Kathy, Ryan and Adrian, my thoughts are like a jumbled ingredient shopping list, but I shall try to put my words together to create a written meal worthy of such a great man and chef. I hope that through these words, you will know that I stand with you in your loss.
“Tell me what you eat, and I will tell you who you are.” – Brillat Savarin
Over thirty years ago as a newly transplanted New Yorker, I wanted to find and eat at the best restaurants in Seattle. On a suggestion by a new friend, I made reservations at Rover’s. After being seated, the first of many profound statements was made. It was so quiet and simple in its delivery, yet, like so many of Chef’s creations, so bold. The table was dressed in white linen, adorned with sparkling glassware and silver. What was most notably absent were any form of salt and pepper shakers, which in any other restaurant are as ubiquitous as a Starbucks is on every street corner. The statement it made was deafening, Mesdames et Messieurs, your food will arrive perfectly seasoned and it needs nothing more than your palate to enjoy. At the end of an exquisite and indulgent evening of dining, I walked away thinking that were I to quit my current career, I would want to learn how to cook and with luck, work for this great chef. This was the beginning of my culinary journey at Rover’s.
A few years passed and indeed I had changed careers. I had gone from being a successful commercial photographer to the abject chaos of being a line cook at one of Seattle’s fish houses. It was all about numbers and how many covers could be served on any given Friday or Saturday night. Was I able to cook and serve nearly 400 dinners from the 600 fahrenheit grill from hell in front of me? Feed the raging beast a piece of wild salmon along with the thirty other entrees cooking ahead of it and then slap them onto overheated plates, and on through the pass to a cadre of waiters. By the end of each night, I would lose a kilo in body weight to sweat. Speed was the essence and neither quality control or culinary passion were part of the kitchen’s lexicon or mandate. I longed for constraint, finesse, and artistry.
Oui Chef!
A garde manger position had just opened at Rover’s. What was a garde manger? I knew twenty different ways to curse in Spanish but didn’t have a clue as to what this meant. Little did I realize that it was the title of an adventure that continues to captivate me to present day. Nor did I realize that it was chapter of being able to work for a man who was the most demanding, proficient, creative, sincere, at times frustrating but always one of the kindest people I’ve ever known. I arrived at Rover’s with culinary skills as green as a spring fiddlehead and as unrefined as a weed infested lawn. It was from Chef that I learned all that I know about food. I watched a true artist at work. He was Michelangelo, Matisse, or Cezanne with a sauté pan instead of a brush. His canvas was always a white plate and each of his flavors where strokes of genius.
“Jacques, you eat first with your eyes. Make each dish parfait.”- Chef Thierry Rautureau
It took me a month to learn how to brunoise shallots and chop parsley to Chef’s standards. Two months to make pomme mousseline and another four months how to correctly dress salad greens and do dots and swirls of coulis to finish each plate. It was under his guidance that I learned how to take my first baby culinary steps. Chef was a demanding but excellent teacher despite his frustration with me and I’m sure daily questioning why I had ever been hired. I mastered each of these skills with one exception. I could never produce a pomme dauphine that was presentable. Considering the repertoire of other skills, this should have been something I could do while sleepwalking. It was another frustration that Chef had with me. One night, while working next to a gentleman who was doing a stage in the kitchen, he was asked to make pomme dauphines. This man had been a protégé of Steven Hawking and of course on his first attempt, he made them to perfection. Upon seeing them in the tray, Chef gave me the look, to which with great vindication, I pointed out that it took a true rocket scientist to make these damn things. Chef nearly doubled over with laughter, and I never had to try to make them again.
The mentor cooks for the comisse…
One day, I arrived at the restaurant at around 8:00 in the morning. It was going to be a long day. That night we had two V.I.P.’s coming for dinner. While no more important than any other guest, because they were food critics from out of town, in my opinion a pinch or two of extra perfection should be added to each dish. Chef was already in the kitchen at the stove. I made espressos for both of us while he was cooking. He wordlessly plated up potato risotto topped with a pair of poached eggs for each of us. He then took a large black truffle and shaved an egregious amount over each plate. We sat across from each other silently eating our food that was so simple, yet so exquisite. The best flavor of all was the love that Chef put into both of our plates. Lesson of the day, feed the body, feed the soul and always cook with love. As we finished our meal, we sat back, smiled at each other as I bowed my head and spoke the only two words of the morning – “Merci Chef.” As the day progressed, I would recite to Chef all the different produce, meats, and other ingredients we had on hand for him to play with. That night I watched him create 13 courses, many of which I had never seen come out of the kitchen. I stood in awe watching a master compose and bring each dish to perfection. He allowed his talent to improvise and run wild. I can only equate it to what it might be like to watch Mozart create a symphony or listening to Miles Davis as he jammed to the outer limits of his imagination. It was an evening of culinary magic that now thirty years later comes back to me as if it was only last week that I stood off to Chef’s side drooling and marveling at his talent.
Everything I know about food today comes back to what I learned in that humble kitchen taught to me by a larger-than-life man. He showed me to use only the best ingredients available, to honor each ingredient and to cook with passion and love for those I care about. Two days ago, I finally had the opportunity to cook for a woman who has captivated my heart. Early in the morning I wandered around a huge open market in Budapest, finding culinary treasures to convert into lunch for she and I. Spring morels, fresh ramps, tagliatelle, cream so thick that it could barely be poured and fabulous Parmigiano Reggiano. Beautiful hand made rose infused truffles and a pair of petite pastries for dessert. She arrived to a counter covered with mise en place ready and waiting to be cooked. A pasta dish with morels, ramps, cream, parmesan and a pan overflowing with amour. A simple dish that in no way mirrored the complexity of what Chef taught me but did not stray or deviate from honoring the principles of great ingredients and cooking with passion and love. Feed the body, feed the soul, nourish the heart. She loved every bite and in turn, I became a lucky man to have such an amazing woman be the guest at my table of life.
For all the gifts you bestowed on me so long ago that I have in turn been able to share with those I love - Merci Chef.