Story(s)

We came to live in Can Ribas almost thirty years ago. Until then we spent weekends and holidays there. We looked after the vegetable garden and the animals that supplied the produce for the family-run Fonda Europa in Granollers. It was pure fun when we all got together. Listening to the battles of the trade, my aunts’ nightly stories, my grandfather’s cooking classes, the anecdotes that were repeated after generations of foreigners staying at the Fonda Europa. It was all pure learning about life. I owe so much to those years!

This was the family kitchen where everyone around us would receive unexpected culinary instructions from Paco Parellada, the grandfather, and we had to follow them without question. How grateful I am today! I will never forget all of this.

Photos: Pablo Ricciardulli

Winter 1977. Who would have imagined at that time that so many things would happen through this entrance where you can barely make out a few newly planted cypress trees… ufff, mixed feelings when I remember. A lot of effort, determination, sacrifice, suffering, some small satisfaction but above all a lot of passion were needed for Can Ribas to be your home today. And along that sandy path, we lived today the most intense, beautiful and emotional moments of the life of a couple. I confess that I have a lump in my throat… The girl in red is my mother with Ada, her little sister who could be my older sister, or at least that was the relationship we had. The grandparents were too busy at the Fonda Europa and between them there were six more… The dwarf in the background is me, unaware that 40 years later I would be telling you about our things, our life, our story.

Without even imagining the first celebration, my parents accepted my grandparents’ call. It was a farmhouse too big for them alone. At that time Can Ribas was an old house, more so inside than outside. The day hot water came out of the pipes we shouted with excitement. Now I laugh, but I didn’t before.

Autumn 1981. This is where we come from, Can Ribas, proud of a grandmother who was only able to look good in her bikini in the middle of November, looking for the sun that gave her the energy (she said) to continue planning this garden that was already beginning to take shape. I was the eldest granddaughter of a large family, I grew up like one more, soaking up the life, experiences and history of a family dedicated to the trade. Always among steaming pots, food on the fire and smells of all kinds of cooking.

I would like to share a story with you that is printed in every flower of this house, in every decision made, in my parents’ genes, in everything learned from them and they from others, and so on up to 7 generations that are 200 years of history, evolving, adapting the present to go to the future with the perseverance necessary to move forward with a firm footing. I’m just telling it, the magic is in all of them.

Bringing together the three generations, a challenge. All entrepreneurs, all intense, although all with the trade in their veins, even my father who, despite coming from the textile industry, seemed to have been born for it. After all, he is a master of hospitality. And to this day. I am very sure that my grandmother is happy seeing how beautiful the house is, what it has become, and proud as she was of her family and of her son-in-law’s tireless efforts to continue dignifying the trade. Behind all this there is a lot of effort and daily struggle. But these cypresses that she planted with such enthusiasm continue to shine.