When I travel, I strive to maintain a balance in my diet, even though it’s difficult, especially in hotels. The key is not to be swayed by the usual options, because that’s when we begin to eat in a disordered and unhealthy way.
This phrase, which you or I could have spoken just as well, came from the mouth of Andrés Velencoso, the same man who models and wears the clothes he showcases. In other words: he, like you, like me, or like anyone, has at some point stuffed himself to bursting.
And for decades, high-end resorts displayed breakfasts as an exhibition of abundance: endless rows of trays, themed stations, and overflowing displays symbolized prosperity and boundless service. Luxury was measured in linear meters and variety everywhere.
Today, in contrast with the era of productivity, where achievements must translate into numbers —books sold, followers on social media, stadiums filled, clicks on a link, or garments sold out—, that paradigm dissolves.
In Les Hamaques of Girona there are barely five rooms. Five, not a hundred. And at the opposite extreme, in Tokyo, a small bookstore defies the logic of oversupply: Morioka Shoten offers a single title each week. For seven days, that book occupies the space completely. Afterward it is withdrawn and the next takes its place. It’s not a limitation; it’s focus.
Long story short: the modern traveler avoids waste, rejects cloning and mass-produced goods. They seek character, purpose, traceability, and identity; they aspire to experiences with singular nuances, not to formulas repeated with different decor.
How had we not seen it before? Inviting people to disconnect loses its meaning if breakfast entails queues, constant movement, or hurried decisions in the face of an overwhelming display. The new aspiration is clear: to start the day calmly, with personalized attention and well-executed dishes.
The transformation of hotel breakfasts reflects a broader shift in our relationship with food, time, and the environment. It’s no longer about quantity; it’s about coherence.
