Servetus was seven years old.
In his hands – soapy water. In front of him – a stack of plates.
Back then, it seemed like he was just washing dishes.
But in the glossy reflection of the porcelain, he saw his future.

Years passed. The water turned into fire.
The kitchen filled with steam, aromas, and the sound of knives dancing on the chopping board.
Servetus learned to cook not only food, but also patience, discipline, and joy.

Every chopped onion, every carefully mixed sauce was a lesson.
A story wrought with time and work.

Today, that child became a chef.
It sits in the middle of the kitchen, where hustle and bustle meet.
And each dish he creates carries within it a memory, a beginning, an emotion.

For Servetus, the kitchen is not just a place to cook.
It is the place where one lives.

That's why, every day, as he picks up the pans, he remembers: