But now, Auterac has returned to where it all began, in north London, swapping the training kit for chef whites in a move from one cut-throat milieu to another. And it is at the trendy, candle-lit bistro, French Society in West Hampstead, where the 34-year-old now plies his trade. The most blindingly obvious question is how on earth did a well-known former prop end up as the chef at this charming spot in West Hampstead, behind the lace curtains and knocking out modernised French classics? The story, much like Auterac’s career to date, is not exactly conventional. “When I finished at Edinburgh, I was very done with rugby,” Auterac says. “The last half of the year there, I was a bit... I don’t want to say miserable as that sounds a bit depressing but I was just... f**king done. I think the coaches knew that, I think the players knew that − everyone in the f**king city of Edinburgh knew that. I became a bit of a nuisance around training − stuff like that − which was so against what I had done for the past 11-and-a-half years. “Once I’d decided I’d finished, I wanted to do something new. I started a masters in music production. I’d always been into music and I always knew that that was what I wanted to go into. I started that thinking it would kick me on and I’d be the next f**king David Guetta or whatever. I did that for a year and as I was doing it...” An unassuming man with a sack of baguettes interrupts the 32-year-old mid-flow. It is the day’s bread delivery which brings a smile to Auterac’s face. It is palpable that he adores this profession. This will not be the first time that our conversation is interrupted as, soon after, another man peers around the wooden door to ask if the restaurant is now fully open and whether he could book a table − the answer is that it opened on May 22 − and then later, Auterac’s sous chef, Lucien, arrives. There is a lot going on in the world of Auterac. He lives in Kentish Town with his fiancé, Viviana, with the couple in the midst of wedding planning. This month, Auterac will also complete a gruelling half-iron man, which explains how he came to lose 25kg since his playing retirement. The patrons in the West Hampstead restaurant would be forgiven for not knowing that their chef used to be a loosehead prop. The transition from passionate home cook to professional chef adds another recent gust to the whirlwind. Fittingly for Auterac, who could have been mistaken for a bodybuilder in his playing days, his cheffing journey began in the gym. “I remember my first shift. You get a live calculation of how much you earn when you clock in and clock out. I saw the money I had earned. It wasn’t much, but I was like ‘f**k, someone’s paid me to f**king cook.’ That’s f**king awesome. He met Louis − the chef of Patron in Kentish Town as well as another bar and café − who was also an alumnus of Auterac’s alma mater, Mill Hill School. The friendship was born and when Auterac came to the realisation that he, in fact, would never be the next David Guetta, with cheffing in the family − his sister, Georgina, and her husband, Stu, who is Auterac’s culinary idol, are both chefs − he approached Louis about formal training. Auterac started in Patron in January before moving to French Society at its opening last month. “There was a period of about three weeks when I knew I was going to start here and was just waiting to do so,” Auterac says. “I was so close to messaging Louis and saying I’d come and work for free because I just love cooking. That’s such a nice position to be in. “I remember my first shift. You get a live calculation of how much you earn when you clock in and clock out. I saw the money I had earned. It wasn’t much, but I was like ‘f**k, someone’s paid me to f**king cook.’ That’s f**king awesome. “You’d struggle to find a prop who didn’t like food. I just naturally cooked a lot. There was a point where I was eating a steak for breakfast, lunch and dinner − every day. So that’s why I’m quite good at cooking steaks here! I’ve always loved cooking for friends and family. I think it’s such a rewarding thing when you give them some food and they’re complimentary. “There’s a lot more to do here, though... pressure. If I f**k up at home, I’d say to the wife or kids: ‘Sorry, I f**ked up.’ But, here, you see the best and the worst of people because of that. We have people here who think the food is amazing and come to the kitchen, look through the window, give us a thumbs-up, poke their head round the door and say: ‘That was unbelievable.’ And then if you put out a shit dish a waiter will come back to the kitchen and tell you.” As if Auterac were not spinning enough plates, he also coaches Old Millhillians, where Louis also happens to be a player. “An interesting dynamic,” he says. “If he f**ks me off here, I’ll just go and f**king make his life miserable playing rugby. Last year, the coach who started the season had a heart attack. I spoke to Louis and he said no one was coaching them and they just turned up in the evenings and ran about. I couldn’t have that. I said I’d help out − and we lost every game! “The closest we came to winning was about 30 or 40 points. We had a dreadful season and they still wanted me to come back! I couldn’t believe it! If anyone wants to play for Old Millhillians, let me know. f**k, we were dreadful.” It is heartening to hear that Auterac is still involved with a sport that gave him so much but which, by the end, was also taking so much. The only regret, somewhat ironically given the type of cuisine he dishes out, is that he never played in France. “My back was so sore. I was lying in bed every night on Diazepam. Painkillers and muscle relaxants. I was taking them just to get to sleep at one point and that made me think: ‘What the f**k am I doing?’ When you’re young, you’re happy to kick your body in and smash it about and keep going. But I got to a stage where I thought doing that was just f**king stupid. “There was an offer, after Edinburgh. I think it might have been Bayonne? It would have been cool. But I was so done. I have no regrets because I f**king put everything into it. Apart from the last half-year, I put f**king everything into that.” Unflinchingly honest; just like his assessment of his nomadic playing career and rugby’s “squeezed middle”. “Because there’s not as much money in rugby as there is in, say, football, you can fall into the business side of it,” he says. “So, for example, the middle was sort of squeezed. The top earners were kept the same; so, too, the bottom. So, if you were in the middle, you had to either become a bottom earner or up your game to become a top earner. “The clubs had to make a business decision: do we get rid of Nick and get someone who is half the price or does Nick play better? Obviously, I didn’t play better. Then they got Joe Bloggs for half the money. “Then, obviously, you have to pack up and move. That takes a lot out of you. You have to make friends with a whole new squad, and get used to a new set-up, a new environment, which takes time. You had a routine. It was comfortable. Whereas when you have to keep moving, it’s not just the rugby side, but the whole lifestyle that you need to adjust. And that takes a bit of time. It was quite difficult.” And the favourite of all his clubs? Northampton, he admits, but he still has a soft spot for, and many friends in, the others. Now, however, those experiences are a distant past, with his life as a de facto Frenchman ahead. “My dad’s side is French, but a long time ago,” Auterac says. “I love the country so much I do sometimes pretend I’m French. I’d love to move there. I actually looked at a visa last year to do that but f**king Brexit f**ked that up. The bloody bastards. There’s actually a place in the south of France called Auteyrac. It’s a tiny little village. My parents went to visit not long ago. They said it stank of cowsshit and they’d never go back.” In Auterac’s French enclave in north London, the aroma does not come close to resembling the village of Auteyrac. And he is the one − grafting at the stove, just as he did in the scrum − making sure of it.