In Paquita and Lolita Reixach, the girls From the Hispania restaurant, where we've learned so many things, are made by Arenys's adopted daughters.
Paquita and Lolita, the two sisters who have made the "housewife dishes," who have known how to transmit this cuisine, sophisticated and popular at the same time, always with a story behind it (that of what makes the coca bread, that of what makes the peas, that of Nèstor Luján's wine cellar), deserve this man. For having worked like a scarra, for having always, always, with their noses over the pots, cutting vegetables, taking notes, tasting polished with the spoon, recommending, explaining, spreading a cuisine, which is really a way of seeing the world. Of one color, of one flavor.
The two sisters, surely somewhat confused, will do what housewives always do: they will take off their aprons and make themselves very pretty. All of us—chefs, clients, friends, fans—will be grateful for everything they've done for culture, without claiming anything and at the same time knowing so much. Paquita and Lolita, without any ego, without any desire for prominence, with all the naturalness of a lover in the face of the radically cultural fact that is gastronomy, have helped make Catalan culture what it is. Cuisine, like music, like literature, like dance, like wine, tells us.
Now we run, we run, because Catalan cuisine is in danger. We don't pass on fricandó, or chanfaina, or torta de renta, or escudilla. And we know that you can only love if you know. Arenys makes them adoptive daughters because for all these years they have been adoptive mothers without knowing it. In mine ratatouille Particularly special are Paquita and Lolita's peas, and the four hands of the two sisters.
