ROBERT TOURNIER'S BUSINESS STARTS IN THE KITCHEN.

LE CENTRAL'S OWNER PEDDLES AFFORDABLE FRENCH CUISINE 

Robert Tournier doesn't drive a BMW 740, doesn't smoke cigars the size of Polish sausages, and doesn't have an executive office guarded by support staff. Rather, the 50-year-old owner of Le Central, one of Denver's oldest and most successful independent eateries, can be found pedaling his imposing 6-foot-2-inch frame to work on a late-model mountain bike -- in faded jeans and a simple polo shirt, his gray hair standing defiantly on end.

This makes sense to Tournier. He rode his bike (he couldn't afford a car at the time) the day he opened Le Central back in 1980, and, just as he's continued that tradition, he's persevered with the philosophy that made Le Central successful initially. "I don't gouge the customer," the French native says. "My price increases follow inflation."

Originally from Toulon, France, Tournier first came to the United States in 1968. He had been a medical student, but when he landed his first job in an Italian restaurant (as a dishwasher) he was hooked. That was in Westport, Conn., where he remained briefly before going to Chicago, just in time for the 1968 Democratic National Convention. "I didn't know what was going on," he says with a sly grin, "but I loved every moment of it." He remained in Chicago, working his way up the strict hierarchy of French restaurant kitchens, and left for Santa Monica in 1977 to open the prototype for Le Central.

That restaurant, located on Main Street and adjacent to a pornographic movie theater, played host to Orson Welles, Jane Fonda, and two of the architects of nouvelle cuisine, the brothers Troisgros. "But I didn't understand what a success it was," Tournier says now. "I was getting free noise from the theater. It was very hip. There was a line out the door, but I didn't realize."

Tournier was young then, and his idea "was to open a restaurant, run it for one year, sell it, take two years off, open another restaurant, sell it." And that's exactly what he did.

After selling the restaurant in Santa Monica, he landed in Denver in 1980. With about $20,000 and a small business loan, he opened a two-room restaurant called Le Central: The Affordable French Restaurant.

Those were heady days. Colorado's economy was skyrocketing behind an oil-driven engine, and many restaurants were charging as much as $17 for pork chops. Tournier knew he could offer a comparable dish at a fraction of the cost -- and still be able to support himself. And so, with two waitresses and a dishwasher, he hung a dry-wall sheet on the side of the building with the word "OPEN" painted on it and worked 16-hour days as prep, line and executive chef.

His restaurant was an instant success. As in Santa Monica, eager diners began lining up at the door.

Even so, Le Central has had its share of ups and downs over the past 20 years. To begin with, the building that houses the restaurant was built in the late 1800s, and it is pushed to its physical limits every day the restaurant is open. Sitting in the downstairs offices with Tournier one afternoon, the ceiling groaned and creaked under the weight of human traffic, like an old ship being tossed in a gale. It was during lunch service, and a voice came over the intercom: "Robert? Could you come up here?" the voice asked tentatively. It turned out that a drain in the bar had clogged. The bartender was wondering whom to call to fix it. Tournier barked that the worker should be more resourceful, and dispatched him to retrieve a carbon-dioxide canister. When the bartender returned, confused, Tournier simply said: "You are not an artist," then turned the full pressure of the canister on the pipe, blowing whatever had clogged the drain to the oblivion of sewage treatment.

It was a telling episode. Tournier uses the same freewheeling manner to confront all problems -- even to face one unavoidable for many a restaurateur: the critic. When Le Central opened in 1980, Denver had no food critics to speak of, but things have changed. Critics now wield an enormous influence over the dining public, and a review can have the power to make or break a restaurant. Meanwhile, a restaurant owner has traditionally been expected to stand silently back while his business is interpreted for a publication's readership. While Le Central has had its share of good reviews, others have not been so kind, and it recently was chosen as one of five area restaurants that need "A Kick in the Butt." "Le Central," the reviewer wrote, "is on a slippery downslide with hideous service."

Tournier decided not to allow the review to stand without response. He fired off an angry letter to a local gossip columnist: "I realize Le Central is now a Denver institution," he wrote, "fair game for junior food critics trying to make a name for themselves, or publications trying to jump-start their distribution. ... However, I am very concerned by her choice of punishment: 'a swift, clutter-boot kick.' Does she encourage violence? Does her shrink know about it? What do the Freudians tell us about her? What else is in her closet? How will she dress to punish us?"

And while Tournier admits that Le Central is not perfect -- "It is hard to sell food of the same quality as the competition for less money" -- he felt that the critic's view was unbalanced.

"I must be doing something right to have lasted so long," he said. "It wasn't fair for the staff or my customers, but worst of all, my daughter took it very personally." Of his own reaction to the review he said, "The letter made no sense business-wise, but it was a good morale booster for everybody."

During the current economic boom, when hot new restaurants are as common in Denver as roadwork during summer, many independent restaurateurs are nervous. With the emergence of moderate-to-high-end chains like Ii Fornaio, Palomino, and Roy's, the independent restaurateur is faced with a new threat: the chain restaurant custom-made to suit a specific locale. These chains are able not only to feature local specials, or a "unique" dining room for their customers, but they are also able to offer their employees better wages, health plans, 401k plans, and management training programs. Add to this the increased buying power of their corporate backers, and their threat can be lethal to an independent.

But Tournier doesn't seem to be nervous. He spends only one quarter of one percent of his annual income on advertising, and yet there's a line out the door most nights. Le Central's revenues have doubled every five years. He offers an employee incentive program; his managers are reimbursed for dining out if they write a full report on their competitive intelligence; and he's had a health-care plan in place since before anyone ever heard of an HMO.

So what's his secret? "I'm not greedy. I spend money in the kitchen," he says. "You need to have a big ego, tunnel vision, and you have to be insecure. Even when people tell you you are crazy, if you believe in it, you do it." As he says to his critics, if he's still here, he must be doing something right.