Responsibility of the cook
When I began my journey in the world of professional cooking, I was taught that taste perfection was the alpha and omega of my profession. A meal was considered successful if it was delicious, if it flattered the palate and if it provoked immediate emotion. But over the years, spent between the cuisines of haute cuisine and the rustic homes of my Andean mountains, I understood that this vision was tragically incomplete. A meal can be an explosion of flavor and yet leave the person consuming it weak, exhausted, or even sick a few hours later. For me, it's a form of betrayal. The cook must not be a simple merchant of ephemeral pleasure; he must be a guardian of vitality.
The true responsibility of a cook is to support those who sit at their table. It's not about fooling it with artificial flavor enhancers, hidden sugars or textures created by chemistry. It is to offer him honest food, capable of strengthening his body for the tasks that await it, whether it is climbing a peak or carrying out an intense day of work. Feeding someone is a profound, almost sacred act of service. It requires an understanding of human physiology as well as the art of cooking. When I prepare a plate, I always ask myself: 'Will this dish give this person strength, or will it take away their digestion?' This question radically changes the way I choose and process ingredients.
Endurance as a measure
I never measure the success of a meal by the moment the guest puts down their fork. The real verdict comes four or five hours later. This is where we see if the cook has done his job. Is the person still alert, energetic and mentally clear? Or is she battling postprandial drowsiness, already starving from a lack of real nutrition despite the volume ingested? A meal prepared according to the logic of fire and nutrient density — high in protein and healthy fats, low in fast carbohydrates — creates remarkable endurance. The energy does not fluctuate, it unfolds with the regularity of a metronome.
This endurance is the signature of Andean cuisine. This is what allows the people of my land to live and work in conditions where others would collapse. The satiety we seek is not an uncomfortable feeling of 'full', but a feeling of inner solidity. It's the ultimate culinary victory: delivering immense pleasure in the moment, while ensuring optimal performance for the hours that follow. By eliminating the starches and sugars that cause a blood sugar roller coaster, we offer our guests the luxury of energy independence. It is a form of respect for their time and for their lives.
Honesty of ingredients
Trust is the invisible bond that unites the cook and the eater. And this trust is based on the absolute honesty of the ingredients. I only cook with products in which I have complete faith. No sugars disguised under fancy names, no flours that serve as cheap binders, no additives intended to deceive the senses. Just real foods, which carry within them the strength of the earth and the sun. Proteins from respected animals, vegetables that have taken the time to grow in living soil, herbs that really taste because they had to fight to survive. This requirement is the foundation of my practice.
This honesty creates a deep relationship. Anyone who eats at my table knows they don't need to decipher a label or be suspicious of a hidden ingredient. He can indulge in the pleasure of tasting, knowing that each bite works for him, and not against him. This is metabolic security that I am committed to providing. In a world where food has become a source of anxiety and confusion, returning to raw, identifiable ingredients is a revolutionary act. It is restoring the meal to its original function: being a source of life, joy and sharing, without ulterior motives.
Tradition and adaptation
I am not a nostalgic person who refuses the present. I observe modernity with curiosity, but I adapt it with respect. My role is to take the age-old wisdom of ancestral Andean cuisine and make it relevant to contemporary challenges. People today may not spend their days herding herds at 4,000 meters above sea level, but they face unprecedented mental and environmental stress. They need the same energetic stability, the same clarity of mind and the same physical resilience. I am not distorting the tradition, I am clarifying it. I make it explicit for a world that has forgotten how to feed itself.
When I cook with this intention, the results are immediate and tangible. People tell me that they feel 'awakened', that they have regained a vitality that they thought was lost. It's not magic, it's simply the result of a diet aligned with our deep biology. Using fire as a revealer and low-carb principles as a framework, I create a bridge between the past and the future. It is a necessary adaptation so that our species can continue to thrive in an environment that changes too quickly. Tradition is a compass, not an anchor.
At the service of fire and the body
To be a cook, for me, is to be at the service of two primordial forces: the fire which transforms and reveals, and the human body which receives and builds itself. When these two forces work in harmony, with respect and intention, the meal becomes much more than just consuming calories. It becomes an act of reconnection. We honor the land that produced the food, the fire that magnified it, and the life that will be nourished by it. It is a celebration of life in its most concrete and noble aspects. Every plate I serve is a renewed commitment to this vision of health and pleasure.
Ultimately, the true measure of a life well lived, for a man of my lineage, is having well nourished the bodies and minds of those who came to his table. It is to have transmitted a strength, a clarity and a joy that lasts long after the embers have gone out. I will continue to carry this message, to stoke this fire and to cook with this demand for truth. Because I firmly believe that the path to a healthier future involves rediscovering these simple gestures and these authentic flavors that connect us to our own nature. May each meal be a celebration of vitality, a tribute to our ancestors and a promise for generations to come.
