Away from the Kitchen: Untold Stories, Private Menus, Guarded Recipes, and Insider Tips

This is a tasty and revealing read that takes you behind the curtain for a valuable peek into what motivates some of the greatest chefs in America. With beautifully displayed heartfelt recipes that connect their food to their memories, Dawn manages to capture each chef’s unique inspiration and aura.

—CHEF SANFORD D’AMATO, Founder, Sanford Restaurant, James Beard Foundation award winner for Best Chef: Midwest, and author, GOOD STOCK: Life on a Low Simmer

This beautifully presented book offers not only delicious recipes and gorgeous photographs but also provides an insider’s look into the minds and workings of these very talented chefs. I love the special tips and stories behind the food which add yet another layer to this truly unique cookbook.

—SYLVIA MAIN, Best-selling author, Fabulous Fairholme: Breakfasts & Brunches, and owner of Victoria’s Historic Fairholm Manor Inn

"I opened Dawn Blume Hawkes’s book Away from the Kitchen with curiosity, and almost immediately saw her passion for the food, products, and the chef’s life. This book with beautiful photographs and terrific American and international recipes, will become a great success. I am a passionate collector of cookbooks; this one will definitely have a place in my collection."

—CHRISTOPHE ÉMÉ, Founding Executive Chef and Owner of the Michelin-starred Ortolan, Executive Chef, L’Orangerie, and named one of the 10 Best New Chefs by Food & Wine magazine

Dawn Blume Hawkes has masterfully woven together a dozen North American chefs’ tales with her engaging prose. Although I’ve only met Chef Jason Wilson of Crush in Seattle, after reading Dawn’s cookbook, I feel I’ve had a nice chat with each one of them around my kitchen table. A rich and revealing read, indeed!

—SUE FRAUSE, Photographer, award-winning journalist, and radio host: Around the World Travel, KSER

The photography will make you ravenous, beautiful stories about these talented chefs will captivate you, and the user-friendly recipes will get you cooking. There is a rare charm about this book, making it a welcome addition to a bedside table or kitchen bookshelf.

—NATHALIE DUPREE, Television and radio cooking show host; best-selling author of fifteen cookbooks earning three James Beard Foundation book awards, most recently, Mastering the Art of Southern Cooking; 2011 recipient of the Grande Dame award by Les Dames d’ Escoffier International; 2013 Woman of the Year by the French Master Chef’s of America

To the memory of my father, Godfrey Herbert

and

my sister, Kristi June

Away from the Kitchen

Untold Stories, Private Menus, Guarded Recipes, and Insider Tips

Copyright © 2013 by Dawn Blume Hawkes

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, digital scanning, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

For permission requests, please address She Writes Press.

Published 2014

Printed in China

eBook ISBN: 978-1-938314-37-7

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013946014

Editor: Brooke Warner

Copy Editor: Annie Tucker

Cover and Interior Design: Julie Valin; Nathalie Gallmeier

Running Chef artwork: Amy MacDougall

Menu Design: Rachel Thompson

Ebook layout and conversion: www.jimandzetta.com

She Writes Press

1563 Solano Ave #546

Berkeley, CA 94707

I surmised that if I had a treasure box of compelling food and life stories, the gifted chefs would have them in spades. If they would allow me to take a journey with them so that I might insert myself into their story—eat their food, walk in their gardens, and, as the private talks took place, look into a few special windows of their lives—something special would emerge. It did!

I liken the experience of writing this book to a sublime sauce that complements a dish, or a magical icing on a small cake: it makes the fundamental come to life.

Growing up around interesting people—writers, artists, explorers, and scientists, a truly intellectual, bohemian crowd, obsessed with all manner of food and drink—I, even at a very early age, had an acute sense of the high drama of cooking and entertaining, with all its glorious renditions. From the Felliniesque dining scene to the laminate-and-chrome kitchen table, plates slathered with mac and cheese (homemade, of course), my unsuspecting mentors presented me with the mysterious or simple possibilities of what a meal could be.

