MICHIL'S NEWSLETTER
Lift facilities and future regrets
There was once a time on earth when, once the sun had melted into the horizon, the only light remaining were the moon and the stars. The planet’s inhabitants at the time - wherever they were - had no choice but to tilt their heads to the sky and dream, navigating, tracing the sky with the tip of their noses. And thus we have the cluster of stars known to the Greeks as Orion, the great hunter. To the Lakota the giant hand, snatched from a chief by the Thunder People as punishment for his greed. And to the Yolngu people of Northern Australia, a canoe carrying three fishermen. And so it goes - since the first humans, the stars have whisked us away to different worlds. We see them and think of Christmas, of destiny, of the incomprehensible immensity of the universe - who’s to say. Aye, the stars. The stars which in our dreams symbolize the shining hope, the faith we have in fate, the possibility that maybe - just maybe - our hearts’ deepest desires could come true. So when we see a shooting star we must be quick to make a wish. In Nietzsche’s own words: One must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star.
But who isn’t fascinated by the stars, drawn to them? It’s not cups, not hats that tracks the Michelin rating system - it’s stars. Those who have them can list themselves as one of the best. Indeed, there are chefs who spend their whole life dreaming of a star and never receiving one, and there are chefs who, upon losing one, end their lives. To say that stars are not important, that it is solely the client’s satisfaction that matters, is certainly a valuable sentiment, but it is equally true that the stars, whether they are given or taken away, have a great emotional impact on those who do what we do. Even in the age of social media, many are the guests who still orient themselves with the red Michelin guide under their arm.
We at the Stüa de Michil once had the star - it was ours for many years - as did our wonderful colleagues at the Siriola at San Cassiano. Then they disappeared, vanished - they left together with the kitchen chefs. In Alta Badia, the stars of the restaurant Hubertus remained - haute cuisine, impeccable service, inimitable creativity; indeed, three stars. A growing, developing territory lives in symbiosis with the people who inhabit it, requiring connections and reciprocal influences. To lose a star means to lose relations. The many stars awarded to our precious counties invite refuge in them, an escape to the mountaintops. It is undeniable that haute cuisine in the valleys motivated us to do better, to expand our wine cellars, to fall passionately in love with the culture of food. And such is today - of the stars that left, one has come back to us, back to the Stüa. And we are all incredibly happy about it, as are our collaborators, Chef Simone Cantafio and his equipe, and the whole sala. Indeed, it is a moment of celebration. A cartwheel of collective cheer. We want the star to shine, to sparkle and glimmer and illuminate the whole upcoming season.
The star is important not just for its prestige; it is also a powerful catalyst. The star pushes, pulls, makes you forget the hardship, all the obstacles. Great is the joy of the reconfirmation of the three stars to Norbert Niederkofler, even greater the delight knowing that in Selva di Val Gardena, too, a star is twinkling gold and brilliant. Stars web a constellation above the valleys, inspire a healthy competitive drive, but most of all they push us to confront ourselves, to discuss and understand which path we want to take.
I wish to tell you that when the star left us, you, loyal guests, never abandoned us. Giulan, thank you. This is, perhaps, our greatest motivation - the knowledge that we can still achieve beautiful things without institutional recognition. And this goes a long way for us and for those that love this job the way we do, endlessly.
Le stelle sono tante, milioni di milioni - the stars are many, millions and millions. So goes an old advertising slogan, but I am also reminded of the opening line to a wonderful De Gregori* song, “Niente da capire” - “nothing to understand”. Sitting in Castiglione d’Orcia, I watch the stars and consider the immensity of the sky and how, truly, there really is nothing to understand. We can only admire and contemplate that giant blue tapestry upon which every civilization has mapped and spun their own histories, their own epics. Ah, vaghe stelle d’Orsa, oh ye stars of Ursa's sign**…
Michil Costa