Albert Boadella: "I only have my wife sacralized"

At 82 years old, Albert Boadella (Barcelona, 1943) does not stop working. He has finished a second version, adapted to current times, of El retablo de las maravillas, and the theatrical adaptation of the book Joven, no me cabree, published in 2022. The founder of Els Joglars has turned all sacred symbols into the object of his irreverence. Including, of course, Ferran Adrià's cuisine.Why did he parody El Bulli?

— I did it within El retablo de las maravillas by Cervantes, which is a short interlude that offers different versions on complexes and deception. There were various things: politics, art, etc., and one was cooking. And I put into practice my trip to El Bulli, not because I didn't think it was something that had its uniqueness —it undoubtedly did—, but as a diner, as a person who likes to eat, it seemed a useless sophistication to me. Twenty-odd dishes is like burning your palate. It's like people who are not used to tasting and after 3 minutes don't know what they are tasting anymore. All the ceremony that was around it, the explanations… It seemed very fitting to me to place it within the theme of a certain lack of self-confidence when faced with certain things that I'm not saying are deceptions, but there's a comedic side to it.

Arcadi Espada, who was the one who brought it, got a little angry with you.

— Because it was one of the most celebrated parts of the play. The audience laughed especially when he made the bubbles.

“Raw air!”

— Exactly.

El Bulli had become something untouchable, like "la Moreneta" at other times?

— It is the tendency towards sacralization that all societies have. It goes without saying that the dark-haired women have been a classic element of satire, precisely because of their sacralization. This does not mean that people cannot continue to believe, but they must also have distance. When this is transferred to politics, art, or cuisine, it has a hygienic aspect: spectators distance themselves from things that everyone venerates.

Sánchez Dragó attributes the phrase to him: "Good food is always sensual", in contrast to creative cuisine, which he considered “test tube”.

— I am fortunate that my wife has golden hands. It's not that she dedicates a tremendous amount of time to it, but she has an enormous facility for inventing with what we have at home. Her dishes always have this sensuality: that of something natural, but always with little things that give them an unusual aspect, and that always smell good. That kitchen always smells good, and it's the one I like. The preparation is not particularly sophisticated, it's a natural preparation that has the grace of someone who today went down to the garden to get some herbs to add to the rabbit, put more of one than another and sometimes something unrepeatable came out.

Sánchez Dragó agreed with his criticism of experimental cuisine.

— Yes, we agreed. He still sacralized some things; for example, his cat. I only have my wife sacralized; she is untouchable. She and I joke, but outside the house there is no possible joke about my wife; I don't allow it.

In Barcelona, where would they go to eat?

— It's been years since I went to a restaurant in Barcelona. Many, many years. In fact, if I have gone to important restaurants, I've gone as a guest, but normally I don't go. I work a lot in Madrid and normally we go to an apartment and make our own food. The truth is that I try to go to restaurants very little, perhaps because I really enjoy eating at home. Yes, they invite me to good restaurants in Madrid; I remember the names of some of those restaurants that cost a fortune... Well, my wife and I always leave there criticizing. Thinking about the wonderful things we could have made with what was paid.

His relationship with drink stems from his formative years in France. How did he get to Strasbourg?

— I studied high school in Paris. When at school they said I had to choose a career, I said I wanted to be a diplomat. But at home they said they couldn't pay for my diplomatic career, because at that time you had to have two careers.

What did their parents do?

— Both worked at La Publicitat, which was a Catalan newspaper from before the war. At home things were very difficult for them after the war, with all the reprisals. But things were gradually being rebuilt. And they were already fully retired. I am the son of a father aged 63 and a mother aged 45. My parents were like my grandparents.

And they told him they couldn't afford the diplomatic career.

— Then I said: theater. I don't know why. Perhaps because my older brother sang in operetta. When I was very young, he would take me to rehearsals and it must have stuck with me. Or perhaps because my uncle took me to bullfights since I was 5 years old.

Go to Strasbourg.