The mysterious possibilities of food trumping the simplistic came one day while I was rummaging around in my father’s office. I came across a photograph that both terrified and fascinated me—scantily clad natives, interspersed with two men in rather smart-looking safari garb, including the requisite Stanley and Livingstone–style helmets. One of the men in the photograph was the explorer and Believe It or Not! guru, Robert (LeRoy) Ripley. Somewhat later, to fend off my irritating inquiries as to why this starkly exotic photo hung on a wall in our home, I was told the other individual was my father, the Believe It or Not! man behind the man—writer, photographer, and appointed chef for Christmas dinner on the Sambú River in Darién, Panama, a place with a reputation for swallowing up explorers, where yesterday’s jaguars and terrifying bushmasters have given way to today’s guerrillas, drug smugglers, and poachers. Anthony Bourdain, as he approached the Darién jungle in Panama, declared it a uniquely dangerous place—if you get lost in this jungle, you’re a goner. Due to his high threshold for unique and dangerous, the statement serves as my previously lacking yardstick of perspective, although many years later, for the conscious or subconscious factors that may have contributed to the photograph’s indelible imprint of danger and survival on my brain.

Once I had some sense of why my father possessed this photograph, I began deconstructing its elements. It seemed wildly improbable that my dad would or could have assembled a feasting table constructed entirely from jungle materials, as well as produced a holiday dinner of delicious interest to the dogs, natives, and Ripley. In the middle of a rain forest, where did he find the ingredients for the feast, and how did he cook them, or did he cook them? What eating-utensil concoctions did he invent on that day? Why couldn’t they simply have plopped into a village chief’s hut, the restaurant equivalent? These questions that I put to my father always netted me nothing but a Cheshire-cat smile and a young child’s belief that putting together a meal had smatterings of a roasting-black-pig, low-decibel-voodoo-chant affair. To date, nothing has changed; I continue to suspect that chefs who generate creative and delicious food are channeling voodoo magic

The theatricality of cooking with my mother or grandmother was a high point in my life. The enjoyment I derived from a place setting on a table came as a direct result of the creativity behind it and determined its success. I watched my grandmother prepare to entertain: purchasing the food—which is a story unto itself—and setting the table, in heavy baroque style, with old china and family heirlooms, equivalent to a well-thought-out set design for a play. My inclusion in these high-powered dinner parties must have been like watching a bull in a china shop to anyone paying the least bit of attention to what was actually taking place. Although, as I look back, no one seemed to react, either positively or negatively, to my bungling around with a spoon, which, at every opportunity, I dipped into the Époisses Berthaut, or to my taking a drag off some adult’s glass of Châteauneuf. I grew up thinking of all this as standard operating behavior and that all kids did this stuff.

Now let’s return to that story unto itself: purchasing the food. The dream team, primarily my grandmother and aunt Berle, attached an incredible amount of importance to quality, market-fresh food. The kitchen credo: The very best ingredients would produce a superior result—as in syncing up a diamond with a beautiful setting. Our little band of soldiers spent a ridiculous amount of time selecting the freshest vegetables and fruits—choosing only those with just the right hue and spring-back in order to pass the ripeness test. Whatever the equation, I have not managed to fully comprehend its high standard. As a child, I felt fortunate (ignorance is bliss when assigned the job of market runner. If the peaches were not de rigueu, then I was sent to find another purveyor with peaches that could pass inspection. My grandmother’s laborious discussions with the butcher always teetered on mania. You can deduce that this kind of training ground could very well have led to a passing of the food-neurosis baton. I suspect that is the case, but they say that obsessions can be magnificent.

All the great things happened in the kitchen. Sitting up on a high counter, mixing various ingredients as my mother or grandmother fussed over my food-prep skills, was something I anticipated even as we drove home from the farmers’ market. I knew the delight and high drama of what would come. The way they both infused me with gastronomic lore by enlisting my talents and imagination in the kitchen (I secretly thought they had all the talent and imagination) ranked up there with my top four cool things to do: catch pollywogs and store them in jars under my bed; devise ways to get into all the neighbors’ garages—with the most devilish lot of boys in the hood; climb to the top of our avocado tree in order to throw any and all girlie-type articles—almost exclusively dolls and stuffed animals—into the burning incinerator below; and, with the same garage-trolling ruffians, walk to the town center to see what possible adventure might be unfolding.

My food fervor, and what may be the smoking gun in unraveling my obsession, derived from the fact that I lived in Beverly Hills, California, which possessed a startlingly high brat-pack quota. Each family, to ensure initiation into the world of prestigious standing, made absolutely sure their children endured endless and mandatory restaurant indoctrination. What more desirable public avenue to achieve the silly see-and-be-seen objective than the often swanky, pampering, high-profile, theater of the absurd restaurants dotting the land at that time? My grandmother and or aunt scheduled the culinary excursions and frequently included other neighborhood kids, cousins, and miscellaneous specimens.

