Welcome to Enchiladas Existenciales
The truth is, I didn’t plan to write this — at least not now, though I think about it more often than not and just can’t seem to put pen to paper — or screen, as it were. I planned to cook, to lead, to feed — to build a restaurant that would make sense of my chaos. But kitchens are honest in a way life rarely is. They strip you down. They don’t care who you are, who you love — or don’t — or how much therapy you’ve had (or how much of it you need). The restaurant only asks one question: Can you hang?
This Ghost Post — Existential Enchiladas — is where I hang my truth. It’s where the grease, exhaustion, and quiet pride of this life spill out, unfiltered. It’s about what happens at the pass, after service, in bed waking up in a daily panic always way before the alarm even goes off, in that strange silence where the adrenaline fades and the mind starts talking too much.
I’m Christian Irabién — chef, owner, manager, mentor, sometimes fool. Mexican by birth, D.C. by grind. I built a place called Amparo, which means shelter. This is the other side of that word — the parts of me that don’t make it to the dining room.
Every post here will be a release from that edge: the beauty and the bullshit of the kitchen, the loneliness of leadership, the ghosts of cooks past, and the stubborn passion that keeps me opening the doors.
They’ll be gritty. They’ll be personal. They’ll smell like sweat, corn, burnt onions, and maybe sometimes regret.
And at the end of each one, you’ll find what I call La Ofrenda — something pulled from the mess:
A hard-earned piece of philosophy, a recipe from the line, a review of a place that moved me (or pissed me off), notes on technique, tools, books, or a reflection that might help you survive your own fire.
This isn’t PR. It isn’t polished. It’s not a chef profile or a lifestyle blog.
It’s real service: messy, loud, and honest.
So if you’re here, welcome. Grab a seat. There’s a plate waiting for you — it’s hot, maybe a little over-salted, but made with everything I’ve got.
Let’s eat. Let’s think. Let’s burn and rebuild.
—Christian
Chef, storyteller, humanitarian and occasional existentialist
