By Roman Aixendri
Editing,video and music: Priscila Alegre
Photo: Andrei Moldovan
"It was a chicken smallish, fatish, short-leggish, deafish, ish. It had six chicks smallish, fatish, short-leggish, deafish, ish. If chicks would not have been chicks, small, fat, short-legged and deaf, the chicken would have been small, fat, short-legged and deaf.
The delirium of being Salvador Dalí led to the artista from Empordà to pronounce this provocative political manifesto. Surrealism, ... and is that the painter was considered a monarchist metaphysical but political illiterate. Surely his exquisite sense of smell destined him to smell the scent of the flora of Portlligat, just as his palate should use it to taste the breasts of his beloved Gala. Irreverence with taste does not itch.A vertical mustache, because Nietzsche's was too sober. Dalí, to be insignificant in the most transcendental sense of the word, would have run by tasting the dishes prepared by chef Pep Moreno.
Without limits and always upwards. In search of Bacchus or Priapus before the question "what went first, the egg or the hen?" The eternal Salvador Dalí would have answered "without a doubt, the chef ..." and if I had met the chef of the Deliranto Restaurant I would have included him as one of the primal beings of this comedy of art as necessary as the staging and, in this case, also gastronomic.
You could imagine them both, painter and chef. One coming out of the egg with his beloved muse and wife and uttering impossible phrases and the other cooking them both. Inciting ourselves to a loving, imaginary, symbolic and above all spiritual cannibalism, because nothing seeks the surface more than the soul. To love is to eat without hurting yourself, causing orgasms, delusions; deliranto in Esperanto language.
The avant-garde spirit is breathed in this restaurant of Salou transpired by surrealist and futuristic muses at the same time as guardians of the memory as would be Marcel Proust or Walter Benjamin. If there were a fire in Salou, God forbid or the Devil, Dalí would save the air of Deliranto just as if the fire in the Prado Museum would save the air of Las Meninas de Velázquez. Gastronomic nudity and daring.
Aesthetics as ethics. Beauty and taste as goodness. Astronauts are needed as incomprehensible because they expand our perception of the Universe. A small plate for man and a big plate for mankind; who experiences the evolution of the palate towards the super palate. Self-improvement involves rethinking the center of the Universe. Just focus on the stomach. Touch focusing on the taste buds. Rotating hallucinatory and composition equidistant to rebellion without rebellion. Copernicanismo Rafaelita.
Hyperrealistic gastronomy from the hand of a man who, loaded with an army of waiters, metres and sommeliers, fills an entire space of textures and colors painted on a canvas-dish designed to be devoured.
Pure and hard Dadaism also in Deliranto. Autophagy as a constant and total reinvention. Maybe that's why, facing September, in this restaurant you can find dishes inspired by Alice in Wonderland.
You will taste tears of the dreamy girl who fell in a burrow, seduced by a white rabbit. You will also find little bottles with liquids to make you small and big, and perhaps also a cat without a smile, a scrub to fall for. And best of all is that you can eat it. What if we find the famous picnic without sense? We have heard that there are roses to paint and then eat. Be careful not to meet the queen of hearts, she will steal you for sure.
Pep Moreno, Humpty Dumpty of the future, whom Dalí would take for his Alicia, of the wonderland, particular. Salou or the Hen? Perhaps the rabbit, now that the Dalinian surrealism leads to the logical revolt inspired by Lewis Carroll.
In Deliranto you will discover it and you will go out dancing the "yes" to the most humble and jovial life that you will have listened in time. Even if in your interior you shelter someone with the ego and the virtue of the filmmaker and author of “El Cant dels Ocells” and also “El Senyor” has caught in my wonders, Albert Serra. Eat the logic of meaning. This is the question, as is it also to celebrate non-birthdays.