Najat El Hachmi: "It makes me nervous that, generally speaking, people eat very little in Barcelona."

The writer Najat El Hachmi (Beni Sidel, 1979) responds gracefully to the proposal of this interview: "You invite me to weddings." The winner of, among others, the Ramon Llull, City of Barcelona, ​​and Christmas prizes, who has just published a new edition of The Body Hunter (Ediciones 62, 2026), not only relates to the world through the embellishing filter of literature: it also does so through taste.

I listened again to the Mercè proclamation he gave in 2023. At the beginning he says that "we need rituals to maintain joy".

— I grew up in a society that, like any traditional society, is very ritualistic: everyday rituals, but also rituals throughout the year. There's a sense that there's a time for everything and that you have to wait: wait for that special moment when something is celebrated. And the truth is, I'm quite impatient.riverAnd I invent all the rituals for joy that I feel like. Since I don't have a religion or anything—not even football—we're very much like that at home: we take advantage of anything to ritualize joy and turn it into an act of celebration. We celebrate everything, anything at all. And I think that freedom to be able to celebrate, in times when everything seems so dark, is important.

Not having religion as a reference point allows one to celebrate Christmas every week.

— Yes. And vice versa: when it's Christmas, you completely throw it all out the window. I mean, we get together and enjoy being together, but we really disregard the traditions. For example, one Christmas my daughter—who must have been nine or ten—said, "What if I cook?" And she came up with the idea of ​​making something she loved to eat, which was fried rice. And she cooked fried rice for Christmas Day. But the rituals you've been taught still stick with you, though.

What does it mean?

— It's curious: rituals really permeate you, and you remember them. I know that if I make couscous on a Friday, it's like making paella on Thursday or cannelloni on Sunday. It's a legacy, too; it's an inheritance. And it's an inheritance that isn't so much related to morality and restrictions as it is to a very deep emotional connection, the kind you have with smells and foods. I find it very curious that, for example, my children, who haven't directly experienced all of this, like some of the flavors.

For example?

— They have never observed Ramadan, but they love the harirawhich is the soup eaten to break the fast. And also a mixture of nuts, honey, butter, cinnamon, anise, flour… which is called sellou And it's especially popular among breastfeeding mothers. There's a transmission of flavors that goes beyond what you can actively do. They say babies begin to learn flavors inside the womb. For me, this is very exciting, because I haven't passed on my language to them; however, I have passed on gastronomy—and especially spices.

And also a way of relating to food?

— I remember that when I lived in Vic, the women would share food whenever they had something good. When they traveled to Morocco and brought back foods that weren't available here—things from the countryside that are very hard to find, like tender barley—they would share them with their neighbors. But I have to say that something that generally makes me nervous is that people in Barcelona eat very little. When I first arrived, I would invite people over and end up with a table full of leftover food because people don't eat. When you have a passion for cooking and hosting, and you're part of that whole culture of offering the best you have, for people to just grab a quick bite and that's it is very frustrating.

You are one of the critical voices regarding dietetics.

— I think gastronomy is being ruined. I know it's a battle I'm going to lose, but I think it's very invasive. We should be able to eat well, without counting calories, fats, and all that. If someone has health problems, they'll do what they need to do in their case.

On Tuesday's back page, Silvia Soler He quoted the director of the Alicia Foundation: he said that if we stop making ramen, nothing happens, but with escudella there is no relief.

— Yes. I love the cuisine of different countries, trying new things. But if we stop eating stews, we stop passing on our traditions. Besides, if you were to tell me that our eating habits are terrible for our health… But the thing is, we have the Mediterranean diet, which is a fantastic and wonderful part of humanity's heritage. When I heard Juan Roig, the president of Mercadona, say that houses wouldn't have kitchens because we wouldn't cook… I thought he was the devil.

A dystopian future?

