When people ask where I learned the most about cooking, they often expect me to mention a prestigious kitchen in Paris, a Michelin-starred chef, or one of the restaurants where I trained. The truth surprises them. Some of my greatest culinary lessons were learned not in a professional kitchen, but on a bicycle.
In 2020, I left behind the comfort of my career and set off on a journey across Southeast Asia. My route would take me through Thailand, Laos, and Vietnam, not by plane or train, but by bicycle. It wasn't simply a sporting challenge. It became a journey that completely transformed the way I think about food.
Slowing down to truly discover a country
Modern travel moves quickly. You fly into a city, visit a few attractions, take some photographs, and move on. Cycling is different. Every kilometre is earned. Every hill is felt. Every stop becomes an opportunity to meet people you would never encounter otherwise.
Travelling slowly allowed me to experience Asia in its most authentic form. I wasn't dining in luxury hotels. I was eating with local families, stopping at roadside kitchens, visiting morning markets, and sharing meals prepared by people who had spent generations perfecting recipes without ever writing them down. Those moments became my greatest classroom.
Thailand: a lesson in balance
Thailand was my first revelation. Every meal demonstrated extraordinary balance: sweet, salty, sour, spicy, with no ingredient dominating another. Fresh herbs were added moments before serving. Broths simmered for hours. Grilled meats carried the unmistakable aroma of charcoal. The markets were alive with colours, fragrances, and ingredients I had never used in classical French cooking.
Rather than replacing French techniques, these experiences expanded my understanding of flavour. I realised that simplicity often requires extraordinary precision.
Laos: the beauty of simplicity
Crossing into Laos felt like entering another world. Life moved more slowly and cooking became quieter. The meals were humble but deeply satisfying. Sticky rice, river fish, fresh herbs, vegetables harvested nearby, and food cooked over wood fires reminded me that extraordinary cuisine does not always require expensive ingredients. It requires respect: for nature, for tradition, and for the people producing the food.
As a French chef, this philosophy felt surprisingly familiar. After all, French cuisine has always celebrated terroir, the unique character of a place expressed through its ingredients.
Vietnam: hospitality served at every table
When I arrived in Vietnam, something immediately felt different. Everywhere I stopped, I was welcomed with generosity: a bowl of noodle soup, fresh herbs picked from the garden, tea shared with complete strangers, conversations despite the language barrier. Food wasn't simply nourishment. It was hospitality. Meals brought families together, welcomed travellers, and created friendships.
As a chef, I realised that the atmosphere surrounding a meal can be just as memorable as the food itself.
Why travel made me a better French chef
Many people imagine that becoming a better chef means learning increasingly complicated techniques. I discovered the opposite. The more I travelled, the more I appreciated simplicity. The best ingredients require less manipulation. Fresh vegetables need little decoration. Perfect butter needs no explanation. A carefully prepared sauce often says more than an elaborate presentation.
Travel reminded me why I fell in love with cooking in the first place. Not to impress people. But to make them happy.
Finding home in Hội An
When I reached Hội An, I wasn't planning to stay. Then the world changed. The pandemic arrived, travel stopped, and this beautiful UNESCO World Heritage town unexpectedly became my home. Instead of continuing my journey, I discovered a new beginning.
It was here that I met my business partner, Vy Nguyen, whose passion for hospitality matched my own love of cooking. Together, we imagined creating a restaurant that reflected everything I had learned throughout my journey. Not simply a French restaurant, but a place where French tradition could meet Vietnamese generosity.
Maison Lucien: a reflection of the journey
Today, every plate served at Maison Lucien carries memories of that bicycle journey. French techniques remain at the heart of every recipe. Normandy butter, carefully selected French cheeses, and exceptional wines preserve the authenticity of my heritage. At the same time, fresh Vietnamese herbs, seasonal vegetables, local seafood, and regional produce celebrate the country that welcomed me so warmly.
The goal has never been fusion cuisine. Instead, it is respect: for France, for Vietnam, and for every producer whose work makes exceptional cooking possible.
More than food
Looking back, cycling across Asia taught me something that no culinary school ever could. Great cooking is not only about recipes. It is about listening, observing, and learning from people whose names may never appear in cookbooks: every market vendor, every fisherman, every grandmother stirring a pot over charcoal, every farmer harvesting vegetables before sunrise. They all became my teachers.
Today, when guests visit Maison Lucien, I hope they enjoy more than a meal. I hope they experience the spirit of that journey, one that began on the roads of Southeast Asia and continues every day in a quiet French bistro in the heart of Hội An.
The greatest journeys never truly end. They simply find a new place to be shared. — Chef John Gallais
Read the full career story in From Normandy to Hội An, or visit the Chef page.
Taste the journey
7/1 Phan Bội Châu, Hội An · Open for lunch & dinner · Closed Saturday