Aug. 22 (Bloomberg) -- Bernard Loiseau had much to live for: a restaurant blessed with three stars in the Michelin guide, a profitable food company that bore his name, a loving wife and three children. So it came as a shock to many when the French chef was found dead at his home in Burgundy, a hunting rifle by his side, on Feb. 24, 2003.

Few people who had met Loiseau, who was 52 when he took his own life, could resist his broad smile and infectious enthusiasm for his trade. Yet, as Rudolph Chelminski shows in his captivating book, ``The Perfectionist'' (Penguin, 507 pages, 17.99 pounds in the U.K., $27.50 in the U.S.), Loiseau had been afflicted by self- doubt ever since leaving his hometown in the mountains of central France at age 19. He nevertheless worked his way up through provincial and Parisian restaurants before taking ownership of La Cote d'Or in the Burgundian town of Saulieu.

No sooner had Loiseau won his third Michelin star in 1991 -- one of only 19 restaurants in France with that distinction at the time -- than he started fretting about losing it.

Huge Debts

He ran up debts of almost 300 million francs (then about $50 million) to renovate a hotel attached to the restaurant, hoping to draw wealthy patrons to his establishment, which lies a good 60 kilometers west of the actual Cote d'Or, the ``golden slope'' where vintners produce the region's best-known wines. He bought three Parisian restaurants and lent his name to a line of prepared foods, fearing isolation in a town (population: 3,000) that was bypassed by a new motorway in the 1970s.

The chef spent heavily on the finest tableware because, even if Michelin insists its stars are based solely on cooking, French restaurant owners are convinced otherwise, says Chelminski, an American food critic who met Loiseau soon after moving to France 30 years ago.

Loiseau, a high-school dropout, eased his cash crunch by raising 4.5 million euros in an initial public offering of Bernard Loiseau SA in 1998, making him the first French chef to sell shares. That only seemed to exacerbate his worries about whether ``Le Style Loiseau'' -- an innovative combination of first-rate ingredients, quick cooking, deglazing with water instead of wine and simple presentation -- was becoming passe.

In the late 1990s, rival chef Alain Ducasse hogged the attention of the world's food press. Then along came Catalan whiz kid Ferran Adria, with his foamed fish and meat sorbets.

Obsessive Behavior

To chronicle Loiseau's downward spiral, Chelminski interviewed the chief's first and second wives, his staff, food critics and star chefs such as Guy Savoy. Chelminski clearly adores Loiseau, though he isn't blind to the chef's insecurities and obsessive behavior. The author recalls, for example, a day in 1990 when Loiseau begged to know if Chelminski had any inkling if a third Michelin star was on its way. Waiters recount how Loiseau interrogated them whenever a diner returned a dish half eaten.

Chelminski does more than tell the story of Loiseau's life, something already recounted after his death by his wife Dominique in ``Bernard Loiseau, Mon Mari'' and a decade ago in William Echikson's ``Burgundy Stars.'' The author weaves in a postwar history of French cooking, with many an aside on French society, cooking techniques and the restaurant guidebook industry.

While ``The Perfectionist'' never takes you into the soul of Gallic cuisine the way Anthony Bourdain did in ``Kitchen Confidential,'' it should be read by anyone interested in why the French eat the way they do.

Breezy Style

We learn how highway construction and changing views on the masculine girth morphed traditional French cooking into nouvelle cuisine and, later, fusion. We also glimpse why Michelin and GaultMillau often give conflicting reviews. (Michelin rewards perseverance; GaultMillau is seeking the next new thing.) This is a lot of food to load onto one plate, even with Chelminski's breezy prose. Some readers will walk away feeling bloated, while others will hunger to know more.

Chelminski is particularly strong at decoding what drives restaurant critics, perhaps because he is one himself. Several of Loiseau's friends blamed the chef's suicide on a GaultMillau downgrade and on newspaper reports, which proved unfounded, that he was in danger of losing a Michelin star. Though Chelminski refuses to takes sides, he does suggest that Loiseau might have been saved with proper care of his insecurity and depression.

To contact the writer of this story: Gregory Viscusi in Paris at gviscusi@bloomberg.net.

Last Updated: August 22, 2005 00:21 EDT