— The future he wants, not what's best for us. I feel it's a threat. I want to keep cooking and I want to keep going to the market, which for me is a great privilege. The fishmonger telling me she has something that will last two weeks and that, if I don't get it now, it will disappear. The greengrocer telling me: the artichokes will be here soon; the peas will be here soon. It's a very deep connection, a way of rooting yourself in the place where you are and in the people around you.

Was it like that when I was little too?

— I participated in the sacrifice of the lamb on Eid al-Adha, but also at other times, when other animals were slaughtered. I helped my mother when she killed a rabbit: I skinned it, gutted it… I also brought down chickens. As I say this, I can smell the wet feathers; it's a very distinctive smell. The lesson you learn is to make the most of everything, to value the animal that has been sacrificed to feed you, and not to waste anything. It's not just a matter of poverty.

It's difficult to get an idea of ​​what you're eating if you only interact with it through a plastic tray.

— That's why I think people who become animal rights activists without having lived through this experience are starting from a very unrealistic premise. There are ways to eat while valuing and respecting what you eat. Although I must also say it's quite traumatic. The chickens moving around without heads and the squealing of the rabbits… It's etched in my memory.

Earlier I was talking about how things only happen at certain times of the year…

— Perhaps it's something very much a part of rural life. Now, however, few things come to you only once a year. We all like having cherries on New Year's Eve. But waiting for cherries, or zucchini blossoms, or the languetza, which I tasted for the first time last week… I really enjoy rediscovering the anticipation, the seasonality. The same goes for wine. Lately, for example, I've embraced the Beaujolais ritual. I look forward to its arrival every year.

And how did he get there?

— My husband, who lived in France for many years, told me about it. One day we saw him in a shop, and he told me it's a wine that doesn't last very long. And I'm always ready to add anything I'm told is good and something I can incorporate into my life. But I started drinking very late. I grew up in Vic, and there was no ham, no sausages, no pork, no alcohol, nothing. They're parallel realities: the reality where you can drink alcohol and the one where you can't. I had my first beer when I was 23 or 24.

Do you remember that day?

— Yes. I went to see a friend who lived in Barcelona, ​​in Poblenou. I was waiting for him, and instead of ordering a coffee, I ordered a beer, by myself. From then on, it's been like discovering a whole new world.

And the wine?

— Almost all the good things that have happened to me have been thanks to books: they invite me to places, I discover things I might not have otherwise... With my first book, I was invited to Vilafranca del Penedès, and there I discovered the world of wine and cava. I remember getting drunk on cava and not having a hangover. On the other hand, there was a time when Lambrusco was all the rage...

AND…?

— Horrible. I can't drink too much, but I remember that in Vic, with a flatmate and some university friends, we used to drink. It was awful.riverThen, at a wine tasting—I don't remember the name of the winery—I was blown away. I discovered that, if I'd wanted, I could have been a sommelier. With all due modesty! I would close my eyes and perceive aromas, images, language… And I would describe them, and apparently I was quite accurate.

He'll have to write wine labels!

— [RiverI'd love to! I've just read Aromatic cuisineA book by François Chartier, which describes the different taste families and how food aromas are linked, has helped me understand many things. Sometimes I make strange combinations that, objectively, shouldn't work, but they make sense to me. If I have the time, I like to spend time thinking about what goes with what, about pairing. This Christmas, for example, I became obsessed with finding a wine that would go with couscous. No one has explained to me how to pair couscous, which is a dish eaten mainly by people who don't drink. And in the end, I found that it had to be a SyrahOkay. When I retire, I'll dedicate myself to drinking.river].

And will he also want to be on the ground, to have a vineyard?

— No, I prefer to drink [river].

Always on their team.

— My grandfather had fig trees, pomegranate trees, almond trees, and olive trees. I still remember once being in the interior of Mallorca, and the landscape moved me deeply. It was exactly like the place where I grew up. The Mediterranean, the trees, the way the boundaries are marked with stones… even the light. All of this transports you. It's a very physical familiarity. Like traveling back in time.