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The drive from Nice to the Luberon takes just over three hours. It’s long enough to feel like you’ve stepped away from city life, but scenic enough that the journey becomes part of the experience. The road winds past vineyards, open fields, and villages that look much the same as they did decades ago. By the time you arrive at Le Mas Les Eydins – a 19th-century country house at the foot of the Petit Luberon – the shift is already happening. The air smells of rosemary and lavender, the pace slows, and everything feels a little lighter.
It’s easy to understand why Christophe Bacquié chose this place. Paris would’ve made sense. So would any other capital, really. He had already earned three Michelin stars, held the title of Meilleur Ouvrier de France, and reached the kind of acclaim chefs spend lifetimes chasing. But instead of remaining tethered to hotel dining rooms and the pressure of the circuit, he and his wife, Alexandra, chose something quieter, more personal. Le Mas Les Eydins is the result; not a hotel, not quite a restaurant, but something warmer: a home with its doors open.
There’s a kind of elegance here that doesn’t announce itself. The walls are old stone, the garden untamed just enough, while guests gather or drift apart as they please. Some share long lunches around a communal table; others walk barefoot through the olive groves or curl up with a book by the fire. There’s no lobby, no ceremony. Only an unspoken promise that everything has been quietly, lovingly considered.
That same thoughtfulness runs through Bacquié’s food. Even before a dish reaches the table, you feel it. Nothing here is ornamental. Ingredients are given the spotlight, not dressed for it. “You can’t cook well without good products,” he says simply. “That’s the starting point. Always.” His kitchen is free from shortcuts. One product, one technique, one seasoning. A minimalist structure which yields results that feel anything but minimal.
Precision is a word Bacquié returns to often. Not as poetry, but as practice. “Cooking is a technical job,” he says. “Just like watchmaking.” And that’s not a metaphor. For nearly a decade, Bacquié has been a friend of Richard Mille, the Swiss watchmaker whose reputation is built on technical mastery and design rigour.
The relationship began without fanfare; a conversation over dinner during a Richard Mille event at Le Castellet, marking the launch of the RM 70-01 Alain Prost. What emerged was a shared respect for how things are made. “We connected over the idea that real elegance comes from function,” Bacquié recalls. He was the first brand friend and ambassador in the culinary world for Richard Mille in France.
It was a moment that underscored their common ground: a devotion to precision, a taste for elegance, and a deep respect for mastery. It was a natural fit. Soon after, Bacquié became the first chef to represent the brand globally. “There’s a deep similarity in how we work,” he says. “A watch is very technical, and I believe our profession today is also very technical. There’s conviviality, fraternity, through Richard Mille and through this house. We’re both in a line of work that demands extreme precision and technique.”
Watching Bacquié work, you see it. His movements are precise but unhurried, each gesture marked by intent. His plates are beautiful, but never performative. “The first really important thing is always the taste,” he says. “When we go to a restaurant, and I’ve run a lot of them, there are always barriers. Today, we wanted to interpret our job differently and do something new: high-quality cuisine without the barrier. Through the food, the family spirit, everyone should feel at home.”
The journey to Le Mas Les Eydins wasn’t impulsive. Christophe and Alexandra spent more than 20 years at the helm of some of France’s most storied kitchens and hotels. But over time, they found the format limiting. “In hotels, there’s always a distance,” he explains. “You’re serving guests, but not necessarily sharing anything with them. We wanted more than that. We wanted something human.”
So when they discovered the bones of a forgotten farmhouse in Bonnieux, they didn’t just see renovation, they saw reinvention. “There was nothing here,” he says. “No kitchen, no electricity. Just the possibility.” From that blank canvas, Le Mas Les Eydins emerged as part home, part table d’hôtes, part refuge. They wanted to welcome people like friends and offer a slower, more grounded kind of hospitality. But grounded doesn’t mean stripped back. Bacquié’s standards haven’t wavered. If anything, they’ve become more intimate. He still works with small producers, selects each citrus fruit with care, and holds a deep affection for ingredients like asparagus. “It has to be the base of whatever we’re doing. The preparation comes from this one source of ingredient, which has to be of the highest possible quality.”
His cooking is Mediterranean in spirit, Corsican in soul. Fish, artichokes, and citrus are three ingredients he couldn’t live without, but travel has always brought him inspiration, and it’s filtered carefully. A trip to Lebanon introduced him to za’atar, which now gently seasons raw fish. “I think all culinary cultures are very beautiful,” he explains. “In every country, there are traditions that are fantastic. I don’t forbid anything. When I travel, if I find something meaningful, I keep it. I reflect on the product, on the philosophy, and integrate it with purpose.”
There’s a quiet clarity to Bacquié’s perspective. He isn’t chasing trends or calibrating his food for Instagram. He’s trying to cook in a way that reflects who he is and where he is. “We didn’t want to recreate anything,” he says. “We wanted to build something of our own.”
That spirit touches every part of Les Eydins. Guests dine under the sky or beside the fire. They linger over meals or drift off for a nap. That ease was on full display during one of the first Richard Mille gatherings at the property. Instead of a formal tasting menu, Bacquié hosted a barbecue, then decided, at the last minute, to bake his signature fondant au chocolat over the coals. “It’s a moment I’ll never forget,” he laughs. “We cooked the chocolate fondant on the barbecue, and it was fantastic.”
It’s that sense of freedom and focus that now defines Bacquié’s approach. “Receiving people in our home, welcoming them, feeding them; that was an extremely important philosophy for us,” he says. That mindset extends to young chefs, too. His advice? “What I often say is that you shouldn’t give up. You have to follow your convictions.” It’s a quiet philosophy, but it lands with weight. In a world where restaurants are branding themselves as experiences and chefs are expected to be characters, Bacquié is neither. He’s simply present.
And that presence is felt in every part of Le Mas Les Eydins, in the rhythm of the kitchen, the stillness of the garden, the warmth of a shared table. Things move more slowly here. “You’re not just feeding someone. You’re becoming part of their memory.”
That, more than any star, title, or headline, is what keeps him in the kitchen. Not for applause, nor for recognition. But to keep refining, and to keep sharing. Quietly. Honestly. One plate at a time.
