Simple ingredients, treated with respect... put them together and

Hear, O seekers of nourishment and wisdom, the words of José Andrés, master of the kitchen and servant of humanity: “Simple ingredients, treated with respect… put them together and you will always have a great dish.” These words may at first seem to speak only of food, yet in their depths lies a philosophy of life, community, and creation. For what Andrés reminds us is that greatness does not always arise from luxury or extravagance, but from reverence for the humble, and from the art of bringing together small things in harmony.

The origin of this truth lies in Andrés’ own journey as a chef who both celebrates culinary artistry and labors to feed the hungry. He has cooked in palaces, yet also in disaster zones, where only rice, beans, and lentils could be found. Again and again, he has proven that when ingredients—no matter how modest—are honored for their essence and used with care, they can nourish body and soul alike. His words are not only for the cook, but for all who wish to see beauty in simplicity.

To speak of simple ingredients is to honor the common gifts of the earth: a tomato bursting with sun, a potato dug from soil, a grain of rice harvested by weathered hands. Too often we chase what is rare or exotic, thinking only the costly can be great. But Andrés reminds us that with respect, even the humblest onion, garlic, or loaf of bread can become sublime. Respect means not wasting, not rushing, not disguising, but listening to the ingredient as one would listen to a friend.

History offers proof of this wisdom. Consider the armies of Rome, sustained not by feasts but by bread and oil. Think of the peasants of medieval Europe, whose soups of root vegetables carried them through winters. Or recall the tale of the French soldiers who created the dish known as pot-au-feu—a humble pot of meat and vegetables that became a national treasure. These meals were not born of extravagance but of necessity, yet treated with patience and care, they became nourishment worthy of honor.

Yet Andrés’ words also speak beyond food. The great dish is a metaphor for all human endeavor. Families, communities, nations—all are made of simple people, each like an ingredient. When treated with respect and brought together in harmony, they create greatness that none could achieve alone. But when ignored, wasted, or disdained, even the finest gifts can turn bitter. Thus, the kitchen becomes a mirror of life itself, teaching us that success lies not in wealth of materials, but in reverence for what we already possess.

The deeper meaning is also spiritual. To respect ingredients is to respect creation. Each grain of wheat, each drop of water, each leaf of herb is the fruit of earth’s labor, a gift of the divine. To throw away, to ignore, to scorn—this is to sin against abundance. But to take what is given, to use it with gratitude and care—this is to enter into harmony with the world. The chef becomes priest, the kitchen an altar, the dish an offering of thanksgiving.

Therefore, O listeners, let your practice be this: do not despise the small or the ordinary. In your kitchen, treat every ingredient with care, and in your life, treat every person with dignity. Seek harmony rather than extravagance. Waste nothing—neither food, nor time, nor relationships. For in the humble, rightly honored, lies greatness. And remember always that beauty is not far off or locked away in treasures; it is already in your hands, waiting for you to bring it forth.

Thus let Andrés’ words endure: “Simple ingredients, treated with respect… put them together and you will always have a great dish.” For in them is a recipe not only for food, but for life itself: simplicity, reverence, and harmony—the timeless ingredients of true greatness.