chef storyteller gastronome

The three words beneath the Clandestino 802 logo are not marketing jargon. They are simply the three lenses through which I view the world.

Chef

The word chef comes from the French word meaning "chief" or "leader." In France, a head chef is known as a chef de cuisine—literally, the chief of the kitchen. The title extends far beyond cooking. One might encounter a chef de bureau leading an office or a chef de service directing a department. The common thread is leadership and responsibility.

In the United States, the term has become almost exclusively associated with professional cooking. Mention the word chef and most people picture a white coat, a busy kitchen, and a person calling orders from behind a stainless-steel pass.

For me, the title is a little simpler. Clandestino 802 does not have a brigade of cooks, sous chefs, or line cooks. There is only one person shopping for ingredients, testing recipes, washing dishes, writing menus, and standing behind the griddle. By default, I am the chef because I am the only cook. The title is less about authority and more about accountability. Every success and every mistake belongs to me.

Cooking has taken me from family kitchens in Guatemala to culinary classrooms in Paris and Madrid, but the lesson remains the same: good food begins with respect—for ingredients, for technique, and for the people sitting at the table.

Storyteller

Long before I published a book, I collected stories.

Some came from passport stamps and airport terminals. Others came from neighborhood markets, roadside food stalls, family gatherings, and conversations with people whose names I never learned. What interested me was never just the recipe. It was the reason the recipe existed in the first place.

A bowl of soup can tell the story of a place. A sandwich can tell the story of immigration. A family recipe can preserve memories long after the people who created it are gone. Food is one of the most accessible forms of storytelling because everyone understands the language of a shared meal.

That belief eventually became my first book, No pasa nada, and continues with every project that follows. The recipes are important, but the stories behind them are what give them meaning. When dishes become stories and stories become recipes, a cookbook becomes more than a collection of instructions. It becomes a record of where we have been and the people we met along the way.

Gastronome

Of the three words, this is the one that requires the most explanation.

A gastronome is simply a person who takes a deep interest in food and drink—not merely consuming them, but understanding them. The word feels old-fashioned, which is exactly why I like it. It carries a sense of curiosity rather than commerce.

Today, food culture is full of influencers, content creators, rankings, and trends. There is nothing wrong with any of those things, but I wanted a word that felt less transactional. A gastronome is someone who remains fascinated by food for its own sake.

I am endlessly curious about what people eat, why they eat it, and how those traditions evolve. I enjoy a Michelin-starred dining room as much as I enjoy a roadside stand serving one thing exceptionally well. A perfect taco, a bowl of noodles, a cup of coffee, or a slice of birthday cake can be every bit as memorable as a multi-course tasting menu.

At its heart, Clandestino 802 is an expression of that curiosity. It is a place where food, travel, culture, and stories intersect. A place for someone who loves to cook, loves to write, and above all, loves to eat.

Chef. Storyteller. Gastronome.

Three words. One journey.