Ferran Adrià Acosta is considered to be one the best chefs in the world. He is of a jovial disposition, as optimistic as can be. How could he be any different: in 1980 he joined the Hotel Playafels de Castelldefels as a dishwasher to earn a bit of money (his first wage was 34,456 pesetas) and now he has been awarded as many trophies as Michael Schumacher. However, Adria has high concentration of reality coursing through his veins. He is from the district of Santa Eulalia in L’Hospitalet and this is as much a part of his training as being a Rothschild, albeit in a very different sense. That is to say, the dishes prepared by Adria might fly, but they invariably obey the Laws of Physics.
The dose of realism is essential if one wants to achieve a perfect balance. If every single day 2 or 3 courtesans whisper in your ear that you are the best chef in the whole world, this would eventually go to your head. It would be enough to rule your life, and it would turn most of us into arrogant, dictatorial and intolerable individuals. However, we can still be thankful that even today, when all the plutocrats of the world phone up to book a table, Adrià still has his cheeky smile from the district and the intact knee which he used to dribble a ball through the streets of L’Hospitalet dreaming that one day he would be playing at Camp Nou. And the truth of the matter is that he has somehow succeeded in doing just this. His normality is a great source of consolation in a world of exceptions.
