The Chicken, the Fish, and the Jesús Almagro

Jesús Almagro can’t make it far from the kitchen before someone or another stops him for a chat. The Spanish chef and subject of José Luis López-Linares’ documentary The Chicken, the Fish and the King Crab may be more comfortable on the hot line than the red carpet, but it’s clear Almagro is the star at LIVEstyle's Supper Club premiere party for King Crab, hosted by Turismo Madrid and celebrity chef Mario Batali at his award-winning Del Posto restaurant.

Almagro, wearing Converse sneakers and an immaculate white chef’s coat emblazoned with the Madrid logo, amiably takes the time to chat up his guests and smile for pictures, but when he gets the chance to break away, his expression steels, and he continues his march across the brimming, candelabra-lit room toward his station.

Almagro is a man at work. He and fellow Spanish culinary giants Pedro Larumbe, Alberto Chicote, and Paco Roncero are preparing samplings of luxuriant dishes for a well-dressed, cosmopolitan crowd. Chicote has devised a frothy terrine of foie gras in spiced candy floss with mango nitrosphere, crème of mascarpone, and saffron, and Roncero’s lyo-nitro and melon caviar are positioned next to a hefty, three-foot-tall tank of liquid nitrogen for shock and awe.

Olives, meats, cheeses, breads, and other delectables flown in from Spain are the bounty at the center of the room, and a crowd forms at the side to sample the exquisitely tender leg of some delicious beast. Flat-panel TVs show snapshots of Madrid by day and night—the architecture, the sport, and of course, the food.

Almagro, positioned in the corner by an open bar that everyone is too busy eating to take advantage of, is arranging miniature martini glasses on mirrored trays with the same precision that he displayed in the Bocuse d’Or. He takes a step back to survey the presentation, shifts a few glasses by a hair’s length, and steps back again to reassess. His dish, a low-temperature roasted egg with potatoes and chorizo, requires some preparation before it can be served, but he politely accepts a reporter’s request for an interview. With a tape recorder thrust in his face, Almagro graciously answers questions about whether tonight’s event comes with the same pressure as the Bocuse competition at the heart of the film, but as the translator relays his answer in English, Almagro’s eyes wander intently back to his little martini glasses and the wee eggs nesting in them.

“No pressure,” he finally tells the reporter in English.

A crowd gathers, watching as Almagro finishes fashioning his dish like they’re watching Picasso paint before their eyes. He takes his time. Everyone waits expectantly, hushed, and when he finally finishes and begins joyfully handing out his handiwork, it’s clear: Almagro is not a star, just an incredibly talented craftsman in a world that values his craft.