The logic of the stew

1. I take the R11 to travel from Barcelona to Girona. I go by train if I don't need to be on time. I must admit that trains are quite regular; however, only in their delays and the incidents they suffer. When it's not a sinkhole, it's a copper theft; if it's not a strike, it's an accident. The people waiting with me on the platform (regular users) no longer complain. They've thrown in the towel. We are gradually but steadily becoming a resigned people.We stoically accept the waiting lists to see a specialist. If we can afford it, we pay for private insurance, but even in the private sector, the healthcare pressure is intense. If we need to deal with the administration – renew our ID card, regularize our residency, get our passport, or process a pension – making an appointment is a nightmare. But what can we do! That's just how things are!2. The entrance to Barcelona between 7 and 9 in the morning is terrifying, but we Catalans are not afraid of anything. The regulars, impassive behind the wheel, no longer lose their nerves: they civilly endure the queues. Resignation. Better to keep calm, as an inappropriate maneuver will end in a fine. When you receive it, if you want to pay it through your online bank, you will have to copy some tiny numbers, packed under a barcode, which can only be read with a 20x magnifying glass. Resignation.3. At Girona station, the train stop is on a viaduct built over houses and streets, with a concrete canopy that supposedly protects you from the weather. Whoever designed it covered themselves in glory. Now, in summer, it does provide shade, yes, but... always outside the platform. It's impossible to get out of the way of the scorching rays of a red-hot, wild sun.At Passeig de Gràcia station things are no better. Instead of benches or chairs, there is a structure of two aluminum tubes attached horizontally to the wall to lean on: they are designed in such a way that whoever uses them is neither sitting nor standing. After a few minutes, your whole body hurts.4. The greatness of a country is also measured by the love put into creating public facilities and services. The first condition, of course, is that they satisfy the function for which they were created: canopies should provide shade, you should be able to sit on chairs, numerical codes should be readable. But the second is that they are pleasant, that they don't put you off. That they are well designed and well maintained. This is called management.Things go wrong. They age. They wear out and break down. Effective policy, the kind that aims to improve people's lives, has a first commandment that should be engraved on a plaque on the walls of all ministries and governments: first and foremost, do not make things worse. Management, management, management. To know how long a service has been failing, just look at the user's level of resignation. 5. I'm going to Girona for lunch with a good friend. Catalonia has plenty of restaurants to choose from; some, ranked among the best in the world, are in Girona. In many of these establishments, you can't choose what you eat, and increasingly less so – the servitude of pairings – what you drink. The justification: what you experience on these occasions is a unique experience.These days you can see The Odyssey in cinemas. I read that the director shot it thinking about a projection system only available in 41 theaters worldwide. None of them in Catalonia. The logic of this cinema is the same as that of contemporary haute cuisine, or of so many other things: skydiving, investing in cryptocurrencies or hypnotizing yourself with reels.6. It is the logic of a supposed instant, intense, and unrepeatable gratification. That of crystallized yuzu ravioli with melanosporum emulsion. That of sensory explosions, bombastic declarations, effortless gain, adrenaline rushes, or the great collective operations that promise to redeem an entire country.Faced with this logic of the unique instant, I want to reclaim the value of repeated experience. The logic of the stew, we could say. The sediment of ordinary and good things; ways of doing and being, objects, equipment, or recipes that, like proverbs, represent the most valuable precipitate of a culture, a tradition, and a country's identity. Lovingly maintaining, with respect and admiration, the cooking of one's mother or father is not so far from maintaining, with the same love, respect, and responsibility, the services that hold a country together.