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Chef and humanitarian José Andrés's advice: Be bold, take risks, adapt

Chef and humanitarian José Andrés's advice: Be bold, take risks, adapt

Boston Globe22-04-2025

He explains that the title of the book comes from learning early on not to 'let bad moments bring you down.' Adapt, he writes, as he has had to do often in the kitchen, when an ingredient is missing, when carelessness sends cooked food flying to the floor, when he's in a war zone and people are going hungry. 'To make a Spanish tortilla,' he writes, 'you need to break some eggs. To fix the broken parts of our world, you often need to break the rules.'
The book consists of memoir-ish essays that tell stories of Andrés's early cooking jobs, a stint in the Spanish navy that took him to America for the first time, what it was like to work at
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Andrés seems to draw on boundless energy. He joined his restaurant partner,
Book jacket for 'Change the Recipe' by José Andrés with Richard Wolffe
handout/Handout
It began in Haiti after the 2010 earthquake and right away he learned an important lesson from local women who had set up a shelter and were cooking. Andrés made a pot of black beans and rice. He and the women didn't have a common language but he saw they didn't like what he made. They showed him how it should be done. They took burlap sacks and used them to sieve the black beans into a saucy puree. 'It ended up so beautiful and rich and velvety, this perfect texture that I had never seen before from beans.'
If he was going to do this, he would have to listen to the residents where he was. 'I still have trouble listening sometimes,' he writes, 'I love thinking I'm right. I love to be the one who is telling people what to do.'
He set up shop at more natural disasters, and most recently in Ukraine, Israel, and Gaza.
Wherever he is, writes Andrés, he has 'to be ready for the loud voices that will line up against you.' He was accused of profiting from Hurricane Maria in Puerto Rico, 'when the truth is,' he writes, 'that I don't earn a penny for my work in disasters.'
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When people in other organizations, far from the crisis, try to tell him what to do, the only expert he's interested in talking to is someone with boots on the ground. An MBA thousands of miles away, he says, doesn't have more knowledge of the situation than 'a guy with a bulldozer who is building a jetty in Gaza out of concrete rubble.'
Photo of José Andrés, chef and humanitarian
JOSH TELLES
In April 2024, seven World Central Kitchen workers in Gaza were killed by Israeli air strikes that hit their convoy. He ends the book with a tribute he gave to them at a memorial service at Washington National Cathedral.
'Change the Recipe' touches on many of the deep issues our society and what people have to contend with. You can imagine that someone like Andrés can tackle some of this.
But the book has a TED talk quality, with each chapter ending in a go-get-'em motivational summary of how to handle, overcome, rise above (fill in the blank) various situations.
In January 2024, several members of Congress
The modest author never mentions it.
Sheryl Julian can be reached at

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In 1978, Pat Wells cut an album that didn't make it big. In 2025, songs from it landed on Netflix.
In 1978, Pat Wells cut an album that didn't make it big. In 2025, songs from it landed on Netflix.

Boston Globe

timean hour ago

  • Boston Globe

In 1978, Pat Wells cut an album that didn't make it big. In 2025, songs from it landed on Netflix.

