For Gumersindo Romano, the recognition did not arrive with the weight of a trophy or the glint of a metallic plaque. Instead, it came as a digital diploma sent via email from Madrid—a modest document that carries an immense weight of legitimacy. For the first time in Venezuela, a local establishment has been officially designated as an ambassador of Spanish gastronomy through the “Restaurants from Spain” certification.
The honor, granted by ICEX España Exportación e Inversiones, is not a culinary critique in the vein of a Michelin star. Rather, it is a strategic instrument of cultural diplomacy. Out of more than 510 restaurants across 50 countries that have earned the seal, La Huerta is currently the only one in Venezuela to hold this distinction. Located on the corner of Calle Santos Erminy and Avenida Francisco Solano in Sabana Grande, the restaurant has occupied the same footprint since 1984, serving as a bridge between the mountains of Asturias and the bustle of Caracas.
The certification process is rigorous, spanning six months of documentation and verification. To be recognized as “Marca España,” a restaurant must prove more than just a capable kitchen; it must demonstrate a commitment to the origin of its ingredients and tools. The criteria include the mandatory use of Spanish olive oil, a significant percentage of Spanish wines on the menu, the presence of authentic Manchego and Cabrales cheeses, and the employment of a sommelier or expert capable of guiding guests through the peninsula’s diverse vintages.
Even the hardware is scrutinized. From the specific paelleras and pots used in the kitchen to the overall aesthetic of the facilities, everything must align with a recognizable Spanish concept. This validation is finalized by a committee comprising the Royal Academy of Gastronomy, the Ministry of Agriculture, Fisheries and Food, the Regulatory Council of Jerez Wines, the Spanish Wine Federation, and the Repsol Guide.
From the pastures of Porrúa to the streets of Caracas
The story of La Huerta is inseparable from the life of Gumersindo Romano, a man who views himself not as a “chef”—a title he considers too focused on creation—but as a cocinero, one who executes with discipline. Romano’s journey began in Porrúa, a small village in the Llanes council of Asturias. By the age of nine, he was already alone in the mountains tending to flocks of goats and sheep; by twelve, he was clearing trees and hauling stones, embracing the hard labor of rural life as a natural state of being.
Romano arrived in Caracas in 1979 at the age of 18, trained as a welder. He followed his brothers, Alberto and Reinaldo, who had emigrated two years prior. To the young Asturian, Venezuela felt like a paradise of mobility and opportunity—a place where the climate was exuberant and the economy allowed for upward ascent through sheer hard work.
While his brothers found their footing as waiters in traditional tascas like La Carabela and La Tertulia, Gumersindo was drawn to the heat of the kitchen. In a move that defined his lifelong commitment to mastery over formality, he spent two months working for free at Casa Juancho in El Rosal, one of the most prestigious restaurants of the era. He sought no salary, only the knowledge of a Spanish grill-master and a French cook. Once he felt he had learned the secrets of the fire and the precise point of the meat, he declined an offer to stay as head of purchasing and returned to his family’s venture.
The transition to the current location in Sabana Grande occurred in 1984. The Romano family purchased a former kindergarten, converting the 180-square-meter space into a sanctuary of Northern Spanish tradition. Over the decades, they expanded, acquiring an adjacent car dealership and a pension to create the parking and infrastructure that support the restaurant today.
The “Kilometer Zero” philosophy in the Valles del Tuy
While the “Restaurants from Spain” seal requires imported staples, the soul of La Huerta’s menu is rooted in Venezuelan soil. Long before “kilometer zero” became a buzzword in urban gastronomy, the Romano family established a 220-hectare farm in the Valles del Tuy. For 30 years, this land has produced the core of their menu: the lamb, the morcillas (blood sausages) styled after Burgos and Asturias, and the Cabrales-style cheeses made from a blend of cow and goat milk.
This vertical integration allows the restaurant to maintain a standard of quality that Romano insists is non-negotiable. “Spanish food has a problem,” he notes. “Because it uses first-class products, it cannot be cheap.”
| Certification Requirement | La Huerta’s Implementation |
|---|---|
| Core Ingredients | Spanish olive oil and authentic Manchego/Cabrales cheeses. |
| Wine Program | Substantial Spanish wine list with a dedicated underground cellar. |
| Kitchen Hardware | Authentic Spanish paelleras and traditional cooking tools. |
| Cultural Image | Medieval tavern aesthetic with stone walls and wooden beams. |
| Expertise | Staff trained in peninsular gastronomy and wine pairing. |
The physical space of the restaurant reflects this commitment to heritage. With wooden beams, colored glass windows reminiscent of rural churches, and stone walls, the interior mimics a medieval tavern from Northern Spain. Beneath the parking lot lies a 50-square-meter cellar, carved out in a single week during the 1990s to organize a wine collection that had grown too vast for the main floor.
Resilience through the “War Years”
The path to international recognition was not without profound loss. Romano speaks with a visible tension when recalling the years during which the government seized the restaurant’s parking lot and a portion of the premises. The business, which once employed 65 people and served up to 1,500 paellas over a single weekend, was forced to contract significantly.
Today, the payroll stands at 16 employees, and the daily average is around 100 diners. However, Romano does not view these numbers as a failure, but as a badge of survival. “We reached this point because we are war heroes,” he says, referring not only to himself but to the broader Venezuelan population. “I came here because I wanted to. And I am not leaving because I don’t feel like it.”
This defiance is balanced by a deep, abiding love for his adopted home. Despite the hardships, Romano remains a fixture of the Sabana Grande community, maintaining a relationship with customers that spans three generations. To him, the restaurant is less a business and more an extension of a home, where the waiters know the guests by name and the atmosphere is one of familial intimacy.
The “Restaurants from Spain” qualification is valid for two years, after which the establishment must undergo a new evaluation to maintain the seal. For Romano, This represents not a cause for anxiety, but a renewed commitment to the image of Spain and the quality of his craft.
The next official milestone for La Huerta will be a formal ceremony hosted at the restaurant. The event will be attended by the Spanish diplomatic corps in Venezuela and the presidents of the five Spanish centers in Caracas—representing the Asturian, Galician, Canarian, Basque, and Catalan communities—marking a rare moment of unified Spanish representation on a single table in Sabana Grande.
Do you have a favorite memory of the traditional tastes of Spain in Caracas? Share your thoughts and stories in the comments below.
