How A Michelin Green Star Chef Is Redefining Luxury Dining in Provence: A conversation with Chef Benoit Witz, Le Jardin Secret

In the heart of Provence, beneath the whispering trees of Cotignac’s Lou Calen estate, Michelin Green Star chef Benoit Witz is doing something quietly radical: stripping fine dining back to its roots. At Le Jardin Secret, there’s no tasting menu, no culinary theatre, and no imported luxuries. Instead, Witz listens to the land. Each dish is a response to the morning’s harvest, drawn from nearby farms and wild estate gardens. It’s intuitive, unpretentious, and deeply personal – a kind of gastronomic slow living that speaks to memory, place and presence.

At a time when excess still dominates haute cuisine, Witz’s minimalist, garden-first philosophy feels like a breath of warm Provençal air. In this exclusive interview for The Knife, he shares how a childhood shelling peas with his grandmother shaped everything, why "alive" food can’t be planned in advance, and what simplicity can teach us about true luxury.

Benoit Witz / Image: Herve Fabre

• "I don’t ask what the guest wants, I ask what the garden wants." Can you describe a recent moment where the garden dictated an unexpected dish or flavour direction?

Last week, I arrived expecting to cook with courgette blossoms, but the garden was late to bloom. Instead, I found an abundance of wild fennel and young wild greens. That changed everything. We built the dish around a compote wrapped in delicate pastry to create Provençal-style barbajuans. It wasn’t the plan, but it was what the garden offered. And the garden always knows.

• Many chefs talk about provenance, but few go as far as eliminating menus altogether. How do you maintain creativity when working within such a tight radius of ingredients?

I don’t see limits, I see rhythm. The land speaks a different language every day. Sometimes it whispers, sometimes it surprises. That unpredictability keeps me alert. It forces me to respond rather than control. Creativity isn’t about abundance. It’s born from attention.

• Your cooking philosophy is deeply personal and intuitive. How do you pass that kind of instinctive knowledge on to younger chefs in your kitchen?

I don’t hand them instructions. I ask questions: "What does this smell like to you?" or "Where do you think the flavour is heading?" It’s not about copying. It’s about feeling. Technique can be taught. But intuition has to be slowly awakened.

Le Jardin Secret / Image: Herve Fabre

• You’ve rejected the “concept” trend so prevalent in modern dining. Why do you think the culinary world became so obsessed with narrative over nourishment, and what’s been lost in the process?

Because storytelling sells. But when it becomes louder than the food, we lose something vital. Meals become performances. Nourishment disappears behind the spectacle. The best plates don’t need a script, they just need truth.

• Much of your inspiration comes from your roots. Is there a dish or memory from your upbringing that still shapes your cooking today?

I didn’t grow up with chefs, I grew up on a farm. We ate what we grew. Freshness wasn’t a concept, it was a way of life. That direct relationship with the land, with real flavour, that’s what still guides me. It’s less about a specific dish, more about remembering how things used to taste when they were just picked and simply prepared.

• Le Jardin Secret has earned a Michelin Green Star, but you describe it as a responsibility rather than an accolade. What do you wish more chefs understood about sustainable cooking?

It’s not about prestige, it’s about choices. Sustainability is asking better questions every day. "Do I really need this imported ingredient? Can I use the whole vegetable?" It’s not a badge, it’s a way of thinking. A way of being present with your ingredients, your land, your team.

Le Jardin Secret's Terrace / Image: Herve Fabre

• Can you talk about your approach to waste in the kitchen, are there ingredients or by-products others discard that you find value in?

Always. Carrot tops, citrus peels, stale bread, there’s always something more they can become. I hate the word "waste." It assumes there’s no more use, no more value. But if you take the time, you’ll see everything still has something to give.

• You cook everything à la minute, not just for flavour but to preserve the ingredient’s life. How do you think our modern pace, of kitchens, and of life, has changed our relationship with food?

We’ve sacrificed presence for efficiency. Cooking ahead, plating in batches, it kills the soul of the dish. When I cook, I want the guest to feel the moment, the energy, the care. And that demands stillness. Attention. We’re all rushing, but food can slow us down, if we let it.

• The idea of "luxury" at Le Jardin Secret is completely redefined: no white gloves, no spectacle, just warmth and honesty. Do you see this as a quiet rebellion against fine dining norms?

Perhaps. Or maybe it’s just a return to what matters. True luxury isn’t perfection, it’s care. It’s a meal that feels alive, intimate. Where everything on your plate has a purpose. No scripts. No performances. Just food made with presence.

Dessert / Image: Herve Fabre

• With no menu and no formal structure, how do you balance the element of surprise with guest expectations?

We start by saying: "Let yourself be surprised. Trust us." Some guests are hesitant, but most are relieved. It gives them permission to let go. We speak with them, understand their preferences, and then we cook. That trust becomes part of the experience.

• You’re one of the few chefs redefining sustainability through presence and restraint, not expansion. Do you think the wider industry is starting to shift back toward this quieter idea of luxury?

It’s slow, but yes. I think people are tired of being dazzled. They want to be nourished, by food, by space, by quiet. You see more chefs returning to their roots, doing less but with more care. It’s still rare, but it’s growing. And that gives me hope.

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