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Mario Enero – getting back to basics

"Whistler has changed. Now we want to eat the bird before we hunt it." - Mario Enero Skiing, yes. But bullfighting? I mean, c'mon, there can't be lot of Whistlerites who started out life as wannabe bullfighters. Sounds so exotic somehow.
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"Whistler has changed. Now we want to eat the bird before we hunt it."

- Mario Enero

 

Skiing, yes. But bullfighting? I mean, c'mon, there can't be lot of Whistlerites who started out life as wannabe bullfighters. Sounds so exotic somehow. Like something out of an Ernie Hemingway novel. Mysterious. Glamorous. Certainly not conventional.

But then there aren't a lot of Whistlerites like La Rúa's Mario Enero. "You've got to remember," explains the celebrated restaurateur in his Latin-inflected brogue, "I'm Spanish. It's like hockey here. You know, everyone grows up in Canada dreaming of becoming a hockey player. Well, in Spain when I was growing up, every young boy dreamed of one day becoming a famous torero."

Alas, the young Castilian was not meant for a professional life of corrida. "I was 12 when I started my training," he says. "It was very exciting. But I had to quit before my father killed me." He tries to suppress a grin. Fails miserably. "I spent more time in the hospital than anywhere else," he finally admits. "I have some memorable scars from those years..."

Lucky for Whistler. For his lack of success in the bullring encouraged Mario to seek other - maybe less dangerous - ways of making a living. "I was born in 1946," he says. "I grew up in the Franco years. And these were tough years for the people of Spain." Another smile. But this one tinged with just a snippet of remembered pain. It's well justified. Born 10 years after Spain's brutal civil war, Enero would have felt the impact of that terrible conflict intimately. "I quickly came to realize," he says, "that pursuing a career in the restaurant business was a very good way to feed an empty stomach."

Besides, his family was already in the business. "We moved to Madrid when I was still a teenager," he recounts. "My father ran a small inn. I worked there after school. Learned the business." He pauses. "The family still owns that inn, you know. It's very old now."

Although he wasn't aware of it at the time, Mario's decision to enter into the hospitality business was about to completely change his life. "The number one industry in Spain during the 1960s was tourism," he explains. "And the maitre d' school I attended in Madrid was very demanding. I had to learn about everything: kitchen, food, wine." He pauses for a breath. "And you know, they had us work from the bottom up."

He must have been a pretty good student. Either that or he was very diligent. For the jobs just kept coming. From Spain's Costa Brava to the Canary Islands, from Switzerland to Italy, Germany and Belgium, the young Enero continued his apprenticeship in some of the finest restaurants on the Continent. "My goal was to learn as much as I could about the different countries and cultures where I worked," he says. "That way, when these people visited Spain, I'd know how to deal with their expectations..."

Those two last sentences are highly revealing. Why? Because they pretty much define the man. A human perpetual motion machine, Enero is definitely a lifetime learner. And he really cares about his guests' experience. Doesn't just talk about it. But actually lives it. You can see it in his restaurants. Whether at the upscale La Rúa, or at the more populist Caramba!, Mario's stamp is on everything. Quality is what it's all about. Making sure that the little things are covered. "It's always about the little things," he says.

And then he laughs. "I always tell my staff: 'Michel may have had all sorts of positive experiences at our restaurants. But do you know which one he will most likely remember? The one time he had a bad experience with us...'"

There's no question that Whistler has been blessed with some colourful restaurateurs over the years. Starting with Leo the Greek - say what you will about his cuisine, nothing tasted better than one of Leo's pizzas at L'Apres after a leg-burner down Franz's - our little mountain community has managed, over the years, to attract an A-list crew of culinary masters. And keep them here. Whether Joel Thibault or Umberto Menghi or Mikki Homma (to name but three), they've brought the flavours of the world to our tables. And a touch of sophistication that's added just the right seasoning to what is now widely considered "Whistler Style."

We take it for granted all of the time. But for a town our size we're pretty spoiled. I mean, not only have we been the beneficiaries of some of the world's finest cuisines, but we also get to benefit directly from those who brought those tastes to our valley.

