Chef Alex Sanchez: “I am fascinated that food can be infinitely complex within its simplicity"

The Mumbai-based chef and restaurateur tells us his story, from nearly two decades in fine dining to forging his own culinary path

Like many of my peers, my beginnings in the professional kitchen were born out of necessity—I needed a job. I was untrained and inexperienced, armed with little more than a high-school degree and a bad attitude. I had recently dropped out of college, having found little to relate to in traditional academia, and found myself back in my old neighbourhood making sandwiches at Roxie Food Mart, a beloved San Francisco institution. Soon, the prospect of growing old with no direction, one ham and cheese sandwich at time, instilled a fear in me so deep I could no longer take it. I needed to do something of value with my life, something I could be proud of. I would become a chef.

The chefs whom I had watched through my childhood on public access television with great admiration—like Julia Child and Jacques Pépin—were either French or trained in the classic French repertoire. But at the time of my newfound calling, it was the early aughts. El Bulli was making waves across the world and American chefs and restaurateurs in big cities were opening Spanish restaurants like never before. With little context or understanding as to why I was doing it, I packed up a few copies of my shitty little resumé, put on the only formal clothing I owned, and showed up unannounced at every Spanish restaurant in San Francisco. My ambition, though naïve and unfounded, caught the attention of one Ron Silverstein, a man so passionate about Spain he opened not one, but two Spanish restaurants at a time when very few people knew or cared to know about Spanish food.

Early beginnings

Ron recognised something in me that even I did not and sent me to meet the chef at his behemoth restaurant downtown, Thirsty Bear Brewing Co. I showed up to the interview early and pulled up a seat at the bar. As if to perfectly illustrate how little I deserved the job for which I was applying, I used my fake ID to order one of their delicious ales while I waited for Chef Trish Tracey, the woman who would eventually become one of my most important mentors. Mischievous as I was, she hired me on the spot after I insisted that pay was irrelevant. “I just want to learn.” I said. And so began my journey in cooking, as an unpaid apprentice whose responsibilities would be equal parts dishwasher, flunkey, and peeler of all onions.

Those early days at The Bear will stay with me as some of my fondest memories. It was a magical and accelerated period of personal growth. I worked long hours—I would later learn this was the norm, but it felt new and awkward then—yet I still found time to learn beyond the kitchen. I often showed up a couple of hours before my shift to sit in the chef’s office and read from her extensive cookbook collection. There, on the cold concrete floor, leaning up against a sack of flour, I devoured whole volumes, eager to get back in the kitchen and experiment.

A turning point

Then one day, as if by divine intervention, I pulled a book off the shelf that would change the course of my life forever. I can see it now, a simple folded napkin secured with a clothespin resting on a white plate, the words “The French Laundry Cookbook” and “Thomas Keller” typed across it. If the book came unto me for divine reasons, then surely it was holy text, a veritable Bible of culinary lore and instruction, words written by the Prophet himself. In it, I discovered a world completely unknown to me at the time: the world of haute cuisine, of fine dining.

Reading through those pages, I envisioned myself among the culinary greats, donned in a sparkling white chef’s coat and a toque that stretched to the sky. I didn’t just want to be a chef anymore, no. I wanted to be the greatest chef the world had ever known. I wanted to be just like Thomas Keller. (Hey, a kid can dream, right?)

And dream I did. I immersed my mind and body in cooking with a righteous fervour. I trained in some of the world’s most celebrated kitchens, where I transformed from a delinquent into a disciplined, obedient and—dare I say—functional member of society. My new life, replete with 18-hour workdays, was one of isolation and exceptional focus, where my craft and my dreams of success superseded all other needs, wants and desires. They were trying times filled with sacrifice and self-doubt, but the hard work was steadily inching me closer to my goal.

Beyond just cooking

As I adjusted to the demanding work conditions, pushing myself through exhaustion and mental fatigue, I started to uncover beauty and meaning in my work. I grew a profound respect for ingredients, learning to embrace the ebbs and flows of the seasons; I connected with my craft, becoming faster, more finessed and technically proficient; I developed a strong sense of integrity, a culinary barometer of right and wrong; I learned to question everything, to seek answers, and to problem-solve; I learned not to accept shortcuts and to strive for perfection (even if it was unattainable). The skills and values instilled in me over the course of my training would go on to shape the chef and, indeed, the man I am today.

By the time I moved to Mumbai to open The Table in 2010, I was an able and confident cook. I had, however, spent my career in a supporting role and now I was in charge—I was way in over my head. So I relied heavily on the things I knew, pulling out every recipe, every technique, every trick in the book. Typical of many a young chef, I wanted to show off my chops. I created flashy plates that satisfied my ego, making technique the focal point rather than taste itself. And in doing so, amassed a repertoire of iconic dishes that are associated with me to this day. The space The Table provided me was essential to my growth as a chef and a major turning point in my career.

Listening to the voice in your head

After years of cooking in the upper echelons of gastronomy, there came a point where the chasm between the food I was cooking and the food I liked to eat was too great to ignore. Fine dining had been a tremendous source of inspiration for me for nearly two decades—it was the reason I took cooking seriously, driving me to achieve professional heights that I never thought possible. I stood at a crossroads: one path followed in the footsteps of my idols; the other was the road less traveled. I had spent my career emulating my mentors and the so-called “best chefs” of the world, all the while ignoring the most important voice in my head: my own.

Emboldened by a renewed sense of self, I set out to open a restaurant that reflected my new direction. I would cook food that speaks to the people: simple and relatable, but with the same attention to detail and refinement that had become part of my DNA. Americano [in Mumbai] would be a less formal, less rigid medium through which to channel all the things I loved about fine dining. On the opening night [in March 2019], anxious and sleep-deprived, I wrote a note on the menu that was just as much a promise to myself as it was a message to the guest. “As a young chef, I cooked to impress–my ego was on the plate. My life was about control and discipline. This menu is about giving up control and celebrating the simple things in life.”

The last three years have opened my eyes and pushed the bounds of my creativity. As I have learned, the pursuit of simplicity is anything but simple. I am fascinated by the notion that food can be infinitely complex within its simplicity—the more straightforward a process seems, the deeper you must delve to find the nuance. Whereas my technique was once centerstage, it is now consciously concealed, hidden behind an appealing plate of food. Technique has become the means to an end: to find the deepest points of flavour; to introduce texture; and, most of all, to make something taste delicious. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been in the kitchen. Still, every now and then, my ego creeps back up on me and I can’t help but wonder: by choosing to cook food that appears simple, will I be taken less seriously as a chef?

Also Read: These restaurants and food ventures are putting the spotlight on unique global culinary traditions

Also Read: Why does Mexican food in India fail to stick?

Also Read: Meet the women who quit law to become dedicated food entrepreneurs