Taste today is not only about what’s on the plate. It’s about the ability to choose, to notice, to evaluate. About how gastronomy has become the language of an era. Alexander talks about restaurants the way others talk about contemporary art: attentively, structurally, without excessive romanticism, but with an understanding that behind every successful project lies a combination of craft, intuition, and that very "magic" which cannot be calculated in a spreadsheet.

— I think it’s always a combination of factors. The era when one could exist simply as a "place with good food, period" is over. Today, a guest comes not only for the taste—they come for a whole experience.

Essentially, it’s a very long chain of touchpoints. From the first contact with the brand—seeing it on social media, reading a recommendation, landing on the website—to the moment you leave the restaurant and they say "goodbye, we look forward to seeing you again."

— Gastronomy has truly become a language that speaks very precisely about a country and a city. If previously, to understand an era, we looked at theater, literature, fashion, today restaurants have quite officially joined this list.

By the cuisines represented in a city, one can gauge the openness of its society. By the ingredients held in high esteem, one can discern how people think about health and pleasure. By the formats the audience chooses, one can infer what it currently lacks most: spectacle, coziness, intimacy, status, relaxation.

Food reflects time as well. If you take the menu of a typical major city and compare it to a menu from twenty years ago, you’ll see a colossal difference. Back then, there was one set of ideas about a good restaurant; today, it’s another. By how dishes change over decades, one could indeed write textbooks. It’s a very precise cross-section of an era.

I like to look at it as a Customer Journey Map — a map of the guest’s path. Who picked up the phone when the person called for the first time? How were they spoken to in the messenger? What are the glasses made of and how comfortable is it to sit at the table? Is there someone in the hall who can simply look and understand what the guest needs right now — another glass, some quiet, or the bill.

Hundreds of details matter, which the guest may not even consciously register but will feel. Therefore, it’s impossible to say: "Here, the food is the main thing, everything else will follow." No. The food, atmosphere, service, the people who work here—it's one system. If a link in this system breaks, the restaurant ceases to be a cohesive experience and turns into just a canteen with nice decor or, conversely, tasty food in a random place.

What does "taste" mean in the restaurant context today? Is it about the food, the atmosphere, the aesthetics, or the owner's philosophy?

What makes a restaurant truly viable—the idea, the team, the location, or the investment discipline?

Why do many successful projects lose their flavor when they try to scale?

— Taste, in the literal sense, heavily depends on the guest.
If a person is well-traveled and well-experienced—they've seen and tried a lot, know what "good" is and what "bad" is, have been to places where certain dishes were invented and perfected—their bar is automatically higher. They won’t be impressed by just a beautiful presentation; they’ll read the nuances: balance, textures, temperature, the handling of acidity, ingredient quality, the precision of pairings.

Perception is also influenced by context. The same dish feels different under different conditions. That’s why taste is always a synergy: of the food, the atmosphere, the aesthetics, the philosophy of the owner and chef, and the guest’s personal history.

Does modern gastronomy even have a mission—or is that too much of a word?

— I think searching for a high mission in everything isn’t entirely right. Especially if there’s no substance behind that mission. Food really has only two important tasks. The first is functional: a person should be full. That’s the basic level. The second is emotional: food should bring pleasure, evoke feelings, leave an aftertaste—not just in the literal sense. And emotions aren’t always about complex constructions, multi-course tasting menus, and gastronomic spectacles. Sometimes it’s simply perfect ingredients that go well together.

— A restaurant is like any business: the idea, the team, the location, and the financial model all matter. Without these, everything falls apart.
Sometimes, everything comes together perfectly: a brilliant concept, a strong chef, a great space,
the right calculations. And the project takes off—becomes a place people talk about, go to without promotions or discounts. Other times, with the same starting points, a restaurant, on the contrary, fails to take off. They change the menu, change the team, update the interior—and yet it still doesn’t thrive. It’s a very subtle matter.

— Because it’s very difficult to maintain a consistent taste across different locations in a country or the world.
The raw materials are different: other suppliers, different climate, different natural conditions. Even the water is different. You’d think, what’s in pasta or pizza—water, flour, salt. But dough behaves differently with different water. Temperature, air humidity, flour milled on different equipment—all of this affects it.

The same goes for coffee: the same coffee, roasted identically, but brewed with different water and by different hands, gives a different impression.
Scaling always carries the risk of inconsistency. You can standardize processes, but it’s very difficult to standardize living people. That’s why each new location is a test for the brand: can it preserve that very taste for which it was all started?

How important is the chef's personality – or is the era of "chef idols" passing?

— The chef’s personality is still important. Especially when the chef is in constant pursuit—of ideas, products, techniques—and when they are physically present in the restaurant.
Guests appreciate it when the chef comes to the table, asks how they liked the dish, explains where the ingredient comes from, why it’s prepared a certain way. This element of communication is highly valued today. It’s important for people to understand that there’s a real person behind the plate, not an anonymous kitchen. You don’t have to be a "world star" or "chef idol" to become a favorite among your own audience and regular guests. That, in itself, is a significant breakthrough.

How do you feel that the restaurant is “working” – not only financially, but culturally?

— When a restaurant is discussed.
Not when it’s just beautifully shot in an ad campaign, but when people talk about it among themselves. When it appears on social media not only on the project’s own accounts and those of bloggers invited to the opening, but in guests' personal stories. When reviews are written not only by industry insiders, colleagues, and "friends," but by ordinary people. When you see genuine recommendations in the comments: "You have to go, here’s what to order," "we went—it's really worth it." That’s the life of a project. Word of mouth remains the most effective way to promote a good restaurant. If people are willing to spend their social capital—to recommend it to friends, to take responsibility for that recommendation—it means the restaurant works.