— In Strasbourg, wine became very important, especially for my colleagues, who were from Alsace. They advised me and I got to know all the Alsatian wines, which I have always continued to like. I drink a Riesling that is very well priced, with very little alcohol and that is very good for everyday. And it is surely due to the nostalgia for that time. When I drink sweet wine it is a Gewürztraminer. It has to do with my youth, with those evenings when we had nothing else to do but get drunk. Because they are also wines that, jokingly, they sneak up on you and then you get an impressive hangover. The next day, the improvisations always came out…

Improvised… At the end of 1961 he returns to Barcelona and creates Els Joglars.

— When I return to Barcelona at the end of 1961, I have the vanity —because only the vanity you have when you are young does this— of thinking that I could create a company. I didn't like the theater that existed and I said, “Well, I'll do it myself.” And we created a company with Carlota Soldevila and Anton Font.

He didn't live in Barcelona for long.

— I couldn't live in a city. Even though I lived in Barcelona and Paris as a child, and returned to Barcelona, I immediately went to a farmhouse in Rupit. I am incapable of living too long in a city. For the 8 years I ran the Teatres del Canal [in Madrid], I had to return home every week. It was physical: I needed my relationship with nature.

That includes its garden.

— I call it the tutti frutti, because it has a bit of everything. It is a garden that is cared for in the same natural way that Dolors [his wife] cooks.

It must be in full swing right now.

— There is a fantastic thing: the whole wall surrounding the garden is covered with prickly pear cacti, which I cultivate with great care; all clean, beautiful. I like them a lot, I make jam with them, and every year we eat 600 or 700 of them each.

Another vice he has is that of the borgonyes, which he went so far as to say were his only drug. How did he get there?

— I met the manager of Bouchard Ainé through my brother. I used to go every year to the Hospices de Beaune auction. And I developed a great taste for Burgundies. The thing is, it's a very expensive taste [laughs]! Besides, you have to be careful.

Why?

— There are many burgundies that are very well priced, but which are not burgundies in the deep sense of the term. A Chassagne-Montrachet white that is not many years old… You have to spend 300 to 500 euros. Since I have a lot of connection with France —I have a house there—, from time to time I make these exceptions.

And for the non-exceptional days?

— The other burgundies, the ones you can find in a French Carrefour, are good for remembering what a burgundy could be. The reds have that taste, that hint of blackcurrant… But of course, it has nothing to do with the authentic. The wines I drink most often are from Terrer de Tarragona, excellent. I know the people who make it, I know how they make it, and they make it very well: they are formidable red wines. And then, a little more expensive, Viña Tondonia, because of the way they are made: really old-fashioned.

In what sense are they different?

— You don't get the impact of alcohol. It's as if they didn't have alcohol, even though they have their proof. But they are made naturally. At Viña Tondonia, not a single piece of aluminum enters. And that seems to me an extraordinary artisanal thing. Not for drinking every day, but, well, Sunday, from time to time... Well, with Burgundies, this happens to me: that I'm not a millionaire. If I were a millionaire, I would surely be a Burgundy alcoholic.

At the end of The King Who Was, which he directed, there is an image of King Juan Carlos with a bottle of Fanta. King Felipe, with what drink would you represent him?

— With mineral water.

And why Fanta for King Juan Carlos?

— And why Fanta for King Juan Carlos?

But the obsession with money...

— It is no longer so correct. He is a man who naturally has very radical lights and shadows. I have known him quite well, I have spoken with him quite a lot. Once when he was bored, the head of the Royal Household would call me and say: “His Majesty would like to speak with you”.

It is known that kings and jesters…

— We were having a good time chatting. And he said things that were very interesting. The time I directed the Teatres del Canal, I was also director of the Auditori d'El Escorial, beautiful theaters, with magnificent architecture. They wanted to have a festival there like Salzburg. But El Escorial is not Salzburg. El Escorial is El Escorial: there is Philip II, there are the royal tombs. And I complained. The king told me: "The important thing is that it's done. Think that it's already built, and in the future it will be useful. Don't worry. The important thing is to do things." That is a king's perspective. Above the political-economic perspective, let's say, of a theater director.

A bird's eye view?

— The gaze of someone who is aware of being above good and evil.