Hugo Desnoyer's butcher's shop. Rue du docteur Blanche, Paris 16th, shortly before lunchtime. The conductor of the place is animated. He greets customers. Further on, at the end of a cramped corridor, is a small room of barely five square meters: his office. When he's not behind the counter or busy with his chopping block. "This is my little corner," says Hugo Desnoyer with a smile. We can hold on to four but no more. But it's enough to accommodate a few friends." Buddies. The man who is sometimes referred to as the "butcher of the stars" has a lot of them.
For years, he went out a lot. He expended a lot of energy, especially at work, sometimes working twenty-hour days. "I really gave too much, today, I need to calm down," he explains, lifting his glasses over his head. I don't get up at impossible hours in the morning, for example." If this endearing man with a deep eye has given so much, there is at least one reason.
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In this small room...
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