by
Photo: Callo Albanese & Sueo, Paolo Terzi
It is not every day that you get past the doors of Massimo Bottura’s heart and hear its lubs and dubs in the form of his most intimate thoughts.
“99.9 per cent of diners who walk into my restaurant do not understand what I am doing,” he says in a rare revelation. “People wait six months or one year to come to Osteria Francescana, yet they don’t even listen to the creative process that our waiters are explaining,” he says.
The acclaimed Italian chef and restaurateur, who owns three-Michelin-starred Osteria Francescana in Modena, Italy, shared this insight with The Peak on a recent visit to his first Asian flagship of Torno Subito at COMO Dempsey. “Torno subito” means “I’ll be right back” in colloquial Italian, and this culinary concept pays homage to 1960s Italy with a menu which celebrates the specialities of the Emilia-Romagna region where Bottura comes from.
The 130-seat Torno Subito is designed by award-winning Italian designer Paola Navone of OTTO Studio. (Photo: COMO Group)
At one point, he could not accept the uncomfortable truth.
“What’s the matter?” he asks, looking slightly ruffled, noting how guests can sometimes be dismissive of his servers who take the time to explain how a dish was created.
Bottura is familiar with not being understood. From the beginning of his career, as early as the 1980s, he was questioning norms, confronting cuisine and fellow Italians with his ideas on gastronomy, which nearly always mirrored concerns for the environment, society, culture, and humanity.
Creating thoughtful plates
“Instead of sometimes putting in caviar or lobster — now it’s easy to talk like this — but when I did it, it was like a revolution. I cooked Five Ages of Parmigiano Reggiano in different textures and temperatures in 1993. Then, the Parmigiano Reggiano was not even aged at 24 months. They were only selling the cheese aged at 18 months at that time.”
Beyond intending for diners to sample the cheeses on a plate, he transformed time into a precious ingredient for the willing diner to savour and presented Parmigiano Reggiano matured at five different ages — 24, 30, 36, 40, and finally 50 months — into a variety of textures, including a demi-souffle, a foam, a creamy sauce, a crunchy cracker, and finally an air of Parmigiano Reggiano.
Five ages of Parmigiano Reggiano, in different textures and temperatures. (Photo: Paolo Terzi)
With this single, well-considered plate, Bottura revolutionised cheese-ageing customs, providing fresh perspectives and directions for explorations to move tradition with time.
“Imagine how avant-garde it was,” he quips. “But the locals couldn’t understand what I was doing, so I needed to show that I could cook a tortellini better than a grandmother.”
When the tides were against him, and his restaurant was empty, he did not falter but just kept going. Confident about his ideas, he kept digging deeper into the roots of Italian cooking while maintaining his whimsical, artistic flair.
He permitted himself to be experimental and made the pursuit of every dish intentional and purposeful. Most importantly, he remained steadfast in his vision of having food touch another person’s soul.
Forging a deeper connection with food
Massimo Bottura at Osteria Francescana. (Photo: Marco Poderi)
“Cooking is an act of love. That is my ultimate goal: to transfer my ideas and playfulness and share my joy and happiness. My food expresses who I am and how I grew up; it shows where I am (at this point in time). And I never made compromises in my cuisine; that is why it took longer than usual for us to arrive at the first, second, and third Michelin stars,” he opines.
He notes that most people who visit his restaurant are there just to eat, but he points out that if diners want a meaningful experience, they, too, have a part to play.
“You have to think about everything behind the creative process — why did the artist arrive at this line or paint this way? It’s much deeper than good food,” he coaxes, spotlighting the gravitropic work that he has done.
His words also question what diners are after these days — whether visiting a restaurant for bragging rights or being too consumed with sharing their experience on social media.
“You have to think about everything behind the creative process — why did the artist arrive at this line or paint this way? It’s much deeper than good food.”
A walkway in Osteria Francescana. Bottura counts many artists as friends, as his dialogues with them help both parties create something different. (Photo: Paolo Terzi)
“But we are not cooking for that 99.9 per cent,” he rationalises. “In the spiritual world of art, I’m probably up here, and I want to do my best to bring as many people as possible to the top of the pyramid.”
“Now, I get to speak at Stanford University, and people call me maestro,” he says, noting how tides and narratives have shifted in his favour and how more people want to see and hear more from him.
“But I know at the bottom of my heart, not too many people understand what I am doing.”
An artisan obsessed with quality
You can get a table at Osteria Francescana with a six-month wait and on the 2nd of each month. (Photo: Paolo Terzi)
For him, the creative process takes precedence over everything else. Maintaining the freedom to cook what he strongly feels for and watching how his creations spark emotions and kindle the souls of others has become an extremely precious act of self-exercise.
“For me, this is the only way to cook. Look, I got all the prizes of my life. We cook not to be recognised; it’s all about an artistic gesture. Yet, I know in my consciousness that I am not an artist but an artisan obsessed with quality.”
According to Bottura, the classic chef is an artisan. The artist is on a different level, and the artiere is somewhere in between. He feels at home here as an artisan preoccupied with the quality of details and dedicated to communicating emotions with food.
As he continues to give his best for the 0.1 per cent of people who understand him, he only asks himself to take his creativity higher. “Cooking is not written by history, and I will go on to recreate it. I am writing my history; this is who I am and what I am doing, which is exactly like art.”
He recalls one most important decision he made in life that culminated in his success on the global culinary scene.
“That was in the 1980s. When I decided that I would be a chef and not a lawyer. I would be waking up in the morning and going to bed at night, in the meantime doing what I have chosen to do. That was a moment in which I defined my success.”
Bottura’s father aspired for him to practise law. But the cry to pursue his culinary aspirations was something he could not ignore.
“It is a feeling on the inside. It is how you experience everything. (Through cooking,) I had the freedom to express myself as I wanted to, I felt I had to do it this way. I cannot and don’t know any other way.”
