Fire & Stone: A Wedding Dinner in Paros, Cooked Exclusively Over Open Flame

Specific culinary experiences define you, not because of their technical complexity,

but precisely because of their disarming simplicity.

Looking back to when I was still running my restaurant in Paris, I vividly remember Caroline and Paul's proposal. A French couple with refined taste, who asked me to take charge of their wedding dinner in Paros.

The brief was clear and, at the same time, exceptionally demanding for a professional chef: 60 guests, a menu based on absolute seasonality and the island's boundaries,

and a request for "straightforward" food. No fluff, no unnecessary impressions.

The only exception to the rule of locality would be the wines and champagne,

which would travel with them from France, along with a few international touches

to accompany the flavours.

The real challenge, however, was not

the ingredients. It was the management of energy. Literally. There were no conventional ovens, gas ranges,

or precision electric hobs.

The single source of heat for the entire dinner was an old, traditional stone wood-fired oven.

For many, the absence of modern technology would have been a problem. For me, however, it was a return to my natural habitat. Having tamed fire countless times over the years,

I didn’t need thermometers or timers.

I listen to the fire, I feel it, I understand it. Synchronising the cooking for 60 people simultaneously, playing with the heat zones within the oven chamber, was not an obstacle, but a process of absolute control and connection with the most primal form of cooking.

The menu was designed as a dialogue between the Parian land and the sea, with the flame acting as the connecting link.

We started with the salinity of the sea. Shellfish and Bottarga are served, allowing the iodine aftertaste to prepare the palate. This was followed by the earthy sweetness of Eggplant, which was "married" with the umami of Miso and the acidity of a local, barrel-aged Feta. A dish proving that when raw materials are in season, they need minimal intervention to shine.

The main course was the ultimate proof of technique in the wood oven: Lamb, slow-cooked until meltingly tender, accompanied by Lettuce that passed through the fire, acquiring a smoky, crisp texture rarely encountered. Simplicity in all its glory.

For the finale, we wanted freshness and aromas reminiscent of a Mediterranean summer. Fig and Pistachio, alongside a handmade Kaimaki Ice Cream (flavoured with orchid root)—a taste both nostalgic and rich. The dinner concluded with the exotic freshness of Mango combined with the savoury intensity of Jamon, a final gastronomic reference to the international influences of our guests.

Everything went more than okay. The guests experienced dishes that possessed the honesty of the fire and the purity of the ingredients. That night in Paros confirmed something I deeply believe: a chef's experience is not demonstrated by complex tools, but by the ability to produce a perfect result with the simplest means, merely by listening to the rhythm of the fire.