Back in 2002, I was working at a restaurant by the Mediterranean coast, by the Empordá, a region in Cataluña rich in gastronomy and seasoned with a tough wind known as Tramontana, guilty as many said for the creativity of his people....also sometimes even madness, cause that baby can shake trucks. Lovely place let me tell ya!!. All wild and sexy, with deep roots and some of the best seafood I ever had in my life...without forgetting his rice fields.

The restaurant was literally by the shore, and we used to enjoy breaks between lunch and dinner service, right there. As a matter of fact, was there where I learn to kayak. By the Costa Brava. Like a boss... the first day I hit the rocks lol.

Dormitories were above the kitchen, and every morning, at 07:00 am I used to dress in my chef whites, ugly shoes, and, those, now almost anachronic pants, designed in blue and white tiny squares. Grab a clean apron and run downstairs to the kitchen, where my knives and a cup of black coffee was waiting for me...with all the mis-en-place list. Those were some of my happiest days as a young cook. I was chef de partie in garde manger section.

The chef-owner's mother in law, a yaya Catalana, on her, nearly 80's at least, was all day long running around, cleaning snow peas, baby squids, calçots...making sure no one was slacking on the daily routines. Again, lovely place.

I learned a lot from that restaurant. Every Sunday we used to stay a couple of extra hours for deep cleaning since it was the only night off for the kitchen brigade. We used to clean even the ceiling. The kitchen was beautiful, spotless and shiny. The Head chef, with a great reputation in Spain, whom after a period of four years at the legendary restaurant, El Bulli, decided to open that sweet spot who was owned for his wife and her family. And he kicked asses.

And believe me, it was a sweet place for a young ambitious cook with almost zero academic training!!

Was at this very same time when I heard about this American chef who got naked through his biography, Kitchen Confidential to the world. His name, Anthony Bourdain, of course. No one had the balls till then to talk about certain matters.

I went through the bloody book in less than two weeks. I loved it. All the stories about his bests and worst. Drugs, local thugs, passion for ingredients, French Old School teaching, travels & troubles...waitresses...God bless them, lol...hit me so hard and influenced my future path without me knowing shit about it then. I was just...wowed! I was influenced. Big time.

Then my path began to shape.

Now, about 16 years later, he decided to leave before getting kicked out of this tragicomedia called, life. I'm sure he had his reasons. Hospitality industry can be a bitch sometimes.

I found out about his decision, quite surprised I must admit, on the second day of my latest event, Street Paella 2018. An event that born in a very similar way. Out of a big, I don't give a fuck about the stupid restaurant system and them bloody clichés of what a chef should be in society...and if Paella should have chorizo or not??. Let me tell you something, Dante Alighieri should have dedicated an eight ring in hell for the people who contaminate the paella with chorizo, in his book, La Divina Commedia, lol!. And what started out of cockiness had become a lifestyle for me. Now I began to understand.

Be true to your self. Don't bend for no one. Get rid of those kneepads, and your freedom and creativity shall last for a thousand lives.

Love

Tigre

Kitchen Confidential, y parece que aún fue ayer.