Whilst Antoine Dupont was sidelined through injury, he didn’t drift quietly out of view or disappear into the anonymity of rehab, which has never really been his way.
Instead, he surfaced somewhere else entirely, collaborating with Danny Khezzar the youthful French chef whose rise, from the kitchens of the Ritz to Michelin-starred Bayview and mainstream recognition via Top Chef, has been built on a rare combination of classical discipline, challenging norms and creative confidence.
It was, on the surface, a neat cultural crossover; elite scrum-half meets modern French master of gastronomy, but it lingered longer than most such moments because it felt oddly revealing. Khezzar is a chef who knows the classical canon intimately, who respects it deeply, but who also understands that reverence alone doesn’t move cuisine forward. Dupont, watching the game from the outside while injured, seemed instinctively drawn to that mindset; the idea that evolution doesn’t come from rejection, but from knowing precisely when and how to layer something new.
That collaboration felt less like novelty and more like metaphor.
Because if Fabien Galthie has been cooking from the great classical playbook of French rugby, he has done so brilliantly. Structured, disciplined, unapologetically rooted in fundamentals. The base has been prepared properly, the margins tightened, the excess stripped away. France have become largely reliable without becoming bland, powerful without becoming predictable, and emotionally robust in a way that had often eluded them in the past, but mastery has a habit of inviting curiosity, and it’s safe to say that this generational side have underachieved.
The dish still works but it no longer overwhelms
Between 2020 and 2023, France were ferociously consistent, emotionally aligned and brutally accurate in defence. They strangled teams not just with physicality, but with collective clarity, an almost shared refusal to fracture. The line speed was aggressive, the connections tight, the scramble instinctive. France now are still very good, but they are no longer that airtight as during the period up to that 2023 quarter-final versus the Springboks.
They do unravel occasionally; not dramatically, not catastrophically, but just enough for it to matter. Defensive connections aren’t always seamless, the system creaks when tempo spikes, and they leak points in ways they simply didn’t a few years ago, and control, once instinctive, sometimes needs to be reasserted rather than assumed.
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That isn’t decline in the blunt sense, more so it’s the reality of a side moving through a cycle, facing opponents who have learned how to stress their system, and managing a group that is subtly but meaningfully changing, partly due to age, partly due to form and greatly due to injury.
New ingredients arriving as the base begins to shift
Alongside the established core is a new generation pushing through; players like Mickael Guillard, Oscar Jegou and others who bring energy, athleticism and ambition, but who are still learning the rhythms and compromises of international rugby. They stretch the system, test its edges, and occasionally expose it, not through recklessness but through inexperience.
That’s not a problem to be solved so much as a phase to be managed.
France still have a dependable base. Charles Ollivon’s calm authority, Francois Cros’ connective work and Gregory Alldritt’s power and presence remain central to their credibility, whilst Thomas Ramos provides fireworks and emotion but fused with control and clarity from the back. These players don’t dominate the narrative, but they stabilise it, ensuring that whatever expression exists around them remains grounded.
The question for Galthie isn’t whether to move away from that foundation. It’s whether that foundation is now strong enough to support more variation on top of it.
Three kitchens, one menu and the case for Jalibert
Look at Bordeaux-Bègles and you see a version of French rugby that feels subtly different rather than radically opposed. Their backline play isn’t chaos dressed up as ambition; it’s layered, fluid and intelligently spaced. Matthieu Jalibert, at its heart, plays with a calm assurance that disguises just how quickly he processes information, drawing defenders just far enough before releasing others into space.
What makes UBB interesting isn’t flair for flair’s sake, but clarity of a prescribed and subscribed style. Players move because they expect the ball, not because they hope for it; that isn’t a rejection of structure, it’s an evolution of it.
Toulouse, of course, remain the reference point and naturally, Dupont defines tempo and standard like few players in the modern game, even when absent his influence lingers. Toulouse rugby sharpens decisions, demands precision and punishes hesitation.
La Rochelle provide the ballast, the reminder that power still matters when space disappears.
The opportunity for Galthie isn’t to choose between these identities, but to compose them deliberately, and this is where UBB 10 Jalibert’s role becomes pivotal.
Jalibert isn’t the alternative or the contingency plan, he is a synthesiser, just like Khezzar in the kitchen. He understands the base well enough to introduce contrast without destabilising the whole, and above all, he doesn’t tear up the script; he annotates it, changing texture and rhythm rather than direction.
If Dupont is the head chef, setting standards and tempo, then Jalibert is the creative partner who knows when to add spice and when restraint is the smarter choice. In a France side that no longer relies quite so heavily on defensive suffocation, that ability to control ambiguity becomes increasingly valuable.
Final course: evolution without betrayal
Modern international rugby is unforgiving. Defensive systems are smarter, line speed is relentless, and decision-making windows are shrinking. Breaking elite teams down now requires ambiguity, the ability to make defenders hesitate, to present multiple credible threats at once.
France have the players to do this. What they are deciding now is whether to trust them fully within the framework they’ve built.
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Dupont’s collaboration with Khezzar resonates because it reflects a mindset rather than a moment. You don’t move on from classical methods because they stop working; you evolve because you’ve mastered them.
France don’t need reinvention, they need consistency, they need clarity of style and they need nuance. Call it a willingness to season what is already excellent, to trust intelligence and clarity over habit, and to allow a new generation to express itself without losing the essence of what made them great. It’s not a break from tradition, but more so an evolution worthy of it, precisely what Khezzar has done for French cuisine.
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