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The future of food lies in plants, says Spanish chef Rodrigo de la Calle, a vegetable visionary

The idea for De la Calle’s extreme plant-focused cuisine was first sown in China and although it didn’t take root he learned valuable lessons in Beijing that he took back to his homeland, where it blossomed

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Chef Rodrigo de la Calle in the kitchen at El Invernadero, in Madrid, Spain. Photo: Jeff Koehler

El Invernadero sits at the top of Calle Ponzano, a trendy street synonymous with tapas and cocktails in Madrid’s central Chamberí neighbourhood. Its block, though, is quiet and nondescript. From the outside, chef Rodrigo de la Calle’s Michelin-starred restaurant is rather inconspicuous; inside, understatement – not minimalism – reigns. The dining room is intimate and stylish, with leafy plants and glazed, apple-green wall tiles offsetting speckled white walls and bare, dark wood tables. The atmosphere is relaxed and unfussy. Piped birdsong plays on the sound system.

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Under a steel framework that reflects the restaurant’s name (“The Greenhouse”) are five tables plus three high tables with stools. Together they seat just 16 diners. An open kitchen runs along one side of the rectangular room, offering wide views of the crew of eight plus a couple of training students at work.

There is no maître d’ or hostess, instead the 43-year-old de la Calle, in a fitted white chef’s jacket, trainers and warm smile, welcomes many of the arrivals himself. While it is clear the Spaniard is breaking many accepted norms of fine dining, the absence of hushed awe, obligatory reverence and culinary pretension that many Michelin-starred establishments exude still feels unexpected.

The first indication that something very different lies ahead comes with the bread and water: a warm, round loaf filled with roasted cherry tomatoes and generously dusted with lycopene, the natural pigment that makes tomatoes red, and a simple, unglazed terracotta cup filled with water spiked with phycocyanin, a blue pigment-binding protein from microalgae.

Bread filled with roasted cherry tomatoes and dusted with lycopene served at El Invernadero. Photo: Jeff Koehler
Bread filled with roasted cherry tomatoes and dusted with lycopene served at El Invernadero. Photo: Jeff Koehler
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El Invernadero has no waiters. The cooks deliver the dishes themselves. Moments later my cook-server returns carrying a giant green candelabra-like stand with the first bocados (snacks). Perched on its wiry metal branches are encurtidos (pickled vegetables), including a succulent radish with a leaf of pinkish-purple-veined fittonia (nerve plant). Following these are a trio of hot tapas: kimchi empanada with huacatay (Peruvian black mint), a rolled petit four of celeriac filled with mushrooms and chlorella algae, and a perfectly spherical croqueta that explodes with liquidy spinach and kale when bitten into.

Course after course of vegetable – though not nece­ssarily vegetarian or vegan – dishes arrive in rapid succes­sion, each seemingly bolder and more impressive than the last. A tartar of beets, apples and avocado is topped with a foam made with forest berry vinegar, decorated with edible flowers, and served on raw beetroot in a soil-filled pot. A quartet of inch-high salsify roots stands in a pool of salsify escabeche sauce, crowned with trout eggs, capers and a pair of fresh vine leaves. Stewed pochas white beans come with rounds of “black sausage” made from eggplant and nuts.
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