legend shared among the lucky few who once popped in. since then, after a breathing spell spent in los angeles and a brief return to seoul, esu lee opened jip and orson in quick succession. two sensibilities on opposite banks of paris for two complementary imaginaries. on one side, a narrow canteen, a passing counter where little dishes ordered on the fly explode with color. on the other, an interstellar bubble amid chic paris, an experimental table of charcoal-driven cuisine.

deep down, beyond the usual static of city life, esu lee's paris is a melody. it flows-liquid, fluid-in a movement always passionate, never sated. a melody that finds its rhythm early, at the turn of a comforting neighborhood café.

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"You come to nourish your soul, soothe it, cherish it. For me, it's like coming here to heal."

to start our stroll with you, we find ourselves at comets on rue léon frot, in that famous 11th arrondissement people say is the new heart of the city, where everything happens. you who aren't from here originally, what brought you here?

it's one of the first places where i found a sort of routine when i arrived in paris. quite simply because it wasn't far from where i lived, when i was in the 11th on rue popincourt, and it's where my friends would meet. i immediately found a warm atmosphere there that did me good, a place for contact.

i come here several times a week. i stop by on the way to jip, my restaurant. besides serving impeccable coffee and very good dishes, they have a whole bunch of records and play great music.

i like having a routine. and since i'm a chef and the work becomes intense very quickly during the day, that little morning moment is perhaps the only one that's truly mine. coming to comets is a way to ease into the day. it prepares me for the tunnel that awaits me in the kitchen. when i leave here i tell myself, "okay, it's started."

deep down, it's not just about drinking coffee. finding a place like this, making it a staple of your life, is, in a way, a way to better integrate into the city's scenery, to better grasp its mood and culture. since i come from far away, it's my way of approaching paris and belonging to a community.

right after this first stop, it's only a few minutes' walk to tempilanti, a small italian restaurant on a quiet street where people usually just pass by. as the atmosphere suggests, tempilanti is a bit of a secret in its own way. you have to know about it to come here.

what's so special about this restaurant that it has to be on your list?

if i have to take my parents to a restaurant in paris after they've traveled thousands of kilometers from south korea to visit me, it's tempilanti where i want to take them. it's a must.

it's a small sardinian neighborhood restaurant. i discovered it very simply. i had been living in the area for some time and one day a friend enthusiastically told me about this nearby restaurant, winking that he'd almost hesitated to tell me because it was an address he kept as a precious secret.

usually, because i'm a chef, when i go to a restaurant i can't help but analyze what i'm eating - i dissect everything, i take notes in my head - but at tempilanti i forget who i am. i'm just a simple customer.

every time i go, i find that feeling that initially made me want to make cooking my profession. there's joy; the people at the restaurant are happy to host you. it's very contagious and every time i leave, i'm full, but above all i'm very enthusiastic. i also feel like cooking myself.

everything at tempilanti is very simple, the dishes as well as the service. in the end, it's everything you ask of a good restaurant. no more. there is everything here that makes a restaurant beautiful, everything that gives it meaning, its reason for being. you come to nourish your soul, soothe it, cherish it. for me, it's like coming here to heal.

before we leave, esu lee notices a menu casually left on one of the restaurant's tables. on it is one of his favorite dishes: spaghetti with breadcrumbs, butter and anchovies. a dish of striking simplicity, but whose preparation, detailed by francesca, the head cook, is enough to make your mouth water. you gently melt garlic in a pan with anchovies and a lemon zest. then you add already-cooked spaghetti with a ladle of cooking water and a bit of butter to make a sort of cream. finally, when the dish is ready, you sprinkle it with a homemade breadcrumb made from pieces of bread baked in the oven then toasted in a pan with garlic and mint. of course, it's al dente.

after walking down rue de la roquette, we arrive at jip, one of your two parisian spots. what's the story of this place, with its wood-and-marble decor?

in korean, "jip" means "home." it's a place that can be your home, my home, or a friend's home, somewhere you can live, visit, and leave, but always feel welcome to return to. i want it to be a refuge, a place you can return to because it attracts you, because you feel good there, where you also build habits.

here, on rue de la roquette, we're near several theaters, concert halls, and cinemas. i like the idea that people come to dine early at jip before going to a show-we start serving at 6:30 p.m. we also serve tables that arrive late, when performances let out. that connection to the neighborhood anchors the restaurant. in a way, we're here to accompany people through their lives, through the great things they're about to experience that evening.

