Forget weekend service: with his new project, Enrique Valentí is only open Monday through Friday and is focusing on tailored “micro-service,” with eight tables and a staff of six. “I'm looking for permanent employees,” he said in a recent interview.
The format
After leaving an indelible mark on Barcelona's culinary map, Enrique Valentí returns to where it all began: his native Madrid. But beware, this is more than a return, it is a debut, a gesture full of symbolism, passion, and maturity. At the ripe old age of fifty, the chef has decided to treat himself—and the city—to a project of his own, independent and personal: Caja de Cerillas, literally “matchbox,” an intimate and refined bistro that tells stories of forgotten flavors and rediscovered memories.
For those who have followed Valentí's career, names such as Casa Paloma, Chez Coco, Barbas, Marea Alta, Marea Baja, and Adobo are stops on a gastronomic journey studded with successes, straddling creativity, technique, and an unmistakable touch of elegance. But until now, paradoxically, the Madrid scene had remained offstage. There was a brief interlude with Hermanos Vinagre, a project shared with his brother Carlos, but nothing truly his own. Now, however, the time is right: “Many people throw a big party for their 50th birthday, but I said to myself: I'm going to give myself a dream, a small but significant project. And I did it,” the chef tells 7Canibales, with the enthusiasm of someone who, despite knowing the trade, has never stopped being excited.
The restaurant is located on a quiet street in Chamberí, in the place that for years housed the Asturian restaurant Nalón. Small, cozy, almost intimate: only 25 seats distributed across eight tables and served by six employees, as if each diner were invited to take part in a private ritual, made up of sincere sharing and cuisine prepared with heart. It is not a return to haute cuisine, but rather a return to the essence: an exercise in truth and foresight, as the chef himself defines it. Another peculiarity is the opening hours: the restaurant is closed on Saturdays and Sundays, opting for lunch and dinner from Monday to Friday. “I try to have a stable staff,” says the owner in this interview with El Mundo. “At the end of the day, it's my first truly personal project, a micro-production that gives life to something manageable.” The real challenge? “Finding someone who wants to cook with you, to peel green beans behind the scenes. The staff is crucial.”
Valentí also abandons the idea of spectacularizing dishes in favor of a more intimate, warm, “everyday” philosophy. The dishes on the menu—divided into Tapas, Antipasti, Main Courses, Grilled Dishes, and Desserts—are a tribute to collective culinary memory, to those preparations that were once part of everyday life and are now in danger of being forgotten. Yet these seemingly simple recipes conceal a profound wisdom, made up of balance, respect for the product and, above all, love for the gesture. We begin with a reference to his dual soul, Madrid and Catalonia, with homemade anchovies (cleaned, seasoned with oil, vinegar and pepper) served with tomato bread, an ideal embrace between Hermanos Vinagre and Barcelona Next come tuna and tomato empanadillas, with a thin pasta sheet and precisely fried, which speak the language of nostalgia, as do the slices of fried cod, a tribute to Casa Labra, enhanced by a piparra sauce that adds liveliness without overpowering. Respect for seasonality is expressed in the white asparagus with citrus vinaigrette and the warm marinated mackerel, two dishes that smell of spring and lightness, while the green beans with mashed potatoes, ham, and warm mayonnaise open the doors to a journey through time, to a place where recipes were made with whatever was available, but always with care.
No self-respecting restaurant would be complete without a “spoon dish”: creamy, generous white beans with clams, to be savored until the last bite, without any hurry. And while the rustic baked macaroni with chicken, sausage, pancetta, and cheese might make some Italian purists swoon, for the rest of the world it is a blessed, opulent, and well-rounded indulgence. Other “endangered gastronomic species” that Valentí has decided to save include beef meatballs with sherry and meat broth, which immediately bring to mind grandma's table and Sunday lunches. And then there is grilled Galician sole with a touch of Getaria vinegar, served with escalivada and green salad, which closes the circle of main courses with class and balance. The desserts are no less impressive: from the surprising mango and apple (with the apple cut like rice, in a refined play of illusions) to the comforting vanilla flan with Chantilly cream, not to mention the aniseed fritters that smell of country fairs and snacks of yesteryear.
The wine cellar is well stocked with selected labels, a wide choice of wines by the glass and the option—currently free of charge—to bring your own wine from home. This flexibility reflects the restaurant's philosophy: no impositions, just hospitality and taste. And while many are still chasing the mirage of innovation at any cost, Valentí has chosen a different path. “I'm no longer trying to be the best. I'm looking for customer happiness,” he says.
