As I walk into chef Carlos Portela’s restaurant, Orujo, nestled in the swanky restaurant district of Miramar in San Juan, Puerto Rico, I’m greeted at once by John Lee Hooker’s blues. It shatters any expectations I had for a sterile environment often associated with fine-dining establishments in this area. The music sets the tone for what will be a truly immersive and sensorial experience, crafted by a chef whose every move is both intentional and, when it needs to be, playfully improvised.
Portela doesn’t use the term “restaurant” to describe this place. Instead, he sees it as a workshop of sorts, where food, wine and community converge to create a one-of-a-kind encounter. With only seven tables, the space feels intimate, full of reflections of his life and passions. Local art by fellow chefs adorns the walls, and in the corner is a small library of lovingly annotated books about food. His children’s tennis shoes are hung on the ceiling — a familiar sight in the barrios of the island — in a tribute to his family.
It’s evident that Orujo is unapologetically Boricua. Portela’s lack of desire to conform to what it may mean to be a “fancy chef” is baked into Puerto Rican culture: We are proud of our vulnerability, our roots and our lack of pretense. There is no formal marketing for Orujo — its popularity spreads purely by word of mouth, enhancing the restaurant’s mystique of “el que sabe, sabe” (“if you know, you know”).
Portela and sous-chef Christian handle everything at Orujo. When diners come in, Portela introduces himself as “chef, owner and dishwasher,” and he personally greets diners and serves each course, explaining the ingredients and preparation.
His philosophy of the culinary experience — which includes relaxing into dinner as a multihour experience — ensnared me, and everyone who dined around me that evening. Starting in what he calls “an underground dining club” in a garage in his hometown of Caguas, Portela went on to develop his concept in a more formal space, ultimately relocating to his current locale in the Puerto Rican capital three years ago. In his kitchen, there are no boisterous “Yes, chefs” — only gentle murmurs of communication that complement the progression of several courses.
“You know the concept now; there’s no turning back,” he says with a knowing smile. “Our specialty, in a way, is our inconsistency. There’s not a day in which you’ll be served the same dish…
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