From abundance to intensity
When I was thirty, my vision of cooking was inseparable from the notion of abundance. I wanted full plates, generous portions, mountains of food that were bursting with life and energy. It was a time when volume meant success. But today, at sixty, my palate has undergone a radical transformation. I no longer look for quantity, I look for intensity. I would much rather have a small portion of an exceptional ingredient, prepared with absolute precision, than a gargantuan but soulless feast. This is not a deprivation, it is a natural evolution towards refinement.
This evolution of taste is accompanied by an increased sensitivity to nuances. I now perceive flavors that I didn't even notice in my youth. The delicate bitterness of a wild herb, the deep umami of a matured fish, the natural sweetness of a root vegetable... these subtle notes have become my new priorities. By focusing on intensity, I naturally eliminated filler carbs. Rice, pasta and bread become nothing more than distractions that dilute the purity of the taste experience. Growing old in the kitchen means learning to appreciate the silence between the notes.
Extract the essence of life
Thirty years of daily practice have taught me one essential thing: efficiency. In my youth, I multiplied the steps, ingredients and complex techniques to achieve a result. Today, I know how to extract the essence of a product with a minimum of gestures. It is a form of mastery that allows the raw ingredient to shine without suffocating it. This culinary efficiency translates directly into metabolic efficiency. By preparing food more accurately, I make it easier for my body to work.
Take a simple piece of beef or a fillet of fish. At thirty, I might have served it with a rich gravy and mashed potatoes. At sixty, I sear it on a hot ember and accompany it with a drizzle of olive oil and some fresh herbs. The result is more powerful, more digestible and infinitely healthier. By eliminating carbohydrate 'fillers', I make room for essential nutrients. My body no longer needs to manage unnecessary excess energy; it receives exactly what it needs to function at its full potential. Efficiency is the secret to longevity.
Listen to the signals of time
I have to be honest: at sixty, my digestive system is no longer the same as at thirty. He became a demanding but fair teacher. He no longer tolerates excesses, inconsistent mixtures or massive glycemic loads. If I eat too many fast carbohydrates, I feel it immediately: fatigue, mental fog, abdominal heaviness. My body is telling me 'no' with a clarity that I can no longer ignore. So I learned to cook accordingly, not out of compulsion, but out of respect for my own biology.
What's remarkable is that this adaptation makes life easier, not harder. By reducing carbs and focusing on healthy fats and quality proteins, I found stable energy that I hadn't experienced in a long time. I no longer go through the insulin roller coaster. My digestion became silent, fluid, almost invisible. It's an immense liberation. Growing old also means learning to simplify internal processes to let vital energy be devoted to what really matters: creativity, transmission and the joy of living.
The quest for absolute precision
You never finish learning in the kitchen. Each year brings its share of discoveries and refinements. I now spend more time studying the structure of an ingredient than inventing new recipes. How to cook fish to the exact degree so that its flesh remains pearly and its fats intact? How to prepare a vegetable so that it retains all its enzymatic vitality? These questions of precision have become my obsession. And each answer takes me a little further away from carbs.
Because precision requires clarity. You can't be precise if you're cluttered with off-flavors or mushy textures. By purifying my diet, I refined my senses. I became a better cook because I became a more mindful eater. This quest for absolute precision is a never-ending journey, a discipline that keeps the mind sharp and the body alert. It’s proof that age is not a decline, but an opportunity to become a more accomplished, more focused version of yourself.
Transmit joyful sobriety
What I pass on today to young chefs and my family is no longer performance or show-off cooking. It’s mature cuisine. I teach them that true taste comes from simplicity, restraint and respect for the product. I show them that a low-carb plate can be more satisfying and elegant than an overloaded dish. It is a legacy of joyful sobriety, an invitation to rediscover pleasure in the essential.
By sharing this vision, I help them build a solid foundation for their own future health. I save them from the mistakes I made out of ignorance or pride. Mature cuisine recognizes that we are what we eat, and that every bite is a political, ethical and biological choice. It is a responsibility that I take very seriously. Passing on the wisdom of low-carb means passing on the keys to a long, vibrant and meaningful life.
Aging as a clarifying process
Ultimately, aging in the kitchen is a clarifying process. It's like reducing a broth: over time, the water evaporates and all that's left is the essence, the pure taste, the concentrated strength. My life and my cooking follow this same trajectory. I removed the superfluous, I reduced the carbohydrates, I simplified my actions. And what's left is infinitely more precious than what I had to begin with.
I encourage you not to fear the passage of time, but to embrace it as an ally. Let age teach you sobriety, precision and respect for your body. Listen to your internal signals, simplify your plate, and discover the immense joy of living with less, but with better. Maturity is the moment when cooking finally becomes a form of wisdom. Savor every moment, every bite, and let the clarity of time illuminate your path to lasting health.
