Fernando Sangiovanni (61 years old) was a painter. He lived with his partner, Isabel Lorenzo (59), in Montevideo. Isabel’s father had a clothing factory. She had studied Business Administration to manage it. But… in 2002 an economic crisis left half of Río de la Plata without work. “The only hope was at the airport,” Fernando illustrates in the Sangiovanni showroom, the brand behind many of the wooden containers that triumph on the tables of the most famous restaurants in the world. We are in Santiago de Compostela, but its containers travel to the five continents.
When they decided to move to this city they had three children: Joaquín (32 years old), who was 11; Camila (30), who is now a teacher, and Agustín (27 years old), who arrived when he was 5. The latter is as cordial as everyone in the family. But his tone of voice is different: he has lost the melodic Uruguayan accent.
Isabel’s story is, in reality, a story of back and forth. She was born in Carballo, in the province of A Coruña, to Galician parents who returned to Montevideo when she was six months old. That’s why with the crisis they thought of Galicia to raise her children. “Any emigration is the most difficult journey, the destination is to start from scratch,” explains Fernando. That zero was candles. They made them by hand and sold them at craft fair stands. As sales were stalling, they decided to open a pumpkin business in the center of Santiago.
—Pumpkins?
“It is one of the symbols of pilgrims. We carved them and emptied them,” Fernando continues. Isabel became an artisan. And when not even the craftsmanship worked: “I ended up as a waiter and Isabel started serving in a house,” he concludes. Isabel is quiet but stubborn. She returned to study in Santiago and “even then she couldn’t manage a company,” explains Fernando. His children, however, were integrated. “That worked for us,” he admits. Today Joaquín, the eldest, feels like he is on both sides of the Atlantic. Agustín, directly Galician. “He has also lived in London and Barcelona, but integration depends not a little on each person’s character,” says his father.
It was 2015 when the eldest son, Joaquín, finished his carpentry studies. Not finding a job, he went to work in a store. “It was then that we realized that none of the three of us worked in what he had studied,” he says. Isabel proposed setting up a workshop: wooden toys, coat racks and cutting boards. “It was a creative job. But low risk. It didn’t open doors. We weren’t doing anything new,” admits Fernando.
In 2017, with that store in the center of Santiago, the Foundation for Galician Crafts organized a meeting between chefs and artisans. They presented their tables. “We only had a different one that we called the Desigual because it had eight sides.” That board made some cooks confident in their skill. “They asked us for containers capable of holding hot sauce and… We only had a saw, but we understood that there was a gap in the market.”
Javier Olleros, from the Culler de Pau restaurant (wooden spoon), asked them for that: a wooden spoon. “There were some organoleptic demands—the flavor or texture could not be mixed with what he cooked—and we got to work,” Fernando continues. “We made them different, sanding the walnut in a different way. We took them, he tried them… and he rejected them. We were going and testing for six months, but achieving it made us see that we could apply that same requirement to other containers,” adds Joaquín. “We understood that a spoon to serve teardrop peas in a bite should not permeate either the texture or the flavor of what it serves. “It was a master.”
—How do you make the traces on the wood disappear?
“Sanding,” says Joaquín. From that spoon, the Sangiovanni Lorenzos saw other possibilities. “We never said no. Although it was not profitable as a commission, it was profitable as a teaching,” explains Isabel. She illustrates this with the example of charring wood. “We knew it was a Japanese technique from the 16th century. Bringing that to gastronomy without contaminating was our challenge.” They achieved this by stopping the heat, removing the excess and fixing what was darkened with food oils. “We were innovating. Working in crafts is aspiring to create without limits,” says Fernando.
The spoons changed his life. “All chefs visit other restaurants. And the first thing they do when they like a container is turn it over and look for the signature. That’s why we learned that no piece can leave here without signing.” The name is a mess. They are the Sangiovanni family and at the same time they are called Lorenzo Design. Fernando admits that they were advised against that double name. But he romantically maintains: “It is a tribute to our ancestors. It’s feeling. Sangiovanni is the hand and Lorenzo is the one who markets it.” Thanks to, or despite, those two heads, they have come this far.
