The fictional chef Gusteau said that anyone can cook. There is no doubt about that. What difficulty is there in cutting ingredients, mixing ingredients, boiling ingredients, obtaining food? It’s not like programming the codes of a robot or discerning whether a pain is appendicitis or pancreatitis. Anyone can combine a package of rice with a can of tuna. But no. Not everyone is a chef. On this day, which celebrates International Chef's Day, I would like to bring to the table what it means to be a chef and what their role is today: Is it creating recipes? Is it cooking? Is it coordinating teams?

The complexity increases when we recognize that those at the helm of restaurants may be there by trade and not by profession. But, is a chef born, made, or does one need to study to become one? What about the home cooks or those who hone their craft on street corners? In these days, what holds more value: flavor or technique?

These questions remind me of a casting I conducted years ago to find the cook who would star in a non-fiction series. The casting was filled with renowned chefs, TV personalities, and masters of celebrated restaurants. The test was simple: they had to prepare scrambled eggs on camera. On the table were butter, salt, and pepper. Nothing more. Among them, only Sergio Camacho stood out, who at that time was the director of food and beverage at Ambrosía and a television host. Besides having a unique charisma, Sergio prepared scrambled eggs that I still remember. They were eggs. We all make scrambled eggs. The others made them too. However, his had flavor, technique, precision, magic.

And if we are to talk about chef-chefs, from my point of view, he is among the best. He, Micha Tsumura from Maido, Jonatán Gómez Luna from Le Chique, Dan Barber from Blue Hill, Pablo Salas from Amaranta, Joan Roca from Celler de Can Roca. Many more. And there are also chefs, like Carlos Gaytán, who did not study to become one and have earned Michelin stars for their unbeatable dishes.

The stories of culinary romances far from fine dining restaurants are numerous; perhaps they are the majority. I have been moved by my grandmother's green mole; a home-cooked chef who sustained her family from her barbecue shop in Tlalnepantla. I wept in the middle of Trastevere when an Italian matron without titles brought me a pasta so moving that the tears and the pomodoro sauce mixed on the plate.

On the other side of the spectrum are the stories of very expensive restaurants where we feel like we are reviewing organoleptic codes, mathematical formulas more than dishes because they stimulate our brains more than a pleasure button. It’s not that it’s wrong for technique to surpass flavor; and what is wrong, in any case? However, from what perspective should we measure our cooks?

Perhaps no one will resolve this, but this day inspires us to congratulate the great cooks of technique, titles, and mastery as much as the grandmothers subject to chefs. Also to honor the craftsmen who have been doing the same for years from their food stalls, to the culinary magicians without pay.

To recognize both those who have entrusted their seasoning to cookbooks and those for whom the art of repetition has led them to forge unsuspected savory paths. To recognize chefs without restaurants, like those from Kiwilimón, who, even without diners, make 35 million followers happy.

For me, October 20 celebrates everyone who strives to create more than a recipe. It celebrates those who get up every day to turn a bite into food for the soul. Anyone can cook, yes. But few pour themselves into a dish. To them, congratulations and thank you!