“Creativity means not copying”
This exhibition is a brilliant,
mind-opening way to spend an hour.
Interestingly, it’s been organized by the
Catalan Tourism Authority - I struggled to see how a shrine to an impossibly
great thing that’s no longer there anymore is going to boost tourism.
That said…
Ferran Adria’s achievements are hulking - he
was Head Chef of El Bulli aged 25. Inspired by Nouvelle Cuisine pioneers Michel
Bras and Pierre Gagnaire, he set about turning the restaurant scene on its
head. He truly is the godfather of molecular gastronomy, even though he is said
to dislike the term. I smirked at one unenlightened exhibition-goer proclaiming
loudly to her friend that it was “all a bit Heston.”
The thing that struck me was the way Adria
approached cooking with a child-like innocence and no historical baggage. He
simply thought – forget what’s gone before, what could cooking be like? There’s a saying that “the creative adult is
the child who survived” and that was in evidence here. Suddenly edible airs,
foams, spheres, caviar of every material, disappearing ravioli and deconstructed cocktails all make
perfect sense.
Adria was the first chef to establish a
workshop, in which he could develop new techniques, methods and dishes in the
months when the restaurant was closed.
He was the first to seriously import
industrial equipment into the commercial kitchen, from PVC tubes to silicon
moulds and liquid nitrogen baths. A creative agent provocateur he most certainly
was.
It occurred to me, probably for the first
time, how much inspiration Adria drew from Japanese cookery – both new methods
of cooking and the Japanese knack for exquisite presentation.
It’s also an exhibition about the power of
purpose. Once you’ve declared “creativity means not copying” you’ve set
yourself on a clear path. Experiment, invent, and try things never applied to
food before.
I was fascinated by how well the team at El Bulli understood marketing. The French bulldog branding is everywhere (the "bulli" after which the restaurant is named), the romanticism of approaching the restaurant by water, the scarcity value of shutting the place for half of the year.
His food was designed to appeal to a sixth
sense, in addition to the five senses you’d normally consider as part of the
experience of eating.
And that sixth sense might be surprise, or
irony, or amusement. He didn’t mind –
provided it engaged his diner on a visceral level.
For me, this exhibition left none of my
senses unprovoked. There’s theatre and pomp, which the more cynical visitor
might think is a bit much considering we’re talking about someone who cooks
dinners for a living. It’s not brain surgery.
But I thought it was a treat. And beware
the debilitating envy you’ll feel for those who managed to eat at El Bulli
before it closed its doors.