Can we talk about the emergence of institutional investors in the restaurant industry?

— I think so.
There are already people in Moscow whose portfolio consists of 30−50 projects, where they own 10−20% shares. This is a new type of player: not a classic restaurateur, not a management company, but more of a collector who is interested in the very process of being involved in the best projects. For them, it’s the thrill—to assemble a collection of strong restaurants, to be part of the history of different teams, different concepts.

How has hedonism changed—what does it mean to “enjoy food” today?

— Hedonism is a complex concept, but dinner or lunch is always more than just food.
Good company, good conversation, and good food—these are already three components of true pleasure. Today, enjoying food isn’t necessarily about excess and ostentatious luxury. It’s more about mindfulness: understanding what you’re eating, why, and how it affects you. Being able to slow down, put your phone away, feel the texture and aroma, and hear the person across from you.

Which restaurant would you call the epitome of taste—a harmony of food, culture, and people?

— I'm very drawn to projects with their own distinct taste, recognizable even blindfolded. I greatly admire Vladimir Mukhin and Björn Frantzén. These are two brilliant examples of how a chef can build a universe around their kitchen. The magnificent chef Gaggan in Bangkok is another example. Each of them has a very recognizable tone. I value restaurants where, after some time, you begin to recognize the "handwriting"—even if the dish is new. You feel that it’s this particular chef, this particular team: by the combination of ingredients, by the boldness of their decisions, by how they construct the story of a meal. And this, in my opinion, is the benchmark of taste—when a project is so self-sufficient that it becomes a reference point for others. Not because everything there is "by the rules," but because it has its own, very honest, system of coordinates.

What role does the owner's personality play?

— In Russia, an owner-restaurateur is a producer.
Like in film: the producer determines a great deal. Even if the owner doesn’t have formal culinary training, but has taste, experience, and the ability to trust professionals, they can create a very strong project. A good restaurateur-producer knows how to maintain balance: not stifling creativity with control, and not destroying the business with endless experiments.

In which restaurants around the world, in your opinion, are the tastes and philosophy of the era most accurately expressed?

— I enjoy looking at gastronomy as a map of the world. There are brilliant examples in Russia, Japan, Singapore, Dubai, Scandinavia.
One of the best, in my opinion, is Björn Frantzén. The way he works with product, space, locations—it's a very cohesive story. It’s important for a restaurant to have its own voice, not to be a copy of someone else’s idea. Then it becomes part of the era’s picture, not just an illustration of it.

If you had to describe the taste of modern Russia with one dish, what would it be?

— You can’t capture it with just one dish.
The taste of Russia is a canvas woven from the best dishes of all its regions. It’s a vast array of techniques, ingredients, traditions, climates, and temperaments. I travel a lot around the country, trying local cuisines, ancient recipes, modern interpretations. And I see an enormous tapestry of thousands of ingredients and ways of cooking. In some places—northern fish and wild herbs. In others—meat, grains, root vegetables. In yet others—artisanal cheeses, or intricate desserts. It’s a colossal heritage that we are only just beginning to restore and reinterpret. I am sure that in the next five years, Russian gastronomy will surprise both its own residents and the growing number of tourists more than once. And that, perhaps, is the taste of life: in the feeling that you have an enormous palette at your fingertips, that you can choose something new every day. The most important thing is to be attentive to that choice.

Today, restaurants are increasingly becoming cultural mediums: communities are forming around them, and lectures, concerts, and exhibitions are held. Is this a conscious process?

— Restaurants always evolve alongside society.
When people gain resources—time, money, interest in new experiences—new formats appear. A restaurant ceases to be solely about lunch or dinner; it becomes about the life around it: events, people, meaning. It’s not always a strategic plan: "Let's become the cultural hub of the neighborhood." More often, it’s a natural response to the audience’s demand. If people are willing to spend time and find pleasure in the very process—in being involved in something broader than just eating—the restaurant adapts. A restaurant is a very flexible format. It quickly senses when a city needs new points of attraction.

To what extent do architecture and interior design shape taste as much as cuisine and service?

— Interior and architecture aren’t just a backdrop; they are part of the restaurant. Design should emphasize the concept, not compete with it. The atmosphere directly depends on it.
A steak will feel tastier in a classic steakhouse with wood, leather, and subdued lighting than in a completely bright, sterile minimalist space because we have associations built from books, movies, and travels. We all have an enormous library of images in our heads. When we enter a restaurant, these images activate. The interior can help a dish "resonate" more strongly—or, on the contrary, drown it out.

What's more important: a flawless business model or a concept that brings meaning and style?

— For me, the concept is more important.
The business model is always an assumption about how things will be. In reality, this assumption very often doesn’t match what actually happens. I choose projects intuitively. Of course, you have to calculate, but at the moment of decision, the concept is decisive for me. A good restaurant starts with an idea: what exactly do you want to tell the world—not just through the plates, but through the space, service, attitude. If that idea is genuine, you can build a business model around it. If there’s no idea, no spreadsheet will save it.

Are there any restaurants in Russia that can be considered emblematic of an era?

— Yes, absolutely.
In general, any restaurant that has been around for more than ten years can already be called iconic. Surviving a decade in such a competitive market is a serious indicator. It means the place has weathered changing trends, shifting audiences, economic swings, and still maintained its own identity. If we’re talking specifically about influence on the industry, then, of course, it’s "Coffee Mania," "Pushkin," White Rabbit, "Severyane." All these projects, in their time, showed that you could do things differently—and be successful. And it’s important to remember the contribution to international PR. Anatoly Comm’s restaurant "Varvary" was also a significant landmark. It’s already closed, but it will remain in the industry’s history as a bright episode that told the world that Russia has interesting gastronomy.

Author: Anastasia Kremleva