When talking about inclusion in gastronomy, the imaginary usually stays with the basics: ramps at the entrance, gluten-free menus, vegan options. All good, all necessary. But there are other realities that remain invisible, even if they are ---literally--- seated at the table. We are talking about neurodivergent people: those who don't eat the same way, don't choose the same way, don't tolerate the same noises, lights, or textures. They are not looking for special treatments. They just want to be able to enjoy themselves, without having to give explanations.
In Barcelona, some restaurants have started to open their eyes. Not because of a trend, nor for posturing, but for something much more revolutionary: empathy. A gesture that seems small ---like a menu adapted for autistic people--- can change the entire experience. We are talking about menus with simple phrases, pictograms, indications about temperatures or intense flavors. It's not about reducing. It's about translating. About saying: I see you, I understand you, there's also a place for you here.
And it's not just about restaurants. The Grand Hyatt Barcelona has been collaborating with Autism Friendly Club for over a year to reconfigure its way of welcoming guests. They have trained the entire team, rethought internal protocols, redesigned signage, and adapted restaurant menus with the help of those who truly understand these needs. The goal is clear: that going out to eat is not a trial by fire. That it doesn't cause fear. That it doesn't exhaust.
We are not talking about special spaces; we are talking about normal spaces that stop excluding.We must also talk about chef Jordi Esteve and his restaurant Nectari, where haute cuisine has allied with common sense. The menus are adapted, the language is clear, the symbols are designed for those who need them. La Font de Prades, in Poble Espanyol ---with more than half a century of history behind it---, has also taken the step. The same goes for the Saona group, which has made simplicity a hospitable flag. And beware: we are not talking aboutspecial spaces; we are talking about normal spaces that stop excluding.
Now, if there's one enemy that still reigns uninvited in too many dining rooms, it's noise. For those who hear the world in Dolby Surround without asking for it, any meal can become a sensory nightmare: clanging plates, loud music, waiters shouting as if energy depended on decibels. Instead of enjoyment, a jolt. Instead of after-dinner conversation, flight. Luckily, places like Akihabar have started to take measures: fewer aggressive stimuli, more friendly environments. That, too, is inclusion.
Perhaps, unknowingly, professional kitchens have been unlabeled refuges for years.And then there are textures. That misunderstood territory where many neurotypical people lose the thread. Because yes, there are foods that some people can't even look at. Others that must be eaten in a certain order. Colors that have their logic. It's not a whim, nor a quirk.It's how the brain is wired. And this affects, for example, many people with high abilities or dual exceptionality. It is no coincidence that Mensa always meets in the same Viena restaurant. Or that Acacia, the association of adults with high abilities, prefers a burger joint in Sant Andreu. Sometimes, routine is also a form of protection.
And, by the way, it would not be strange if many of the chefs we admire saw themselves reflected in all of this. Jamie Oliver, Heston Blumenthal… they are not just talents in the kitchen: they have also told how ADHD or dyslexia have shaped their way of creating. While some collapse between orders and stress, they find rhythm, logic, calm. Perhaps ---without knowing it--- professional kitchens have been unlabeled refuges for years. Places where thinking differently is not only allowed: often, it makes the difference.