GEORGES Blanc flew into Hong Kong with plenty of baggage, none of which could be weighed, lost or julienned. The expectation to live up to his reputation - which he has consistently maintained over two decades despite the emergence of younger culinary wunderkinder - is always present. So are the challenges. How do you transport the ambience of a 17th-century auberge to a hotel dining room? How do you extend the gracious hospitality of Jacqueline, his wife, who greets guests in their restaurant in Vonnas, France, when she is not here? How do you duplicate the kind of food hand-crafted by a staff of 35 for no more than 100 guests in an inn that has been in the Blanc family since 1872? 'You can't,' grins the 52-year-old chef, shaking his head. 'I can only give the flavour.' Blanc's cordiality and enthusiasm in selling Georges Blanc during the whirlwind five-day promotion overrides a case of jet-lag. Looking surprisingly rested, he claims otherwise. To import the spirit of his cuisine to the Brasserie On the Eighth in the Conrad Hotel, he picked three of his staff - a pastry chef (one out of nine), a sous chef, and his first executive chef. With two days to prepare the mise-en-place, there is no time to socialise or retrace his steps around the city he first visited 10 years ago. There are special lunches for a group of wine tradesmen and a tuxedo dinner for members of a food and wine society. When you're the hand that fed Mikhail Gorbachev and Francois Mitterrand with 300 journalists in 1992 and cater regularly to international celebrities and food pilgrims who travel solely to Burgundy to dine, buy souvenirs in his gourmet boutique or swill wine in his 'vinotheque', a tasting/salesroom where any of his cellar's 120,000 bottles are available, the wine-maker and author makes no pretence to travel light. In the constellation of Michelin and Gault et Millau alumni, his is the generation that followed legends such as Paul Bocuse and the Troisgros brothers. Unlike many colleagues who heralded nouvelle cuisine and embraced much of its zaniness, Blanc's style, then and now, remains more traditional. He foregoes sophistication and flash. He uses garnishes like a miser, regards food on a plate as a reflection of people's sensibilities, not museum art, and relies on local ingredients prepared with restraint, not edible clutter. 'Except for sauces. I like complex ones,' he continued. His are not clones of buerre blanc, the foamy butter sauce that was drizzled over precious ingredients in the late 70s until it fizzled in the 80s. 'Now I use less butter and more olive oil, herbs and spices, and less sugar in pastry. But I still use them [butter and sugar]. You have to adapt to today's lifestyle.' An average meal in his restaurant costs between FF350 (HK$503) and FF550. Signature dishes slated for the promotion include the classic, Bresse chicken grandmother's style in vinegar and tarragon; roast lamb fillet with black olive puree and seasonal vegetables; and pan-fried frog legs with garlic powder and spices. A favourite appetiser, potato pancake with salmon and caviar, comes from his grandmother, who was in her day considered France's most respected female chef. When pressed about dessert, he insists all are favourites. But his detailed description of how he makes apple mille feuille with vanilla and caramel cream mocks any neutrality. So does warm bitter chocolate cake with basil and ginger ice cream. His robust fitness comes from putting in 14-hour days, drinking two glasses of red wine per day, and squeezing in no more than five minutes of exercise 'for this', he quips, patting his slightly protuberant mid-section. When he isn't spear-heading environmental causes as an elected municipal official of Vonnas, he writes cook books. Out of the eight published, three were not too successful. But success, as defined by this author, means works translated into at least four languages. Coffee table books sell best, he assures, the kind with high quality paper and stunning photographs. A book currently in the works is on the vineyards in France and how wine is used in regional cuisine. He realised a boyhood dream in the mid-80s when his 16 hectares of vineyards in the Maconnais area produced a chardonnay that makes him beam like a new father. What's next? 'In France, we say to be happy, you must plant a vineyard and write a book.'