The new show that wanted to incorporate her music is ' Advertisement 'It's a very, like, up-in-the-tower kind of recognition,' Wells, now 71, said recently in a phone interview from her home in Grantham, N.H. It feels like a major upheaval in her life, 'like if you read my tarot cards, they'd say TOWER!' Get Love Letters: The Newsletter A weekly dispatch with all the best relationship content and commentary – plus exclusive content for fans of Love Letters, Dinner With Cupid, weddings, therapy talk, and more. Enter Email Sign Up On the day the series dropped in late May, Wells sat down and binge-watched all five episodes. When she was finished, she thought, there must be some mistake. The songs weren't there. Oh, yes they were, responded Douglas Mcgowan. They were just buried deep in the mix. Mcgowan is the owner of the small California reissue label that made 'Hometown Lady' available to download more than 15 years ago. He found a copy at a Boston-area record shop — Advertisement And that, once again, was that, for more than a decade. About a year ago, he reconnected with Wells and told her he was sending her a check, rounding up to $100, the amount he felt he owed her. 'I'm pretty sure you could count the number of people who paid to download her record on your fingers and toes,' he said recently. Pat Wells grew up in West Newbury, the fourth of five children born to a radiologist and his stay-at-home wife. At 10 or 11, she became interested in learning to play the guitar. She'd close her bedroom door to drown out the commotion in her crowded house, and try to write songs. When she was 16, one of her older sisters encouraged her to sign up to sing at the open mic night at 'Nobody could drink at that table,' Wells recalled. There was a robust circuit of barrooms and stages across the North Shore for songwriters at the time, Wells said. At the Pat Wells plays her guitar at her home in Grantham, N.H. Jim Davis/Jim Davis for the Globe She remembers seeing Tom Rush perform in Salem and Bonnie Raitt in Ipswich, and there were lots of artists — Bill Madison, Kenny Girard, Charlie Bechler — who drew local followings. Younger than most of her peers, she felt supported by the audiences she encountered. Advertisement 'There was something about creating music, having people listen to you and enjoy what you had to say about your life, your friends, the area,' she said. When she picked up some work assisting a piano tuner, she asked to pick his brain. 'You know, I've got all these songs,' she said. 'How do people make records?' The piano tuner happened to know Josiah Spaulding Jr., the songwriter who would later become Spaulding helped organize the band that backed Wells in the studio. They recorded at Century III, then a video editing and post-production company on Boylston Street that took in occasional musical acts on the side. Each day, Wells drove her beat-up Ford F-100 pickup truck across the I-93 bridge into the city. Pat Wells grew up in West Newbury. She now lives in New Hampshire. Jim Davis/Jim Davis for the Globe 'It was a wonderful opportunity to work with studio musicians who were so talented,' she said. 'Joe was able to do that thing that producers do — rise above and take the 50,000-foot view.' 'I thought she was a terrific songwriter,' said Spaulding, who has a home on Plum Island. 'We had a ball, but she basically stopped making music soon after we finished.' Changing tides in the music world worked against any prospects the album may have had, Wells recalled. 'This was when disco was incredibly popular,' she said. 'The A&R guy from Sail would go around with me to the radio stations. The guy would drop the needle, listen for a short time, and say, 'Well, it's not disco.' I mean, der — it's not disco!' Advertisement The songs on 'Hometown Lady' give off echoes of Joan Baez and Janis Ian. 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Jim Davis/Jim Davis for the Globe 'It turns out there was a massive number of incredibly talented people making albums in incredibly restricted circles,' Mcgowan said. 'There was no pipeline for a local artist to get into the mainstream. 'Virtually no one in Pat's position ever broke out of where they were. Only because of the internet have people started to be able to compare notes on their record finds.' It was the internet presence of Advertisement Jen Malone, a onetime Boston-based publicist, served as the music supervisor on 'Sirens.' The producers, she said, were initially hoping for Joni Mitchell songs to accompany scenes in episode three that feature Moore's character, Michaela, a powerful woman of means in the fictional, Nantucket-like town of Port Haven. Julianne Moore as Michaela and Kevin Bacon as Peter Kell in "Sirens." Macall Polay/Netflix/MACALL POLAY/NETFLIX Mitchell's songs weren't in the budget, Malone said in a phone call, so she consulted with a company that sources music options for film and television. When that company suggested Pat Wells, Malone took one listen, 'saw that she was from New England, and I was like, 'Done and done.' 'We love using undiscovered vintage catalog,' she explained. Wells's songs 'are in the background, but they're still very important to the palette of the show. To be a little part of that story and give her that platform, it's a great feeling.' Since the release of 'Sirens,' there's been a new flurry of activity for Wells. Mcgowan just posted 'Hometown Lady' on Spotify for the first time, and in early June he received confirmation that a British label will license another of her songs, 'The Seeker,' for an upcoming compilation of 'music for a fictitious tropical resort.' All of these unexpected developments have inspired Wells to think about picking up her guitar and writing some new music. Her voice may not be quite as angelic as it was in 1978, but 'the folks at church really like it,' she said. 'I tend to go right over the top.' Advertisement After remarrying, she and her second husband adopted several children from Ethiopia. It's important for her, she said, to show her adult children and her grandchildren — she has 11 — that creativity can strike at any time. 'I don't want this to be a story of, 'Oh, my dreams were dashed in 1978,'' she said. 'No. This is something great. Isn't it lovely that somebody heard me and said, 'We'd like to put this on our platform'?' For now, she's enjoying her retirement and the small pleasures of daily life. 'My tenant has a 2-year-old,' Wells said, 'and he was following me around as I was mowing the lawn with his bubbly lawn mower, with his ear protection on. That's wonderful.' James Sullivan can be reached at . James Sullivan can be reached at

What I learned about the future of restaurants from Rene Redzepi's chef conference
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time2 hours ago

  • Fast Company

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The best part of last month's MAD Symposium in Copenhagen wasn't chef Thomas Keller telling young chefs in the audience to stop chasing Michelin stars—though he did say that. It wasn't chef and World Central Kitchen founder José Andrés breaking down in tears as he described his organization's work cooking in Gaza. And it wasn't chef-turned-actor Matty Matheson describing his rise to fame on FX's industry hit, The Bear. Instead, under a giant red circus tent in Copenhagen, the star power dulled as the next generation stood up. The brightest spot came as four young Icelandic fishing guides stood onstage and presented a compelling and heartfelt argument against sea-farmed salmon. The seventh-generation guides, two sets of sisters in their late teens and early twenties, are among the first female guides in their country, helping visitors find and catch wild Atlantic salmon on the Laxá river in northern Iceland. 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Patagonia founder Yvon Chouinard spoke of his 2023 decision to, in his words, 'give away the company,' transferring its ownership to a nonprofit foundation. And Emilie Qvist, a young Danish chef, talked about her own future in restaurants: a series of short-term projects that included revitalizing a coastal fish restaurant in northern Denmark before closing it to travel and later sign on as chef for a six-month project—short-term stints are still excellent vectors for change and creativity, she explained. While the room was filled with bold-faced names of the restaurant world (even Keller stayed for the full program) the most impact came from those working more anonymously to create a better restaurant industry, a better legacy. As we filed out of the tent on Monday evening, first into a boat and then to a happy hour full of natural wine and caviar under a bridge beside a canal—this business has its perks!—I again considered the fishing guides' wild salmon pitch. A few years ago, they faced a catastrophic disaster when thousands of farmed salmon escaped from a nearby offshore farm. The escape threatened the country's wild fish with disease, parasites, and reproductive challenges. If the practice of sea farming continues, the young women said, the country's entire population of wild salmon is at risk of dying. That's bad news for anyone who cares about fishing practices, but it's worse news for the guides. Threatened also is their families' legacy—an outcome that loomed larger in a tent full of restaurant people than the fate of the fish.

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