Santi Santamaria, The Gentle Genius of San Celoni

It all began with a conversation in an espresso house in New Orleans with my two great friends Charlie Trotter and Emeril Lagasse. They said, “You must come and see “The Pope” with us”. I knew they didn’t mean the Holy Pontiff in Rome they meant Chef Frédy Girardet in Switzerland. This was back in 1993 and Chef Girardet was regarded as the finest practicing chef in the world by nearly all of the world’s gastronomes. Some thought Chef Paul Bocuse was the reigning high priest, but others pointed out Chef Bocuse as too commercially successful to have such a deified term. Charlie and Emeril had been there a few months preceding this espresso-fueled discussion and to them it was so. They had glory shining in their eyes as they attempted to convey to me how transformational of an experience it would be to dine at this culinary master’s restaurant in the little town of Crissier in Switzerland. If these two could be so awed I didn’t anything more to convince me to go, nothing, that is, more than time and money. As it would happen six more years would pass before the stars came together in the proper alignment before I would be able to go on a tour of Europe’s finest restaurants. But in that time Frédy Girardet retired thus forever ending my opportunity to dine with him. Or so it would seem.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few years passed, as years do. In early 1999 Charlie called me and said, “We’re going to do it Brother.” It was not a question. It was not an invitation. It was an announcement, a declaration. “We have the tour to end all tours lining up around Labor Day.”

So, what began in New Orleans eight years earlier was now coming to fruition in the form of airplane tickets, hotel confirmations, car rentals and reservations in a number of the world’s most glorified restaurants. I wrote down the names of these places in my yearly calendar. Yet still it seemed like a dream.

The trip began in France. More on that another time. This is about our time in Spain. On the 6th of September, 1999 we had a meal that lasted over four hours at the legendary and now closed ‘El Bulli’. Ferran Àdria and his brother Albert cooked as did José Andres. They all came to our table after the lunch to talk for at least an hour. The next day we drove to the town of San Celoni and had a beautiful lunch at ‘El Raco de Canes Fabes’, owned by Santí Santamaria. 

This was a very different vibe, indeed a very different philosophy guided these two culinary giants from Spain. He warmly welcomed our group of about 9 to his kitchens on the ground floor of the restaurant located on a serene corner. We marveled at his range. Was it indigo I wondered to myself? Then a gentleman guided us upstairs to our table. The room was small but not cramped. A cabinet and table for the wines we’d be served stood nearby. The sommelier spoke some English. We learned that all of the wines came from very nearby. Part of the Chef’s allegiance to locality. Cava was poured. Then breads arrived. The menu is in the photo.

When we were leaving to drive to the next town and the plan Charlie had we stopped at the Chef’s door and he gave each of us one of his large, beautiful cookbooks. He inscribed each one. I asked him this, “Chef. How long have you had this location?” He looked over at a staff member who translated. He broke into a soft smile and said words I don’t think I will ever forget. He said, “I was born in this building.” He took a beat and added, “so was my father”.

Thank You Chef. You are missed down here on Earth.