Chef Sergi Isern Gomez

Highly recommend Chef Sergi! He was very amenable to all our requests and gave us the most wonderful meal! What a fantastic addition to our girls trip!

There are evenings, rare as comets and just as unbidden, when a table becomes more than wood and linen, when flame and hand conspire to lift a gathering into the realm of memory’s permanent light. And so it was tonight, beneath the warm hush of our Home Kitchen, where Chef Sergi Isern — steady in purpose, monastic in discipline — shaped a feast that seemed less cooked than summoned from some older, wiser place. He worked as the ancient craftsmen did, not merely preparing food but revealing the soul of it, coaxing truth from every root and grain. Each dish arrived not as a plate but as a page from some unwritten scripture of the South and the North intertwined — a scripture of smoke, thyme, honey, and prayer. The deviled eggs were small moons of memory, their spice telling the story of distant kitchens and inherited hands. The sweet-potato biscuits, warm as forgiveness, carried the soft hymn of pear and Danish butter. Greens braised into submission spoke of patience — the kind known only by those who understand that time itself is an ingredient. And when the turkey, sage-wreathed and solemn as a winter sermon, reached the table, there fell a reverent stillness — as though each of us recognized the quiet labor behind the roast, the hours folded into its breath. The oxtails came after, deep as midnight, tender as remembered sorrow, and carried with them the echo of a man who respects the weight of a long, slow flame. Even the mocktails — bright with elderflower and mint — tasted not of drink alone but of celebration, of the simple human triumph of gathering, surviving, loving. But it was the gumbo that broke us open. That bowl, dark as history and twice as forgiving, seemed to hold generations inside it — the ocean, the land, the smoke of old fires. It tasted of home and exile, of travel and belonging, of everything a wandering soul might hope to claim. We did not merely eat it; we were ushered through it. By dessert we understood: this was no meal. This was a pilgrimage laid out in courses — a journey through memory, through bloodlines, through the quiet dignity of craft. The sweet-potato pie tasted like something handed down rather than invented. The bread pudding felt like a benediction whispered over the weary. Ice cream melted into the closing hour like a small mercy granted before night’s descent. And so tonight, under soft lamplight, the chef gave us not food but inheritance. He fed not our bodies alone, but every story carried in them. This feast — wrought in gold, smoke, spice, and devotion — will not be forgotten. It will live, as of all things worth remembering, not merely in time, but beyond it. Thank you Chef.

Sergi's food was great, we had a lovely evening. Contact was fantastic and despite being fussy customers with a last-minute main course change, communication was just smooth and positive and professional. We particularly received positive comments on the appetiser (tomatoes and burrata) and dessert (pear tarte tatin). Sergi is organised, calm, and friendly, and a good chef. Also the kitchen ended up cleaber and better organised after, than it was before! Strong recommendation.