And each of their paths to Whistler is unique. Consider Mario's:

"I was working in England," he begins, "and a friend of mine was recruiting people to go to London, Ontario to open a French restaurant there." Intrigued, Enero decided to take a chance. The year was 1974. "It was so cold there," he tells me. "I thought there was no way I could live in this country." But a cross-country trip to visit a friend in Vancouver completely changed his mind about Canada.

"It was amazing," he says. "I arrived in Vancouver on a beautiful spring day. After a winter in Ontario - muddy and cold and miserable - to come to the west coast: Yes!" Gastown was booming in those years. New restaurants were opening every day. No surprise then that the 29-year-old quickly found himself a job. "Joel Thibault had just opened La Brasserie de L'Horloge," he explains. "So I went to work for him. It was a very different kind of place to what I was accustomed to..."

Something must have clicked though. For although Enero had a job waiting for him back in Spain's Costa Brava, he decided to stick it out in Vancouver. And the jobs just kept coming. "I went to work for Umberto at Il Giardino on New Year's Eve, 1976," he says. And sighs. "You know, Umberto is not the easiest man to work for. So I quit."

Enero's dream had always been to open his own restaurant. And it finally happened - in Saskatoon. "Don't laugh," he says with an almost-straight face. "I stayed in Saskatchewan for almost two-and-a-half years. Wonderful people there. But I finally had to leave." Now the smile turns into a hearty chuckle. "I've never been anywhere colder."

It's at this point that Umberto re-entered his life. "I was back in Spain when I got a call from him. He wanted to know what I was doing." He stops. Sighs. "The next thing I knew I was in Seattle helping Umberto open his new restaurant there..."

The year was 1982. Whistler Village had just been launched the year before. "So Umberto decides to take me to Whistler to show me what he's up to in the new village. But I don't get it. 'I don't ski,' I tell him. 'What do you want me to do here?' The next thing I knew I was living in Whistler and managing Il Caminetto..."

He calls his early Whistler period The Golden Years. "Suddenly I'm a 'local guy.' There's only 500 people or so here - at least that's what it feels like - great ambiance and lots of fun. People are working hard. They care. They really want to make this place a great resort. But they also have time to enjoy each other." Clearly, Enero appreciated the brash new mountain lifestyle. "For sure. I used to dress like a skier, go to the Longhorn and hang out..."

But the former bullfighter couldn't really call himself a skier until he'd tried his hand at it for real. Leave it to Dave Murray to fix that.

"Well, it's a good story," admits Mario. "It was during the summer of '85. In those days, Dave still held his ski camps on Whistler Mountain. And that's where he decided to teach me to ski." Another long sigh. "It was a fabulous experience. You know, having breakfast together and then taking the lift to the top of the mountain and then walking all the way to the glacier. There was something very romantic about it."

Never a man to miss an opportunity for a celebration, Mario would take care of the midday picnic. "It was a lot of fun," he says. "We'd all sit down on the side of the slope - Dave, Stephanie, YP and some of the coaches - and we'd have a couple of bottles of wine, paté, cheese. It was all very informal."

How things have changed...

"And not for the better," insists Mario. "It's a lot different here than it was in the 1980s. Back then there was more value, more fun. We had lots of return business. Visitors liked the people here. They liked the atmosphere. Now it's all about money - and numbers. And it's just not working..."

He searches for just the right analogy. "Let me put it this way," he says. "You can go to the liquor store and buy a $20 bottle of wine and be totally happy. But buy a $100 bottle of wine and your expectations rise considerably. Now if you open that $100 bottle of wine and it's the same quality as the $20 one, you're going to feel cheated. So why buy the expensive bottle?" He smiles sadly. "It's the same with mountain resorts."

A man who has always held himself to the highest of personal and professional standards, Enero insists it has to be the same way for Whistler. "We have to try harder. All of us - Tourism Whistler, the RMOW, Whistler Blackcomb - everyone. We have to convince people all over again to come back and visit us."

One long last sigh. "I really love this place. I just want Whistler to be the best it can be."