At a time that now seems prehistoric, you had to rely on the sing-song accent of the famous Maïté or the rigour of Michelin-starred Joël Robuchon to see cooking on television. Today, while the show Top Chef breaks audience records year after year, it is a young man with Zorro’s fine moustache, arriving from the joyful bustle of Bogotá, Colombia, who embodies easy-going warmth on screen. A contributor to the programme Quotidien, this is chef Juan Arbelaez, who also juggles a whole host of other roles. A former student of the renowned Institut Cordon Bleu, conductor of several restaurants including the celebrated Plantxa and Yaya, the young man champions a cuisine of the moment, where flavours from around the world and an enthusiastic manner subtly infuse our good old traditions.
What kind of culinary environment did you grow up in in Colombia?
To tell the truth, I feel that I grew up in a great kitchen. At home, we have always loved eating, and we have always had a passion for produce. Chilli and lemon are certainly the foods that accompanied my entire youth. They form the basis of aji, a sauce found everywhere — it resembles sauce chien from Creole dishes. It is served with empanadas, or with rice or potatoes. We are incredibly fortunate in Colombia, too: the Andes divide into three ranges in such a way that we have every possible thermal level. As a result, questions of product seasonality do not exist. On the Pacific side, I remember eating shellfish soups with peppers, oregano and powerful ginger, all simmering in freshly extracted coconut milk. There are also red bean dishes whose cooking juices soak the rice served alongside. And then there is that famous ceviche with tomato sauce. Colombia is a very rich land, with different terroirs full of sunshine. And in truth, you do not really know a fruit until you have tasted it in Colombia.
Is respect for the land something that matters there?
All of this is in danger. As in many parts of the world, I think we have suffered greatly from the excessive industrialisation of our local lands. Major chemical companies such as Bayer and Monsanto have ravaged them in recent years with their pesticides, and little by little our craftsmanship has begun to disappear. But things are changing. Today, Colombians are protesting. They are out on the streets. In particular, they are fighting against the excess of imports into the country, which are suffocating local producers. Our agriculture is in peril, but we are fortunate to have a young generation that is fighting. It is essential.
Why were you so determined to learn to cook in France? What has always fascinated you about the cuisine here?
French cooking is based on extraordinary technique. When you taste something very French, such as a poultry jus, for example, everything about it is remarkable because there is real craftsmanship in extraction. In France, too, there is a tradition of passing things on. A whole host of great cooks have written books that are now essential reference works for learning to cook, like guides. That is why the concepts of brunoise, julienne and bain-marie are known around the world today. French cooking is the origin of everything. I remember the first time I worked in a French restaurant kitchen, at Pierre Gagnaire’s Balzac in Paris. It was as if I had suddenly arrived at Disneyland. I was twenty, and it was a feast for the eyes, the nose and the mouth. There was this incredible tuna, almost one hundred kilos, which several of us had to fillet. It was also the first time I had seen black garlic and bronze fennel. I was in a laboratory, and I took the opportunity to enrich my mental library of flavours as much as possible. In the restaurants where I worked before setting out on my own, I also learned to look at food from another angle, to think of new ways of cutting and combining it, to bring it into states never seen before. I learned creativity, even with an onion.
So what have you made of your Colombian influences and your French-style training?
When you become a chef, it is above all about seeking your own originality, finding your own touch, your signature. Naturally, I have tried to draw on my roots to do that. I have tried to marry the ingredients I grew up with and the French cooking technique I learned in Paris. This mix is an opportunity, I think. Today, I try to awaken French cuisine, or to bring it some sunshine. For example, I make duck à l’orange with a tamarind paste sauce, chilli and green pepper from Colombia. It has the same slightly sweet-and-sour, very powerful notes of classic duck à l’orange, but with an entirely new fragrance as well.
What is your vision of the culinary world?
There is something harsh about cooking. We talk of a “chef”, a “brigade of cooks”, and a “rush” to start service. Cooking is almost military. For a very long time, I thought that only this harshness, this constant discipline, could allow me to rise. I let myself be exploited, a great deal, by those above me. Today, things have changed. You need flexibility, kindness. That is what the future of cooking rests on. I am very close to my cooks, and I do not like being called “chef”. It is Juan. Even in the way I dress, I am not really a chef. I cook in a T-shirt and jeans, to make cooking feel less intimidating. But in truth, I do not think clothes change anything. It is a question of mindset, of the energy we give off. It is simple: you must not be an arse in the kitchen. My warm side is inevitably linked to my origins. Colombia is a country of conviviality. When you enter a lift and come across a stranger, you always greet them, whereas that is not the case in France. On a bus, in a bar, everyone talks to one another. When we dine, everyone shares the dishes, serving themselves from the middle of the table, and that brings people together, connects them. It is a powerful notion. This openness caused me a few problems when I arrived in France. It was hard. What is more, I arrived in Paris in winter, and when it is cold outside, people are even colder. I eventually adapted. In truth, Parisians are like artichokes. They are tough on the outside, but when you reach the heart, it is always tender.
The seasonality of produce seems to be the guiding principle of your cooking. How do you work at a time when strawberries can be eaten in winter?
In France, we work exclusively with small producers who allow us to work with the seasons. In truth, we do not really ask ourselves questions: when we call them, we ask what they have in stock. We depend on their harvests, or on the catch of the day. And my menus adapt. From that point of view, it is impossible to cheat. That is simply how it is. I still believe that we cannot force the earth to give us the things we want when we want them.
In that respect, you have now been producing organic olive oil for several years. What goes on behind the scenes of this story?
During the 2014 FIFA World Cup, there was a match between Colombia and Greece. I went to watch it in a bar with friends who, a few months earlier, had introduced me to the olive oil they had produced in Greece. Before the match began, we made a bet. If Colombia won, the guys had to invite me to Greece. Naturally, Colombia won, and we went to Greece. There, we formed a unique bond. I met their family, who have been making oil for eight generations. Together, we visited a magnificent organic plot, and that is how we began producing our olive oil!