The 75 Interview with Andrea Capasso
The executive chef of Le Clarence answers my burning question: Why do so many chefs *love* Le Clarence? Plus, he shares his go-to Paris addresses.
The dining room had no music. That was the first thing I noticed when I took a seat on an antique, Louis XVI-style chair, upholstered in velvet the color of a Red Delicious apple, at Le Clarence. The restaurant’s inside a private mansion near Paris’ Golden Triangle of glitzy hotels, big-name boutiques, and—for a certain type of modern French aristocracy—homes.
Memories of that lunch are like slides in a View-Master: the sun pouring through the tall windows, the leafy trees on Avenue Franklin Delano Roosevelt fluttering outside. The crystal glasses sparkling. The tablecloths were crisp white. From a second dining room, toile de jouy wallpaper popped shades of sky blue and flamingo pink.
Prince Robert of Luxembourg, president of the company that owns the restaurant, is said to have personally chiné’d around antique shops and flea markets to decorate the space, meant to feel like a family estate in Bordeaux. (Nailed it.)
Music, I guess, was an afterthought. The other senses were so alive, so highly attuned, that I suppose the restaurant considers it superfluous. Like mixing a dirty martini and adding a squeeze of lemon just because. You really don’t need it. It’s a subtle choice, but a choice nonetheless.
Le Clarence had been echoing in my brain for some time. In The 75 Interviews and in off-the-record conversations with restaurant people in Paris, so many named it as their bucket-list spot.
In a city that rains Michelin stars like April showers in Basque Country, I wondered: what set this place apart?
Well, now I get it.
Le Clarence opened at the tail end of 2015 and was awarded two Michelin stars in 2017. The opening chef, Christophe Pelé, left last year, and sous chef Andrea Capasso ascended the gilded ladder to become executive chef. There was some muttering—could they hold onto their two-star status? As the 2026 Guide affirmed, they could.
I asked the 31-year-old Rome native what kind of kitchen he set out to build. What was the vibe he was after? “Not Italian,” he said, then his shoulders shimmied with laughter. Though at least a dozen people are performing the prep ballet at any one moment, the kitchen is pin-drop quiet. It’s, unsurprisingly, immaculate. But there’s also a spirit of improvisation that defied my expectations.
“Strawberries?” called out the pastry chef.
“Not today,” said a voice.
“Kiwis?”
“Oui, chef.”
Those sweet, barely tart kiwis were destined for our plates on top of pistachio cream and a ruby-red slice of tuna. The meal continued in that spirit.
Dishes didn’t arrive one by one, but in clusters, filling the table with delicacies. Creative is an overwrought word in fine dining, but I’m not sure how else to describe them. Who would think to bastardize a delicate fillet of turbot with a creamy slab of veal brain? Truth be told, I had to force myself to forget what I was eating, but the plate was wiped clean.
I had never seen such plump, meaty morels. Topping them with a lamb jus felt like a delicious sin. And the lamb. A lacquered, shiny lollipop of a chop on one plate. A piece of lamb neck, the skin brown and crisp, served with a couple of wild asparagus spears and a silver anchovy fillet (why not?). A little cloud of housemade brioche for buttery carb support.
I know this is veering into precious food writing territory, but it’s hard to talk about this restaurant without waxing a little poetic. For many of us, like me, it’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience. That it was not for the solo diner next to us, a fifty-something with an Alpine-winter-bronzed complexion, who seemed as at ease as a cow in a pasture as he nibbled his way through an hours-long meal, cheese course and all. In his Patagonia fleece and all-black Skechers, he was a stealth-wealth Succession bro if there ever was one.
Naturally, I had to pick the brain of the guy leading the kitchen.
I wanted to know why all the chefs love Le Clarence. “Because we put no limits on the plate. We can do anything.” A touch of unfiltered swagger that felt somewhat refreshing in an industry where people increasingly tiptoe.
I asked about the Paris restaurants he’d eaten at recently and loved. Maison Sota (11ème) and Le Doyenné (Saint-Vrain). “You have the garden, the farm, everything is homemade. You can really discover the seasons,” said Andrea. “One of the best parts is the breakfast, the day after.”
I needed to know where the Italian chef went for a taste of home. “In Paris, I don’t like Italian restaurants,” he laughed. For real Italian, he waits until he’s back in the madrepatria. “Not even a pizza place?” I asked. He conceded he had a favorite: Fratelli Castellano in the 15th, run by three brothers from Naples. “One of the best pizza places in the world.”
One Paris restaurant he frequents regularly? “For the price, for the cuisine, for the wine, Vantre,” he said. “One of the best wine cellars in Paris. Incroyable.”
The 75 Shouts & Whispers
There are so many things happening in Paris these days—fav spots with new outposts and épiceries, fresh chef collabs, ROLAND GARROS events, our prized chefs are popping up across the pond, too! We’ll dive into it next week.
