A Power Couple that Understood the Assignment
A 2-Michelin star restaurant in the mountains that teaches you to come home
Lunch at L’Auberge de Montmin ⭐️⭐️
Annecy, France — May 31, 2025
(not a paid review. just a foodie who loves eating)
While my husband chased thermals in the sky, I sat down for lunch.
Col de la Forclaz cows grazed nearby—
the very cows whose milk would later become cheese on my plate.
His experience was adrenaline.
Mine was quiet awe.
And somehow, both fed us.
Sandrine, the chef-owner’s wife—
graceful, grounded,
welcomed me like I belonged.
She told me stories of love,
of starting over,
of building something that felt like them.
The menu unfolded slowly, deliberately—
like a story being told by someone who’s not in a rush to impress you.
Here’s what I ate — and what stayed with me
From the first bite, the intention was clear:
this isn’t food just for spectacle.
It’s food built on memory, terroir,
and serious technique.
Potato bougnettes opened the meal—
golden, cloud-like fritters that shattered on contact,
a nod to the local Alpine comfort,
that vanished with the lightest crunch.
Next: a Savoy cake layered with smoked bacon,
candied onions, Comté cheese.
Rustic, sweet, savory—
like Sunday lunch reimagined with French finesse.
The juniper-smoked pancetta that followed
smelled like pine,
and tasted like a campfire—
smoky, earthy, and just the right amount of wild.
Followed by a course called “Spring Stroll”—
radishes from Sevrier,
peas prepared the French way—lightly buttered, ridiculously sweet.
They tasted like a green that hadn't been messed with.
Restraint isn’t common in restaurants this ambitious.
But it was everywhere here.
And it was working.
White asparagus arrived with egg hollandaise and salted Arctic char—
soft, rich, precise.
Not dramatic.
But deeply confident.
Sorrel polenta was herbaceous,
earthy without being dense.
You could taste the light in it.
Then came the bread.
Naturally leavened, warm, with farmhouse butter and walnut oil.
Bread this good makes you question every past version you’ve praised.
Alongside it: snails with wild garlic.
A dish that could easily slip into cliché,
but here it didn’t.
It was clean, bold, and deeply alive.
A parsley butter candle flickered at my table—
a small gesture, maybe,
but it felt like someone thought about how the room should feel,
not just how it should taste.
Sevrier beetroot, smoked with juniper,
came next, dressed with horseradish cream and chervil oil.
Sharp, earthy, quietly stunning.
Lake Geneva Féra, served crudité-style—
the kind of fish that tastes like the water it came from.
Briny, soft, untouched.
The grilled trout with sorrel jus and oxalis (part of the wood-sorrel family)
was another whisper of a dish.
Delicate, almost translucent,
it tasted like someone had learned to listen
before they learned to cook.
Then came the crescendo—
suckling lamb, three ways:
a grilled chop with a spicy sausage with just the right kick,
a lamb kebab with caramelized onions,
a shoulder confit that dissolved without resistance.
Savoie chickpea hummus with caraway and preserved lemon,
and confit onions—both red and white.
The showstopper was the bulb of roasted garlic, served whole.
Soft as butter. Caramelized to perfection.
The cheese—made from milk
from the cows I watched over lunch—
was grassy, floral, and real.
Dessert started with Bauges Mille Fleurs honey—
floral and light.
Then came green Chartreuse, served cold—
a strong herbal liqueur made with over 100 plants
by monks in the French Alps.
It was sharp, earthy, almost medicinal.
Not easy, but refreshing—like moments in life that wake you up.
The Edelweiss liqueur that followed was softer
and more floral, a nice contrast.
It reminded me how gentleness can land just as strongly as boldness.
The meal ended with lovage cream with strawberries under sorrel ice.
Lovage is a herb that tastes a bit like celery with a hint of mint.
When it’s made into cream, it’s not sweet like vanilla—
it’s fresh, green, a little unexpected.
The strawberries were chilled,
topped with a thin layer of sorrel ice—
which added a tart, lemony bite.
It looked like winter,
but tasted like spring starting to peek through.
It reminded me:
not everything hits you right away.
Some flavors—and some things in life—
need a little time to make sense.
Behind the plate
Chef Florian’s story unfolded like a novel.
An Annecy native, he began his journey at 15 as an apprentice at Le Clos des Sens, then under Michelin giants:
Rostang, Veyrat, Marx, Frechon.
By 2015, he was Executive Chef at The Lanesborough in London,
before consulting for luxury hotels in Singapore and China.
Sandrine’s story is just as compelling.
Born in Marseille, she moved to Paris young, managing a restaurant by 20.
She joined Thierry Marx, where she met Florian,
and later Frechon.
Her natural grace and dedication earned her
the Prix Michelin du Service in 2024.
In 2018, he and Sandrine returned to his roots,
transforming a former pizzeria in a mountain village
into a 2-Michelin-starred haven.
The irony is they didn’t chase stars.
They built a home.
His mom still lives there.
Together, they created L’Auberge de Montmin—
a place where culinary brilliance meets the warmth of true hospitality.
And here’s the truth:
You don’t just taste their story.
You feel it.
This lunch reminded me that growth doesn’t always mean expansion.
Sometimes it means return.
Sometimes presence outshines ambition.
Sometimes, your best work begins
when you stop running
and decide to stay.
L’Auberge de Montmin is that kind of place.
Refined, rooted,
and exactly where it’s supposed to be.
Highly recommend! (more recs here)
till the next bite,
Hungryhelen