In some spacious luxury kitchens they offer the coveted chef’s table as a plus. You know, the one around which a small group of diners enjoys eating and drinking while watching the team’s work out of the corner of their eye, without the risk of ending up splashed or having to lend a hand in the middle of the service. Other restaurants have very special and quiet tables in their dining room that are usually allocated to regular customers, by acquired rights. And then there is the high table in the corner at the Haddock (València 181), next to the bar, a simple watchtower from which you can see the horizon of the entrance – is there a better indicator of prosperity than that of the people coming and going? nice to meet you? It is a cozy corner and the height provided by the stools makes you feel like a lucky crew member on the ship of Captain Fran Monrabà, a cook who moves with panache from the kitchen to the tables and who from time to time ends his sentences by addressing his interlocutor. with the most heartfelt “affection”.
A chef born in Sant Celoni in 1970, cut his teeth in his own town in the kitchens of Can Fabes, where he says he started “in the upstairs kitchen”, where the ceiling was too low for his size and he got used to working separating legs well, just as sailors maintain balance on board. With those years of experience, or those that he would spend alongside Jean Luc Figueres, he acquired wisdom and skill at a time when only the involvement and camaraderie among the team compensated for so much excess work.
Monrabà has cooked and sailed enough seas to know well what he wants and what he doesn’t. And the first coincides with the taste of more and more diners: they are interested in simple and traditional dishes, “as close as possible to those in the houses where they cooked well and where sustainability was a matter of pure common sense.” Respect for “all the mothers, all the aunts or all the grandmothers” who cooked before him is his credo. What he does not want, and this is crystal clear, is to practice the so-called “traditional cuisine with a modern touch”, of which he confesses he is fed up.
“Who do you think you are? “Why spoil what is well resolved and has been perfected for years and years, contributing something personal out of pure vanity?” He throws the question into the air before stating that in the vast majority of restaurants, “not all”, what is left over is the ego of the cook, who would do better by limiting himself to interpreting well preparations that already exist and are worth it. It is what he looks for when he cooks dishes that were already made in his house (he keeps recipe books of impeccable handwriting like a relic) or that have surprised him in other places, generally for their simplicity and success. As an example, the cod that he saw the Arenys fishermen cook, with a tomato cooked for hours that is as humble as it is exquisite.
Al Haddock is going to eat well and enjoy what is there that day, starting with a simple escarole seasoned with courage (“it is brought to us, like so many products, by Pau Santamaria, who is like family”); a shot, which he follows, more calmly, the celery and cheese salad, or those rovellons that he has prepared canned with a soft vinaigrette, “as it was always done to take advantage of them in season.”
And you go to Haddock, especially at this time, to recover the good tradition of eating escudella i carn d’olla (the house is a place of worship for the brotherhood of this popular delicacy; to savor some delicious Maresme peas with black sausage , jowls and a little mint; some meatballs with squid, intense flavor or a stewed chicken comme il faut. This restaurant is also a refuge for those like Monrabà who love music and where once a month there is a jazz performance in the reserved room. Or to eat with friends in that hideaway where, upon reservation, they prepare whole pieces of meat or fish to share, in a version away from the chef’s table, where you are allowed to lick your fingers to your heart’s content.
