King of Spain

José Pizarro grew up in Extremadura in central-western Spain, in the hamlet of Talaván. After school, he trained as a dentist in Cáceres. His first job was at a local asada and it prompted him to leave his profession. He soon moved to El Mesón de Doña Filo in Madrid and learnt about la nueva cocina, Spain’s modernist cuisine. A meeting with an English friend saw him move to London, where he started at Gaudi in Clerkenwell, before moving to Eyre Brothers and Brindisa. He opened his first site, José, in 2011 and his second, Pizarro, in December of the same year. In 2015 he opened his third venue, in the City. He’s just launched a pub, The Swan, in Esher, and next month releases his fifth Spanish cookbook, Andalusia.

How does a Spanish dentist become a chef? It’s a question that has all the makings of an ill-judged xenophobic joke. But for José Pizarro – one of the most successful Spanish chefs currently plying their trade in the UK – his is a story of medicine, cookery, pulling teeth and pulling pints as the lead character in a journey narrative that’s spanned 40 years.

Summers in Extremadura, where Pizarro grew up, are hot. Temperatures tickle 40C and the pace of life is suited to the most languid of gastropod. Back in the 1970s, it was slower still. Life was pastoral; farming was simple. Days revolved around mealtimes, milking and mass. ‘For my family, my grandmother particularly, all she needed in her life was cooking, our cow and church,’ says Pizarro in an accent so thick with Spanish inflections that it’s hard to believe he’s lived in the UK for 20 years.

‘She spent all her time cooking; everything was local. If you didn’t have something, you would trade for it. I would give you my lemons for your oranges, and so on. For my dad, it was all about game and shooting. He would bring in the partridge and my brother, the pigeons. They were simple and extremely happy times.

‘We lived on a farm and I was playing outdoors from first light until nightfall. I was an outside boy from the moment I could walk; there were no PlayStations. You would go out with your friends and be naughty, but a good kind of naughty. We’d knock on old ladies’ doors and run away. I became an altar boy and drank the wine. It’s hard for kids to imagine today, but there was literally nothing to do and I didn’t know any different.’

It wasn’t until his teens that Pizarro started to think beyond his village walls. He was smart. He received good grades with little effort. He was rewarded with a place on a dentistry course at university. Cáceres, his university town, gave him a taste of something bigger.
It also introduced him to restaurants. Not the hyper- stylish, produce-laden restaurants like those he operates in Bermondsey, Broadgate and Esher today, but spit and sawdust, serving the produce he grew up eating.

‘I didn’t really eat out until I was at university. Like any student I didn’t have much money; I’d order the cheapest wine and a simple baguette. But it was lovely. At this point I didn’t see restaurants as my future, but I knew I loved the food. I loved the food and I loved the flavours.’ Pizarro passed his dentistry course with flying colours but with the penchant for progress that remains today, he couldn’t sit still. Even though it meant only a few months waiting for his results and to take his first placement, he enrolled at a catering college for the summer months. ‘I wanted to learn something; I needed to learn something. The school taught me the basics and sent me to a restaurant and that is when it all changed for me.

I thought ‘wow’, I’m with passionate people being sociable and also doing my own thing and pleasing people while I do it. I realised that I didn’t want to be sitting in a surgery for the rest of my life. This career is all about the people, the food, the fun.’

Let them eat jamón

He started at a casual asada (grill restaurant) in Cáceres and learnt quickly. A month after joining the restaurant, the owner fell pregnant and left Pizarro in charge. ‘One day, we served 1,000 people. It was a wedding where we were only meant to have 400 guests, but that’s just how it is in Spain. My fingers bled from carving suckling pig,’ he says as he gestures with the open hands of a callused kitchen craftsman. ‘While I was there I met Julio Reoyo, who owns El Mesón de Doña Filo in Madrid. He gave me the chance to work with him. He is super-talented and I learnt a lot about modern technique in the two years I was with him.’

Being in Madrid introduced Pizarro to a multicultural city for the first time and the accessibility of international travel. It appealed in a big way. ‘My mind was in New York, but I struggled to get a Green Card. A friend said I should try London. She had just returned and said it was crying out for a good Spanish chef.’

He packed his bags and promised to stay only for one month. Twenty years almost
to the day, he’s still here. ‘My friend told me one phrase in English, “I’m looking for a job”.
I had 15,000 pesetas in my pocket, which was about £250 at the time, and I immediately fell in love with England. I’d never seen such diversity. I even loved Gatwick and I still do now. That route to Victoria holds a special place in my heart.

‘I struggled to find work and was about to leave when I found a magazine on the floor with an advertisement for work at Gaudi [a now-closed Spanish restaurant] in Clerkenwell. I got a job as sous chef straight away and I couldn’t believe my luck. The chef was trying to get a Michelin star and I didn’t agree with much of his food but I was not the person to tell him. Even then, I knew that London wasn’t ready for that kind of fancy Spanish food. First, Londoners had to learn about the real pace of our cuisine. We are all about ingredients: three simple things on the plate that come with perfect provenance. People did not yet understand the importance behind those three things that you need to move on, if you know what I mean?’

From Gaudi, he moved very quickly to his first head chef role with David Eyre at Eyre Brothers and Pizarro began to educate the London palate about his holy trinity of Spanish food. It was basic, down to earth and driven by importing the best Spanish produce he could find. ‘David is my mentor and he taught me about herbs. We don’t really use that many herbs in Spain so this was an important part of my education.’ He was then headhunted by Brindisa (which only ran an import business at the time) to open their first standalone restaurant. ‘It was very difficult for me to understand why British people didn’t understand our olive oil. Why they didn’t know about vinegars or the paprika and saffron we use.
It took a very long time to get this importance across.

‘And then boom. Around ten years ago, when I opened my first tapas bar near Borough Market, people started to really understand Spanish food. They started to get that something doesn’t need to be complicated to be good.’ He quickly opened another, larger site a few doors down and Pizarro’s legacy began. It’s tenuous, but you can align Bermondsey’s gentrification with Pizarro’s restaurants. As sophisticated diners arrived, they discovered cheap property and converted the warehouses into the plush flats we see today. Its success also allowed Pizarro to up his game in terms of quality, introducing London to the level of Spanish produce and ingredients he ate as a child.

‘The success allowed me to invest. I was using an inferior supplier of jamón, but I started selling Cinco Jotas, a more expensive ham where the quality is infinitely better. Ten years ago, people would never have paid the money for an authentic ham as good as this. Now, I sell five legs a week.’

Pizarro has also just turned publican. The Swan in Esher on the outskirts of London is his magnum opus. He’s opened his vision of the perfect pub, serving Spanish food, Spanish beer and selling 60g portions of Cinco Jotas jamón for £27 – could you have believed it 20 years ago? Yes way, José.