we don't do lunch, and when i open the restaurant in the late morning or early afternoon, when there's still no one, i like the calm that reigns. i feel that inspiration for imagining new dishes comes from those few moments i have to myself. a restaurant is a constant whirlwind, and the rare silences you find are always magical.

i love the bistronomy culture. it's a true inspiration for me, especially being in paris, not far from the places where it all began-chateaubriand, servan, septime... with jip, i wanted to reinterpret parisian bistronomy in my own way while keeping the standard menu structure, with an amuse-bouche, a starter, and a main course.

here, my cuisine is multicultural. there's a part of what i brought from south korea, what i experienced in hong kong and los angeles, and what i've come to understand about paris since i've lived here.

there's a dish, for example, the "jackson pollock number 8." it's noodles with a spinach purée, a celery purée, a béchamel, chili oil, pickled radishes, salmon... when you mix it all, the pasta suddenly turns black, like jackson pollock's moving paintings. i like that the dish takes on another dimension-not just in people's imagination, but also on the plate.

i have a ceramist friend. i asked him to design tableware that could reflect my interest in the cosmos. he made small plates, and on one of them there's a central pattern that looks like a milky way. others are dark with a light rim to evoke moonlight. no one notices it at service time, but i really like it.

why do you always end up here during your wanderings around the city, esu?

ofr is a central place. it's a magnet in the city, a crossroads where people cross paths in silence, delicately, each in their own world and dreams. i like that this bookstore is independent, that it can operate according to its own tastes. and it's open every day-you can drop in anytime, whether you're looking for something specific or just by chance.

unlike bookstores specialized in cookbooks, where i know exactly what i'm looking for, here, when i come, i like to get lost. i have ideas, but i always end up grabbing a random book and buying it.

some time ago i wanted to buy a book about the moon and its different cycles. i ended up diving into a book about mushrooms. simply because i feel there's a certain link between what moonlight represents-one of my favorite motifs-and mushrooms. i don't know why; it's just that way. and i'm talking about the mushrooms i can prepare in my dishes, not the ones that get you high! i use mushrooms a lot to imagine my dishes. but i also like to be inspired by the color and shape of poisonous mushrooms. even if i don't cook them, obviously.

usually, before or after stopping at ofr, when i'm in the marais and it's lunchtime, i have a small habit. i buy a phô to go and eat it in the square du temple, where i sit at one of the park's chess tables. during the week there aren't many people; it's charming. you get some sun, peacefully.

the final stop of our tour is special because we now have to cross the city and even the seine. orson, esu lee's new jewel, is located on the left bank, in a neighborhood full of history and style. to get there, the chef likes to take the metro or, when the weather allows, ride a bike. on each of these trips-racing through streets or jostling with people in a subway car-esu likes to blend into the city. he always senses it a little more, he tames it.

because of both its location and the cuisine you make there, why is orson a restaurant apart, almost unexpected ?

i like coming to the left bank, to saint-germain-des-prés. i feel like i'm in a more authentic paris, as it used to be. it might sound a bit cliché to say that, but here people read the paper on the terrace, they talk to each other, they walk their dogs with style. they're old-fashioned bourgeois. i like that energy, those symbols. we mustn't forget them. paris remains paris.

orson is located on rue du dragon. there's no other street like it in all of saint-germain-des-prés. it's narrow, very quiet, almost pedestrian. there's an art school at the end of the street, with youth full of style and dreams. before my shift, i go for a drink at the end of the street at the bar la croix rouge, a true institution. the bartenders have been there forever and they have a very strong sense of hospitality.

from the start, when i opened my first restaurant, jip, i thought i would open a second one at some point. that was the plan. i wanted to build a world with two faces. jip has something perfectly warm, easy, accessible, and orson, in its own way, is like an older brother-more mature, more complex. they're two restaurants that complement and support each other.

but be careful: this is nothing like a barbecue restaurant. it's more refined than that. working with fire is a way, for me, to tell how an ingredient transforms little by little. like a teenager discovering life.

i wanted the place to feel like a temple, to have an almost sacred atmosphere, as if you were entering a sanctuary. it reminds me of the several-month stay i did in a buddhist temple in the mountains of south korea before i opened jip and orson. that was years ago. time goes fast! today, i feel like i'm really starting to become parisian.