The wind was blowing strongly that afternoon when we decided to celebrate Albert’s forty years at the helm of La Barratina. Four decades in a business that was already an institution, a benchmark of good food and tireless effort. As it could not be otherwise, we sat down to eat there, together with Andrés, from Masía La Palma, another veteran of the hotel business.
Today it has been 40 years since we started this project, today La Barretina Fonda d’Orfes turns 40 years old. There have been moments of everything: good, very good, bad and very bad, and even so, we have moved forward, a path that without all of you would not have been possible. Mother, father, brothers, sisters, daughters, grandchildren, family in general, friends, customers and suppliers… thank you all very much. I’m sure I won’t make 40 more, but whatever they are, I want to continue sharing them with all of you. Thank you very much for always being there.
As soon as I arrived, the restaurant was bursting at the seams. The dim light from the hanging lamps cast warm shadows on the stone walls, highlighting the hustle and bustle of the room. To our left, a huge table of twenty people was brimming with toasts and laughter. From the cars lined up in the parking lot, spotless and gleaming under the parking lot’s yellowish lighting, I’d swear they were executives celebrating some million-dollar contract. A little further on, an even larger table, with more than thirty guests, was buzzing with joy. Friends, family members, couples of all ages clinked glasses amidst cross conversations and plates coming and going. In addition, several tables scattered around the room housed their own stories, small fragments of life unfolding in parallel to ours.
We looked at each other as if we had made a mistake.
-Uncle, did we get the day mixed up? -asked Andrés, arching an eyebrow.
-Well, it looks like it…» I answered, as I swept the room with my eyes in search of Albert.
But no. There he was, with his usual apron, the logo of La Barratina somewhat blurred by use, but with the same presence as always. His smile, despite the obvious fatigue, retained that spark of someone who, despite everything, loves what he does. He approached us with a strong and warm handshake, one of those that make it clear that, although the years are heavy, the spirit is still strong.
-Another forty, no way, guys. I won’t make it alive at this rate,» he joked, wiping his forehead with a white cloth.
We laughed, but deep down we knew he wasn’t entirely joking. Andrés and I had had that conversation a thousand times: our businesses were not businesses, they were ways of life. We didn’t live off the business, we lived for the business.
We sat at a table by the window overlooking the garden, where the outside lights wrapped the trees in a dim, welcoming glow. Around us, waiters moved with the precision of a finely tuned orchestra, balancing trays overflowing with impeccably presented dishes. Amid aromas of roast beef, red wine and freshly baked bread, we immersed ourselves in a conversation that, as always, ended up revolving around our reality.
-We can’t afford anything else,» I said, reluctantly stirring my coffee. We live thanks to the loans we take out and pay back, but we can’t call it a business. A business is something that gives you profitability, that leaves something for you. We barely survive.
Andres nodded, settling into his solid wood chair.
-And so the days go by. Worried about whether we will be able to pay the bills, if something breaks, if something needs to be renovated. If you have to change the boiler, the little you’ve saved is gone.
Albert sighed, and his eyes, tired but full of determination, reflected the resignation of one who knows there is no other way.
-In the end, you just hope to make it to summer. It’s the only time we can breathe a little. But of course, seeing how January and February have been, I’m afraid to think about what’s to come.
And then we touched on another of the big problems: employees. Finding people willing to work in our restaurants was an odyssey.
-Look,» said Andrés, leaning his elbow on the table, «to work in these places you first need a car, then the desire to work and that economically it compensates you. And of course, people prefer something close to home, where they earn the same or almost the same.
-And that’s normal,» I added. But we can’t drown ourselves by keeping staff. We can’t pay very high salaries when we can barely make ends meet. It’s the fish that bites its own tail. And the worst thing is that if we don’t raise their salaries, they go elsewhere. Because between transportation and time, it’s not worth it for them to come here.
Albert snorted, setting his glass aside.
-And you know what the worst thing is? That what really stifles us are taxes. We pay almost 70% extra in contributions, taxes and Social Security for each employee we have. For someone to get 1,500 euros clean, we have to pay almost 3,000. And what do we have left after that? Nothing.
Andrew gently rapped his knuckles on the table, frowning.
-It’s nonsense. The government squeezes us, but when we need help, there is nothing. Income tax rebates, social security discounts… You name it! But no, every month, between VAT, corporate taxes and what they crunch us for employees, we can barely breathe.
We stood in silence for a moment, looking at the glasses and the crumbs on the table. Outside, the wind was still blowing, blowing away the dry leaves that covered the cobblestones of the garden. Reality was hard, but we were still there, fighting day by day.
-Sometimes I wonder why we’re still in this,» I said quietly.
Albert laughed bitterly, leaning against the back of his chair.
-Because we don’t know how to do anything else. Because, even if it kills us, this is our life.
We toasted in silence. To us, to our struggles and because somehow, despite everything, we were still going on.
Reflection:
The hospitality industry is a reflection of constant effort, where the passion for the profession coexists with economic uncertainty and day-to-day demands. Maintaining a business not only involves managing resources, but also dealing with tax pressure, the difficulty of finding personnel and market instability. Profitability is often diluted in the attempt to sustain a structure that leaves little room for rest. In this context, a fundamental question arises: how sustainable is it to live to work without real reward? In spite of everything, many continue to move forward, driven by vocation and commitment, demonstrating that sometimes the real driving force is not profit, but passion for what you do.
From MasTorrencito we wish you a good day and may your dogs be with you!!!!
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