Enric González: "Before, in newsrooms, if you drank water, you hid it."

A good correspondent is a guide for newspaper readers. Enric González (Barcelona, ​​1959) has been one for decades, reporting from London, New York, Rome, Paris, Jerusalem, and Buenos Aires. A journalist for publications such asThe Catalan Post,Monday's Page, The Catalan Newspaper,The Country,The World,Jot Down and theNOWAnd in contexts as decisive as the Rwandan genocide and the Gulf War, González has learned to explain the world by observing, listening, reading and, often, drinking.

As we approach New Year's Eve, I would like to ask you for the recipe for sadiki with Coca-Cola.

— Oh dear. It's awful, but it works. And it's easy to make, if you don't have a good sense of smell, like me. You have to let rice water rot—outside, because inside it's unbearable—and then filter it. It's a really shoddy and criminal alcohol, which you can't drink neat, but mixed with Coca-Cola it does the trick. However, you shouldn't resort to it unless you're in a truly desperate situation. It's not something I recommend.

He said it was the worst hangover he could remember.

— Probably the only one, because I don't get hangovers. January 1, 1991. A terrible headache and feeling awful.

Is wine part of your daily life?

— It's always been this way. When we were little, very little, we drank wine with soda water, and for afternoon tea we had bread with wine and sugar. Now, I still drink wine with meals, especially red wine. Over the years I've become more inclined towards milder wines. I prefer aged wines to reserves. I also like Burgundy more than Bordeaux now, whereas before it was the other way around, although I very rarely can afford a good Burgundy. I really like the Galician wines from the Ribeira Sacra. And I generally don't like sweet wines, especially in terms of alcohol content.

And what about sparkling wines?

— I'm not interested in them at all. I've drunk incredibly expensive, fantastic champagnes, and I always think that with that money you could get a much better wine. I've never understood the appeal.

Which wines do you have the best memories of?

— Two: a Saint-Estèphe and an Échezeaux from Burgundy. Not just for the wine, but for the moment. I would drink these wines nonstop for the rest of my life, if I could afford it. Which I can't.

Where do you remember drinking the best?

— If we're talking about wine, Paris is the place to be. Back then, I could afford to order cases of Clos Mogador, which was a relatively affordable wine. Also Château Angélus, a fantastic Saint-Émilion that's now completely prohibitively expensive. In Paris, I discovered that the world of wine was immense.

Was it thanks to someone in particular?

— My wife gave a course in Bordeaux and had a much better palate than I did. We introduced ourselves to wine together. We talked about the early nineties: in Catalonia there were mostly Torres wines, Priorat was starting to emerge, people were drinking Rioja… In Paris, the world opened up to us a bit.

And what about the other drinks?

— Beer, like in London, is fine. In the United States, especially in a bar in New York, I developed a real fondness for Martinis. In Italy, they don't drink…

Do they not drink in Italy?

— Italians eat a lot of vegetables and drink mostly water. The food is very good, but in that sense, they're very balanced. People don't drink much in Buenos Aires either, although the wine is good. And in Jerusalem, there were other concerns.

InLiquid memoriesHe explains that on his first day in a newsroom he drank two shots of rum.

— It terrified me. A seventeen-year-old creature… Besides, we need to know what it was like.Monday's PageThere was quite a colorful staff. But they didn't drink that much in that newsroom. He Catalan PostHowever, people did drink a lot. Marcelo [the bellboy] would pour mixed drinks and gin and tonics like they were mineral water, in addition to the bottles people brought. Martí Gómez and Sagarra drank rum... There was a lot of drinking, yes. And the relationships were very intense and complicated: there was a lot of shouting, a lot of laughing, a lot of insults. The newsrooms were steeped in a level of machismo that would be absolutely intolerable today. It was a different time.

Noisier times?

— There was constant dialogue, like in families: arguments would erupt from all sides, but they would eventually subside and everyone would go back to normal. There was a lot of talking and discussion. And it made a difference, not so much in the quality of the information, but in its visceral quality. It was much more human. Being able to talk to people who knew more or less than you, who thought differently... Discussing enriched—I think—the product. As Martí Gómez said, now the product is more like a pharmaceutical leaflet: everything very well organized, explained very rigorously, but less human than in that chaotic newsroom. Besides, those were open newsrooms: there was no security, people came and went.

What would you say was the turning point?

— There are two. First, computers. Suddenly you could do things that previously required asking someone else. There was no internet, but there was a small database. And the computer changed everything. But the defining moment was when someone put a bottle of mineral water on the table. Before, this was something you hid. If you drank water, you kept it hidden. But when it started to become like a manifesto ("I'll bring the water"), it was like a sign that times were changing.

When was this?

— It was in '80, probably. For me, that's when I arrived atThe NewspaperI was used to the typewriter, the arguments, the alcohol… And the writing ofThe NewspaperAlthough Huertas Clavería was there, practically throwing the phone at you, it was different, calmer, more professional. And I noticed that people were more focused on the computer because there were already things—like the database—and you had to edit yourself. It was a different kind of life, with handwritten corrections, sending things to workshops, going down to workshops…

Things have "lost their soul," as they say.

— Yes, yes. I'm thinking about the Father Bigordà, who died last weekWe met in The Catalan PostAnd it was like having an ethics manual at your side. You didn't have to worry about things. You'd ask him, "Bigordà, what do you think about this?" And he'd tell you what he thought, and he was always right. He was a character with an astounding ethical standard. Perhaps these kinds of people don't exist anymore. Nor does the mix that existed back then. Those who worked in economics were breathtakingEverything was bought or sold. You'd meet all sorts of people, and it allowed you to compare.

Reading newspapers from decades ago, you can see that even the way news was done was different; it didn't have that thing of not deviating for a second from what is taught in universities.

— Well, to begin with, there are faculties. The people fromMailGenerally, it didn't come from academic backgrounds; it came from other things. Besides, there was no script. Now, you work from a script, which is what the communications departments write. There are many intermediaries who give you things more or less pre-digested. Having instant images makes you think you're seeing reality, when images lie a lot because they're biased. But well, in many ways things have improved. I'm not nostalgic for the pack Not at all from before.

He said that inThe Catalan PostThe most absurd phrases were written by teetotalers.

— Phrases like "The body was found dead", to theMailThey were written by teetotalers. They were the first to say they didn't drink, that they drank water. But the level of alcoholism at the time was excessive. Some people ended up dying from it. This couldn't be allowed either.

And is it true that they keep the olive pits from memorable Martinis?

— Yeah.

What's the last thing you saved?

— I'd say I kept the last bone in Paris. I have some with Martí Gómez, but I think the last one was in Paris with Mar [de Marchis], the founder ofJot Down.

And where does he keep them?

— At the time, I put them in my pocket. Later, I keep them in a drawer of the desk where I work. It's rather absurd, because they're indistinguishable from one another, but I hate to throw them away. But leaving the pit there next to the glass... it kind of breaks the spell.