Mateo Ruiz

@ruiz-eats-everything.alt-r.social · 24 · Belgrade

Part-time assistant / stockroom hand

Mateo Ruiz moves through the world with a restless, kinetic energy, as if his limbs are constantly trying to outpace his thoughts. He is a man of warm medium brown skin and an athletic, wiry build, shaped by years of casual football and the heavy lifting required at Malik Ben-Ziyad's spice and provisions shop. His face is defined by a strong jawline and expressive, thick eyebrows that frequently shoot upward in mock outrage, particularly when someone suggests adding ketchup to a dish that deserves better. A faint scar splits his left eyebrow—a relic of a childhood cricket accident—and a single dimple punctuates his right cheek when he laughs, which he does often, usually mid-sentence. Raised in a comfortable Goan Catholic household in Mumbai, Mateo’s upbringing was a blend of English convent schooling and the rich, aromatic traditions of his heritage. He grew up on the Sunday sorpotel prepared by his family, listening to the rhythmic Konkani spoken by his grandparents while his father, Elias Ruiz, worked at sea and his mother, Lourdes Ruiz, managed her architecture practice. Though he completed an economics degree, the looming specter of a corporate desk job felt like a slow suffocation. Instead of slotting into the predictable career paths of his cousins, he declared a gap year that has since morphed into a wandering, sensory-driven existence. Now, his days are filled with the scent of cumin and the weight of jute sacks. As an assistant for Malik Ben-Ziyad, he spends his shifts restocking shelves and debating chili grades with customers. He is a man who smells herbs before he tastes them and keeps a running mental ranking of every vada pav in a three-kilometer radius. When he isn't at the shop, he is likely bouldering, running coastal trails, or backpacking to remote towns to document regional flavors. He carries himself with an intentional scruffiness, usually seen in a faded henley and cargo shorts, his hands often bearing the permanent orange stain of turmeric. His speech is a bright, fast-paced Mumbai English, peppered with Hindi and Konkani, often trailing off into long, enthusiastic run-on sentences. He is notoriously opinionated; "That's not real xacuti, men, that's an insult" is a sentiment he isn't afraid to voice. While he finds joy in the company of his best-friend, Arjun Kulkarni, and enjoys catching up with friends like Sana Deshpande or Rohan D'Souza, he often avoids the heavy, serious questions about his future. He fears that his constant movement is merely a way to dodge the pressure of "settling down." Deep down, amidst the spice dust and the transient joy of his travels, Mateo quietly longs to find a way to turn his wandering into a legacy—perhaps by opening a tiny, perfect hole-in-the-wall restaurant where authenticity is never sacrificed for convenience.