So actually, I started cooking as far as I can remember. I think the first memory I have in my entire life is cooking with my mom — making something super simple. I must have been around four years old. It was what we call œuf cocotte — just a little ramekin, you break an egg, add a spoon of crème fraîche, a bit of salt, a bit of pepper, into the oven — that’s it. Since then, cooking and pastry have been a passion throughout my entire childhood. Very quickly, I started learning a lot by myself — through cookbooks and just trying things. On weekends, in my free time, I would lock myself in the kitchen and do as many things as I could — macarons, quite hardcore stuff. So it has really been a passion for me, almost like a destiny. Then when I turned 17, I went to cooking school, which didn’t go very well. The rigidity of hospitality school was too much for the rebel that I am. So I kind of gave up, started working, moved, traveled around the world, and basically learned on the job. For me, you don’t learn cooking sitting in front of a blackboard — you just need to cook.

I moved to Lisbon in 2018 — almost eight years ago. I wasn’t meant to stay, I was just passing by… and here I am.

I’ve lived in many different countries, but Lisbon got me — not straight away, it took some years. I think as you grow up, you find more stability. I just love this city and Portugal.

Also, I have a double culture because my mom is from here. I’ve always felt like I belong and don’t belong at the same time — but at least here, I feel I belong.

If we want the full story — I also have another restaurant, BouBou’s, which is fine dining. It’s very modern — food as performance, expression, high creativity, strong aesthetics.

But I needed a place that is more about cooking from the heart, going back to tradition and where we come from. On my days off, I go to tascas. I like simple food — what mothers and grandmothers cook.

What we bring as young chefs, with our backgrounds and diverse cultures, is a small twist. Modernity is not about changing tradition — if something is perfect, you don’t change it. But maybe you add a herb, revive forgotten recipes, make them a bit more “sexy,” apply technique — but not too fancy.

Tradition and modernity are absolutely compatible. And now, with Portuguese cuisine finally getting global recognition, it’s important to bring youth into something that hasn’t always been considered “sexy.”

That’s the balance. What we do in Gancho is generosity. Plates to share, or big plates for yourself.

Generous food is actually harder to make look good — small plates are easier, they’re cute. Big plates are less forgiving. But you learn. I love art, architecture, design — patterns help. You can make large plates look beautiful through structure.

Also, taste evolves with trends. Right now there’s a return to generosity, to something more raw — not brutal, but honest, basic.

It depends. My way of working here is very different from BouBou’s. At Gancho, it’s spontaneity. We work with seasons, I know producers, I know what arrives when. I basically cook what I feel like cooking — what I would cook at home. We still channel it around Portuguese roots, with touches of Italian and French influence — so people can identify what we do. At BouBou’s, it’s different — I work around themes and emotions. Each season is built around an idea. For example, spring is about flowers blooming, renewal, new plans — and I try to translate that into dishes.

I don’t think so. Fine dining sometimes has too many layers. Here, we have no pretension — we just do good food. People come to eat, to see friends, to enjoy themselves without spending too much. That’s it. Emotion comes naturally — if you make a really good dish, it can remind someone of their grandmother. That’s already emotion.

It’s both Portuguese and a trend. Portugal has incredible seafood — huge variety. But now chefs are paying more attention, also for ecological reasons. Shellfish, for example, are water purifiers and often less harmful than other protein sources. There’s still so much to discover — many local species people don’t even know about. Chefs are now bringing that to the spotlight.

The evolution has been incredibly fast. When we opened in 2018, things were still slow. Then from around 2020–2021, it exploded. Now every week, new places open. Lisbon today is very diverse, very interesting — almost comparable to other big capitals. Maybe not Copenhagen yet, but not far. The downside is that local places are disappearing, and fewer places are truly for locals. I hope both worlds can coexist — international creative spots and traditional local culture. That balance is essential.

There is definitely a “New Portuguese” narrative. Chefs like Nuno Mendes or António Galapito are doing incredible work — taking Portuguese flavors and elevating them with technique and elegance. It’s about product, technique, emotion, and memory. Dishes that feel like your grandmother made them — but with refinement and complexity. Portuguese cuisine has very bright days ahead.

Yes. Many chefs trained in Michelin kitchens, learned all the techniques, and now want to break the rules. We want something less formal, more fun — but we carry all that knowledge with us.

I’ve been my own chef since 21, so I learned mostly by myself. Now I actually want to go back — do stages, maybe even go back to school. It would be faster than figuring everything out alone. Today, I’m in a different phase. I’m not just a chef anymore. After more than 10 years, my body is starting to give up — and I’m only 31. So now I focus more on the business side — finance, operations — and mentoring others. What keeps me creative now is creating places, not just dishes. Different places with different souls.

I’m mostly calm. Maybe too understanding sometimes. But under stress, I can become very dramatic — I try to control it. I prefer teaching through explanation rather than strictness. It takes more energy, but I think it’s the right way.

Of course. All the time. It’s stressful — you watch, you rush service for certain tables. But this is why we do it. We put our soul into it — we want to see the reaction.

[Mark Ol'yn, Father of Gancho] When we saw the place, there were hooks on the wall — it used to be a butcher. I wanted something simple, memorable. “Gancho” — easy, funny, impossible to get wrong. Even if you’re from another planet.

The product, the atmosphere, and the people. It’s relaxed, cozy, warm — and we have many regulars. That’s the real hook.

The cabbage. Always the cabbage. We steam it, serve it with Caesar sauce, Sichuan spices, crispy chili oil, parmesan, and coriander.

Yes. We built a new network adapted to Gancho’s needs. It’s working well now — though delays happen. Sometimes deliveries arrive after opening — imagine a full restaurant and someone rolling in with a trolley.

By being ourselves. We like wood, vintage furniture, simple things. Everything you see here reflects us. People feel that authenticity.

Some dishes never leave — cabbage, arancini, olives, bread with linguiça butter, tartare. Others change with the season. Desserts too — like the CBD crème brûlée, which stayed because people love it.

No. It will stay. But when people ask to remove it, I give them a high five — I even have a tattoo that says “no coriander” in Portuguese.