You already know this one. Chef Inaki Aizpitarte didn’t set out to become a chef, he trained in a different french artisan profession, as a stone cutter. But through a series of pure coincidences he ended up heading his own bistro in the 11ème, with the fancy and pretentious name Le Chateaubriand. And changed the cooking game forever. The resto is anything but fancy and pretentious, more like an easily ignored anonymous café. What’s on the plates (pink! black! metallic!) has influenced young chefs all over the world in the last five or actually almost ten years. No insta account, no books or tv appearances - chef Aizpitarte’s notoriety has spread solemnly through word-of-mouth. Displaying a healthy disregard and childlike playful attitude towards the stuckist french codes of what should be expected from a bistro, putting out dishes on a whim and in any order he fancies, a rare spur-of-the-moment cuisine that encompasses artful inspiration from across the globe in a handful plates, for €60. No consistency, no signatures, always ups and downs - which is also reflected in the service and atmosphere. Infamously once serving gilded apple pips (potentially poisonous) as he loves experiments, more successfully so in a salicorne risotto or in the dish haricot-coco-cacao combining the seemingly uncombinable into something that seriously transcends this wordplay into a delicious little summer salad. Some flavours can be loud, some can barely whisper, somehow they all sit together naturally, like a perfectly curated group exhibition of different artists in the same gallery. This Marco Pierre White of the zero-star bistrots still rocks out every night and plays his music louder than any other kitchen in Paris, you might fall in love here, you might want to leave after one or two plates. But you can’t ignore and you won't forget.