Delicooks

Food ends up being obscured by such dense culinary discourse. People are not stupid and they don't need someone to explain the tricks to them

> David de Jorge

A champion of no-nonsense cooking, he takes on what he calls the egochefs, those who think more of themselves than what they cook for their customers. In his recent book Con la Cocina no se juega (Don't mess about with food) he brings together all his likes and pet hates. Without doubt, he's one to watch.

You started out as a cook and now you work in the media. How did this change of direction come about? How did you get into the media?

I'm still cook, which is the best profession in the world: but I've also had a passion for writing and reading since I was very young. So when I had the chance, I got into the publishing – I got published – I got in front of the camera, to try and talk about food without all the usual nonsense. Long live food without nonsense!

You've worked with chefs such as Berasategui, you've written books, you have a blogs, you’re a TV presenter, and director of your own media company ... Don't you ever get tired? Where do you get the energy?

My girlfriend is always telling me I'm an animal, a sort of wild boar with boundless energy. Everything has an explanation, though, and mine is that I am passionate about my work – you can't even begin to imagine! Another important point is having Martin Berasategui close at hand, being immersed in his work environment, with his people in the kitchen, with his wife Oneka Arregui and her team: They're a whirlwind of professionalism and good fun. It's a luxury to have them.

Where does your passion for cooking and food come from?
I owe everything to my parents. I grew up in a great family environment where we ate and drank really well. They instilled in me the taste for good food, reading and a love of things well done. I wanted to be a cook at a very young age. I was forever getting under the feet of women at home. I even had a little stool to reach the kitchen counter top and help make croquettes or peel green beans. Living near France also helped a lot; they're way ahead of us.

You've clearly got a great command of language and a unique style. As a cook ... how did you learn to write so well?
I am a voracious reader and that often leads one to want to write. Plus it helps me be a cook, allowing my crazy imagination run riot, to take flight. Although I also dive into the mud and scrape around in the muck, it must be said. And there's enough material down there to feed my prose, to give it a "medium intensity." I often say I'd rather be an animal than a clever castaway, but it boils down to nothing more than being a chickpea soaking up the glorious taste of the broth in which find ourselves simmering.

By now you have a following of hardcore fans. What do you think is the secret of connecting with them? Or to put it another way, who do you have in mind when you write and plan your programs?
The key is to avoid run-of-the-mill food news and to avoid boring your readers or listeners with unrelenting philosophical discourses on products, landscapes, the vague and imprecise and so on. Food ends up being obscured by such dense culinary discourse. People are not stupid and they don't need someone to explain the tricks to them. So I'm to the point and I avoid pseudo-intellectual writing. I serve up happy, fun food without strange ingredients or extremely complex recipes. That makes finding a following easy.

In your articles and programs you tend to be very frank and straightforward and this gives the impression that you say what you really think about everything and everyone. Does this ever cause the odd little problem?
I'm polite and I keep 98% of what I'd like to shout out about to myself. But I am outspoken and have years of work behind me. That said, anyone who knows me will tell you that I have a great respect for honest, hard-working chefs. 

Who are the egochefs?
Stale old chefs who say daily Mass instead of cooking delicious and daring food. I'll have nothing to do with the mantra that suggests sitting at certain tables to acquire a double ration of intellectuality and all that fanfare about feeding the soul and spirit. The pathetic egochef fights with his colleagues and wastes himself in this happy profession, embarrassing those who toil away anonymously.

Could you give me a name of someone the very opposite of an egochef? Someone you admire, a role model?
I've always found the Arbelaitz family an example follow, because they work in silence, without making a song and dance about it. I find I've lots in common with their work. And I have the pleasure of working with Martin Berasategui, my fourth brother.

Let's move on to more personal subjects, of the "stomach", if you like. What food (s) or ingredient (s) are never missing from your fridge or pantry?
I've a pantry and fridge like Captain Hook's. If a thousand people turned up at my house without warning, I think I could give them all three courses, cheese, dessert, wine and drink. I don't have any decks of cards though, so they’d have to go out on the street for that.

Can you give us a really simple yet delicious recipe?
Bread soaked in olive oil or a potato omelet.

The last place you ate really well? (and where we could go too if possible)?
Raco de Can Fabes, in Santi Santamaria's house is a magical place and the food is out of this world.

In your book, Cocina sin bobadas (No-Nonsense Food) you interview leading figures from the world of food with a fixed set of questions. We'd like to give you a taste of your own medicine. Here goes:

A shared pleasure?

Anything from the bottom of the pot and whatever goes on under a duvet.

A pleasure of your childhood?
Summer dinners in the garden of Villa Kurlinka.

 
A pleasant smell?
Freshly mown grass

A selfish pleasure?
Two bites from a loaf of bread

A pleasure to your ears?
The "Pie Jesu" by Webber

A treat for your eyes?
Women

A carnal pleasure?
See the answer to previous question.

An fantasy pleasure?
Burning marijuana in the giant incense burner, the botafumeiro, in Santiago de Compostela's cathedral.

 
A pleasure for the tastebuds?
Half a kilo of baby eels with garlic and two roasted woodcocks.

An  anachronistic pleasure?
Waxing an old camphor-wood chest, or a rosewood commode.

A pleasure that does not cost money?
Walking barefoot in the grass

A pleasure to be ashamed of?
Reading comics on the toilet for hours

A pleasure you could never give up?
Dying of laughter.

 
A guilty but confessable pleasure?

 Taking the piss out of egochefs

Who is David de Jorge to you?
An apostate, by the grace of God

What would you request for your last supper?
Vittorio Feguel kidnapped and killed a guy in Illinois in 1953, and he was sentenced to death. He asked for an olive because he wanted an olive tree to spring from his stomach. I'm nothing like Vittorio: I'd ask for the bill. I'm very generous that way!