Trade Names: Traditional Gallic cuisine and French front-of-house staff are the key ingredients at Les Fréres Jacques, writes Rose Doyle

Twenty years, in the life of a restaurant and the scheme of things, is not a long time. But the 20 years since "Les Fréres Jacques Restaurant Français" opened at 74 Dame Street, Dublin 2 has seen much change in the capital.

Today's Dublin may have more than its share of good restaurants, French and otherwise, but in 1986 they were at a premium. There wasn't even a Temple Bar when Jean-Jacques Caillabet first opened.

Les Fréres Jacques has not changed. Food, decor and service are, as they always were, impeccably traditional, classically French. Even the interview with Trade Names happens in "a civilised, French way". Not that Trade Names is complaining: to be dined on white linen, treated to timeless courtesy, Gallic charm and fine food, is not everyday in this business. That it has always been the way in Les Fréres Jacques is the wherein of this tale.

Jean-Jacques Caillabet, a man more inclined to set trends than follow them, has the easy manner of someone who enjoys people. Reared in La Boule, "on the edge of Brittany", he's the youngest of six children born to a Parisienne mother and Bordeaux-born father. His maternal grandmother was a Breton and he is French to the marrow of his bones.

"I've been away from France for 36 years but have never considered myself anything other than French," he admits, unnecessarily and not without pride. "It's most important to retain one's identity. The love of cuisine I got from my mother, who was a wonderful cook and very fussy woman. She would source the markets for ingredients and I would go with her."

When he finished school he went to Paris where, by 1968 and as a conscript/chauffeur, he scoured the markets of Les Halles for the army kitchens by day and worked as a waiter on the Isle St Louis by night.

He met and married Susan, from Manchester, and they opened his first business together in the French Alps, a Pension de Famille in a ski resort above Megeve. This being winter-seasonal he opened a second, summer-seasonal restaurant in La Boule.

After a few years of this they moved to Manchester where he opened La Marmite and, in time, a second restaurant. "But this was the 1970s," he points out, "and England and the world was in recession."

In the late 1970s, "after a meeting with a director of a company called Power Securities who were developing shopping centres in Cork", he moved to the southern capital with Susan and their three children to open a French brasserie-style Cafe de Paris in Queen's Old Castle in the city.

Burdened with a high rent and ahead of the market trend in Cork, he opened a second Cafe de Paris in Dublin when Power Securities offered him premises in the St Stephen's Green Galeria. A year after moving to Dublin, in 1984, he closed the Cork Cafe de Paris.

By now there were four young Caillabets; daughter Pascale and sons Julien and Sebastian were born in Manchester, the youngest, Olivier, was born in Cork. Life was hectic on all fronts.

"Rents were high and so were service charges and overheads," he's rueful. "You had to operate your business for as many hours as you could to cover running costs. The restaurant could take 150 covers at a time, the first of its kind. Now you've got La Stampa and others but we were at the beginning of bistros and such in Dublin," he's rueful, again, "a little too early for the demand of the market".

And so, "for economic reasons" he decided to "open a smaller, more specialised restaurant in a less high rent area. I found these premises in 1986. Dame Street really was not trendy then, there was no Temple Bar. But in economic terms I was going from a rent of £45,000 per year to £10,000 per year."

He moved to 74 Dame Street in June, 1986. In the beginning there was Manuel, his chef from the Galeria Cafe de Paris, Manuel's wife, Margaret (who had managed the Galeria Cafe), and Jean-Jacques himself. "We started modestly, with an emphasis on good food. The whole physical approach was more French, more intimate and up-market and that's the way we've remained. We wanted to dictate, slightly, what we would be rather than have the market dictate. Chefs have taken centre stage in recent years and anything goes, which in a sense is good. But at the end of the day the foundation of cuisine remains the same and the great creations of the last century will remain the role models of generations to come. We must observe creative parameters."

The restaurant name was Susan's idea. "She said something French, easy to remember and pronounce was needed," he smiles. "So she named it for Frére Jacques, the song we all sing in school."

In 1989 he "had a bit of luck. The landlord approached me to buy the building, so I did. My only regret is that, when he offered me the building next door, I didn't buy it too. I've no speculative instincts!"

Things changed on the personal front too; he and Susan divorced and Margaret became his partner. "She is from Bantry," he smiles, "and my petite amie as we say in France."

In 1989 the beginnings of the development of Temple Bar "put us on the map. Even so it took five-to-six years to become established here. People had a perception about the location, still have to a degree. Though we're here 20 years we're still out of the loop, on the perimeter of trendy restaurants."

He's quietly pleased about this, smiling and easy as he says: "I've never been one for fashionable trendiness. If you're in the trendy market your life-span is limited. We concentrate on the genuineness of our food."

One change, he regrets, is the passing of the fish auctions at Smithfield Markets. "I miss them. I liked the excitement of bidding, and the people you met! I've had a lifetime connected to markets. I love meeting people! I love the bon humeur, the whole game that is played over the bidding. Never, in all those years, never did I hear someone begrudging. The fish auctions are a big loss to Dublin in terms of humanity."

The front-of-house staff in Les Fréres Jacques are all French. "It's what people expect, a Dublin accented maître d' would take away from the French identity. We have five chefs in the kitchen; you cannot provide quality food with less than this number. The head chef has been here four years. I've had three Irish chefs in the last 20 years though, at the moment, all but one, who is from Northern Ireland, are French.

"But talent has no nationality; with talent and a background in cuisine nationality doesn't matter. Everything is prepared here in a good way, simple, classical, with care that ingredients should compliment, not mask, the flavours of food. If you order a sole or filet or turbot then this is what you will taste. I say, confidently, that this is a genuine French restaurant!"

His daughter and a son were involved in Les Fréres Jacques until two years ago. Then "love took my daughter Pascale away and my son Julien decided he wanted big city catering in London".

Jean-Jacques Caillabet is less involved with day-to-day, front-of-house activities these days, leaving things to Sylvain, his manager/maître d' of 17 years. "My three senior guys - Sylvain, Mikael and Yvan - run the place for me. Sylvain has become as well known as Jean-Jacques! The restaurant's established now but nevertheless needs constant grooming. You can't take your eye off the ball, you have to look after clientele all the time. They've supported us and we must meet their expectations."

For himself he wants a "more leisurely life" which means time to ride his BMW, 154HP "space shuttle" motorbike. He bought his first motorbike when he was 28, his sons all ride motorbikes and earlier this year father and sons toured the east of France together on bikes. Days before we met he'd returned from a week long 3,400kms journey through the French Alps. Good food has to have something to do with it.