La Colline du Colombier

La Colline dU Colombier

You have to want to find it. La Colline du Colombier is hidden in the hills and meadows near Roanne, in the middle of France, overlooking the Loire valley. No town nearby, no reason to be passing through.

It was Michel Troisgros — one of the most celebrated names in French cooking — who first built this place. Michel’s son Léo Troisgros with his partner Lisa Roche took it over and made it entirely their own. Same hillside, different spirit. Freer, more personal, with a quietly Japanese sensibility running through the food that feels completely natural once you are there.

We have been coming here for ten years. And every time, somewhere on that road through the fields and hills, we ask ourselves the same question — how is it possible that a place in the middle of nowhere can feel like this?

Inside, the light is warm and dimmed. Polished concrete floors the colour of honey, rough stone walls that have been standing for centuries, exposed timber rafters running the full length of the roof. Round black tables, minimal and considered. And above it all, an extraordinary mix of pendant lights — large glass trapezoids hanging low from the beams, smaller sculptural forms in orange and white scattered around the room. It should not work together. It does. There is a sepia warmth to the whole room — nothing stark, nothing cold.

And then the soup is served. The soupe de bienvenue — a tradition that began with Michel. Not part of the menu, simply a generous extra. Creamy, subtle, a surprisingly beautiful colour. It arrives in a soupière, and you share it with whoever is at your table. Festive and familiar at the same time. A gesture that carries sixty years of three-star French gastronomy.

We have watched this place evolve over ten years. What started as modern French gastronomy has become something freer — more personal, more detached from category. Japanese influences appear without announcing themselves. Each visit we find something we did not expect. That constancy of surprise, after ten years, is what keeps bringing us back.

Léo and Lisa

Our first face of La Colline was Ali. Long before Léo and Lisa officially took the place over and rebuilt it into what it is today. Ali is the kind of person who makes you understand that a dinner is not only about what arrives on the table — it is about who brings it, and how. Warm, embracing, genuinely happy you are there, and still perfectly in his role. After ten years, I am still wondering if I go there for the food or to meet Ali.

Lisa is the soul of the place. Before every evening starts, she gathers the team for a briefing — every table, every name, every allergy, every small curiosity about the guests arriving that night. Nothing is left to chance, and yet nothing ever feels managed. That is the art of it. She is the one who makes sure the room breathes properly, that every guest feels seen and taken care of. Completely present, always warm. Without her, La Colline would be a very good restaurant. With her, it feels like somewhere you belong.

Léo we know mostly through the kitchen. We have never had a long conversation — he is busy, committed, absorbed in what he does. But watching him with his team that evening, moving through the pass, arranging each tiny plate with complete focus — you understood immediately who he is. Genuine, simple in the best sense of the word. No performance, no extra decoration. What you see is what you get, and what you get is someone who truly loves what he has built here.

The staff around them are young, numerous, quietly smart. They move through the room with purpose and ease — minimalist in their dress, precise in their manner. Something almost Japanese in the way they carry themselves. They all know exactly why they are there.

Together, this team is what makes La Colline something well beyond a very good restaurant.

Aubracs sur la Colline

For this special evening, Léo had invited Cyril Attrazic. Two good friends, two chefs sharing the same passion, one cosy night at La Colline. Cyril comes from Aubrac — high up in the Massif Central, that open volcanic plateau of cattle, forest and wide sky. Fifth generation in his family, and the one who brought it to two Michelin stars. In a conversation that evening he mentioned it simply, the way you mention something that took a lifetime to build.

The menu told you everything before the first plate arrived. Dishes named like landscapes. L’œuf dans l’œuf. Terre d’Aubrac. Cueillette en Margeride. Bœuf de l’Aubrac dans son écosystème. Precise, deeply rooted, confident. Two chefs, two territories, one coherent evening.

The room was full, the mood light. We talked to other guests, laughed, stayed late. We left happy. We talked about it all the way home.

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