Samira Maaoui-Bayard
Creator and founder of ThéRâPie
The Origins of ThéRâPie
I was born between two heritages.
On my Norman side of the family, food has always been central. Simple, authentic, family cooking, deeply connected to the rhythm of the seasons. I remember my grandfather's tractor, the harvests in his garden, the animals to feed, this direct and humble relationship with the land. There, I learned that eating well begins with respecting life, what it offers, at the right time.
On my Tunisian father's side, a different sensibility was passed down. My grandfather was a gardener, passionate about flowers and nature. A more contemplative relationship, where one observes, where one takes care, where beauty counts as much as function.
These two heritages naturally led me to vegetarian and plant-based cuisine, where simplicity, precise flavor, and balance are essential for good nutrition. Long before I knew the name, I was already close to the spirit of shōjin ryōri: a cuisine of restraint, respect, and attention to each ingredient.
I have always been drawn to the concept of chef-driven cuisine, a cuisine that reflects a relationship with the world. Reading Nakahigashi Hisao's book "Wild Herbs" profoundly reinforced this vision: a cuisine of foraging, of nature, of silence, where one listens to life rather than dominates it.
Why Japan?
Thanks to Love, my husband, who introduced me to this country more than twenty-two years ago. Japan was the obvious choice. I rediscovered all my values there: respect — for gestures, for the seasons, for people —, an architecture designed for emptiness as much as for matter, an aesthetic of restraint, and of course, tea.
Discovering wabi-sabi was a turning point. This philosophy taught me to recognize beauty in imperfection, the ephemeral, and the discreet. It was naturally through this philosophy that I came to tea, not as a simple beverage, but as an art of living, a ritual, a form of self-care.
Originally, I only wanted to create a tea room.
Then there was this place.
These two heritages naturally led me to vegetarian and plant-based cuisine, where simplicity, precise flavor, and balance are essential for good nutrition. Long before I knew the name, I was already close to the spirit of shōjin ryōri: a cuisine of restraint, respect, and attention to each ingredient.
I have always been drawn to the concept of chef-driven cuisine, a cuisine that reflects a relationship with the world. Reading Nakahigashi Hisao's book "Wild Herbs" profoundly reinforced this vision: a cuisine of foraging, of nature, of silence, where one listens to life rather than dominates it.
Why Japan?
Thanks to Love, my husband, who introduced me to this country more than twenty-two years ago. Japan was the obvious choice. I rediscovered all my values there: respect — for gestures, for the seasons, for people —, an architecture designed for emptiness as much as for matter, an aesthetic of restraint, and of course, tea.
Discovering wabi-sabi was a turning point. This philosophy taught me to recognize beauty in imperfection, the ephemeral, and the discreet. It was naturally through this philosophy that I came to tea, not as a simple beverage, but as an art of living, a ritual, a form of self-care.
Originally, I only wanted to create a tea room.
Then there was this place.
From my very first visit, I felt an immediate connection. Everything seemed imbued with a silent memory. I had the impression that this place was made for me, and perhaps also that I was made for it.
As the renovation progressed, the building's age, the stones, the wood, the marks of time... my project matured as the space revealed itself. Each step opened a new possibility. The basement became a treatment room. The alcoves were transformed into tatami areas. The changing room became the kitchen. Nothing was imposed. Everything unfolded naturally, through listening to and respecting what already existed.
As if in therapy, I was breathing better and better.
My vision was becoming clearer, more refined. The place guided me as much as I shaped it.
Like Japanese culture, I deeply believe that every place has a soul. Here, I felt what the Japanese call ichigo ichie: the awareness of a unique, precious encounter that will never be repeated in the same way.
We were meant to meet. And when you think about it, there's also the name of the place: Rue du Curé.
The word curé comes from the Latin cura, which means care, attention, solicitude.
The one who watches over, who accompanies, who takes care.
This resonance deeply touched me. Without my having sought it, ThéRâPie settled on a street whose name perfectly embodies what I wished to offer: a place of care, not religious, but human. A space where support is provided differently, through food, tea, wine and sake, silence, and the right touch.
Then came the human encounters. The producers, the artisans, the employees, the customers. Little by little, ThéRâPie became a living, inhabited place, nourished by presences, stories and intentions.
This is the tangible manifestation of my journey:
a constellation of my values, my heritage and my cultural references.
A space for breathing where tea, sake-wine, living cuisine, care, wabi-sabi and humanity are in constant dialogue thanks to Japanese culture.
ThéRâPie is an invitation to slow down, to feel, and to reconnect with what is essential.