Agustín, the youngest son, studied to be a senior technician in Physical and Sports Activities. He lived in London and returned to Santiago with covid. “I had been home for three months when they asked me to join the cooperative.” The cooperative is almost a utopia. They all have the same salary. The property is divided among four and they employ six workers. “Some earn more than us. It depends on the skill. And of the month: our salary fluctuates. Not theirs.” “As cooperative owners we have to take risks. They, as workers, have the right to their salary,” explains Isabel.
Agustín was learning the trade when he discovered how neglected their website was. He focused on improving it, something that has been essential for the cooperative’s international expansion. With containers in several restaurants in Spain, in 2018 they opened the showroom, where we interviewed them, on the outskirts of Santiago. And they began to work in Europe, the United States and part of Asia. Specifically: Smoke London; Mirazur on the Côte d’Azur, Condividere in Milan, Bambola in Chicago, Casa Dani, by Dani García, in New York, José Andrés in Washington or The Owo at the Raffles Hotel.
—Aren’t they going to die of success if everyone has the same thing?
“We produce an annual catalog and at the same time we work à la carte, exclusively, for orders. For ethics, within the same city we do not sell the same pieces from the catalog to two restaurants. “It is a personal decision, a way of taking care of ourselves,” responds Fernando. Orders are small. In haute cuisine there are between 10 and 20 tables. They order between 20 and 40 pieces for a plate.
—How is wood treated so that it lasts?
They use European woods: walnut, oak, ash and cherry. The walnut tree is national. And from Galicia they use chestnut. Fernando and Joaquín explain that with any assignment they ask for time to investigate. From Mugaritz they asked for a box that was light and stable to changes in temperature. They investigated the type of wood that maintains the aroma. And it turned out to be Canadian cedar. This custom work is part of their work as tailors: “They explain an idea to us and we have to translate it into wood.”
—Do chefs know about wood?
“They know what they want: they define the use,” explains Joaquín. “Our job is to propose the wood, the finish and calculate the thickness of the edges. And do it, of course.” He says that sometimes they advise against uses. “A wooden glass has to be only for water, with wine it may not hold up despite the natural varnishes.”
The work is completely handmade. They only use the numerical control machine to mark the pieces giving them the name: Sangiovanni. “For people who do it, it is better to vary,” explains Isabel. They take risks with daring designs that are tests, “like haute couture models,” says Fernando. But there is more. They have been ordered furniture after seeing a fountain in a restaurant. And they have added benches and lamps to their production. The last challenge occurred to Fernando and was solved by his son Joaquín. “The silent artist of the lathe,” points out his mother.
This challenge has to do with sustainability, and with its defense of a circular economy. They know that restaurants need to continually change. That is why the Sangiovanni Lorenzos offer a tune-up: the repair and conservation of the pieces. Today they also work on tuning: the change based on an object. “A board can be transformed into plates or spoons. It is something new that is born without accumulating or spending more raw materials.” Isabel shows some old Diverxo boards from which the worn edges were cut, supports added and transformed into new containers. “Sometimes we advise hydration with wax, other times repair and other times replacement.” The third part of her circular economy proposal is in the conversation phase with the chefs: they would like to rent pieces seasonally. “Let them not accumulate and let us recycle later.”
There are 10 in the workshop. And they don’t want to grow. “We are clear that not just anyone can work here. We share a lot. We have creative ambition: desire to continually learn. Because when we know how to do something, changes occur to us.” It is Isabel who explains it.
They have gone to eat at few of the restaurants they work for. “We have dishes in Dubai—for the new Diverxo—or in Denmark… Selling to a Nordic restaurant is like selling ice to the Eskimos,” Fernando ironically says. It has been happening for three years at the Brace restaurant in Copenhagen. In the end, the Sangiovanni Lorenzos had a good star. More than 200 of its clients have a Michelin star.
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