In 1920s-1930s Paris, the modest intellectual does not eat with great ceremony. His day revolves around simple rituals: a café-crème drunk standing at the zinc counter in the morning, a snack swallowed between two studio sessions, the daily special simmering at the local brasserie, and a slightly more elaborate Sunday meal when entertaining. Nothing ostentatious: one seeks the right, the useful, the clear — a boarding house and bistro cuisine where everything has its place, like the volumes of a purist painting.

Ozenfant advocated a return to order, economy of means, pure form. His preferred cuisine resembles him: a limpid broth where you can see the bottom of the pot, a square of honest butter on bread, clean flavors without overload. The gesture reduced to essentials — that is the true signature.