We covered quite a bit of dining territory: the Brown Derby; Andrea’s on Wilshire Boulevard in Beverly Hills; Musso & Frank’s; Canters Deli; Chasen’s; the Mocambo restaurant and nightclub in Hollywood; Sardi’s; Billy Wilkerson’s Cafe Trocadero and Vendome restaurant. We also frequented a few watering holes where I could quench my giddy thirst for indulgences: Trader Vic’s sickly-sweet punch drinks—minus the rum, of course—and did an occasional blow-by at Schwab’s Pharmacy for a really gooey ice cream soda. It’s no wonder Schwab’s became the star-discovery mecca, as some important movie mogul often wandered in during the BC-to-present span it took to consume those voluminous fountain treats.

C.C. Brown’s, my favorite magical ice-cream-parlor heaven, had a sparkling, low-lit atmosphere that made everything look so much nicer than Schwab’s. Had the unwritten parents’ handbook for unacceptable adolescent behavior not included uncontrolled self-indulgence, I would have lingered for hours, making myself sick on hot fudge and ice cream, rather than go almost anywhere else. My ice-cream nirvana spot always competed for my affection for Kowloon, on Pico Boulevard, with its Asian-gothic decor, foreign-correspondent clientele, and wildly intriguing, mazelike floor plan of dark, musky rooms. I also relished trips to New York, with visits to the Algonquin for late-night supper and to the Russian Tea Room for lunch, which I experienced as delightfully garish. I would have preferred or my chaperones to include the Stork Club, and Max’s Kansas City, but no such luck—kids not welcome. However, if I had been exposed to that oh-so-adult world in my tender years, no telling what influence all those musicians, actors, and artists would have had on me. The chefs were enough!

As the years passed, and no less intrigued with the culinary landscape, I continued to widen my horizons with an ongoing investigation of the professional chef’s life. My fairytale approach grew in scope as I became obsessed with the restaurant kitchen. This new malady triggered a state of oblivion in me evidenced by my complete lack of concern for what conditions were brewing in the kitchen. Nothing else mattered at that moment when I became obsessed with getting into the kitchen of a prestigious chef, always with a request to my small credit, I never entered without permission) not only to meet the chef, but also to learn a bit of information about some dish that was being prepared or plated. Outrageous behavior, to be sure, but in retrospect, I find it amazing that no one stopped me then and no one stops me now. Regardless of my age, I was, and still am, more than occasionally greeted with an amused smile or an incredulous shake of the head. What’s a kid or an adult to do without boundaries? I am eternally grateful that the chefs never set boundaries for me, as this very fact allowed me to enter the food world in a very innocent and intimate way.

The diversity of cuisines around the world and the magicianship of the chef have, to a great extent, been demystified for me. As I have traveled to different towns, cities, states, and countries, relishing both the generous teachings of gifted chefs and the exhaustive trial-and-error method that has taken me through many a recipe, I have become, in exchange, imparted with perceptions, discoveries, ideas, and skills that have enabled me to speak the language and respect the craft.

Maybe this book can begin to legitimize my curiosity about the chef’s life by taking you on a very intimate journey.

The culinary revolution that began at the end of the last millennium has evolved into the celebrity-chef world as we know it today. The words celebrity and celebrated are used so frequently, the implications of these words may be slipping away from us. The term celebrity chef, from Wikipedia, applies to a class of chefs who have become well known by presenting cookery advice and demonstrations via mass media, especially television.

The term, sometimes used in a derogatory way, implies someone who has sold out to the media or the art of cooking and has not learned the craft through years as a working chef in a restaurant. Michelin-star winner Gordon Ramsay does not want to be called a celebrity chef, despite having appeared on several reality television shows. Other accomplished chefs seem to be of the same mind on the subject of celebrity, indicated by Thomas Keller’s candid shout-out: Of course, what Americans do the best is to elevate things to unrealistic platforms without a lot of foundation behind it. We fall into this trap of having to have celebrities. All things are not absolute, and the celebrity tag may also be applied to historically famous chefs such as Marie-Antoine Carême and Martino da Como, the fifteenth century Italian.

Maybe we can sort it out by circling back to a basic truth: Not all extraordinary chefs are deemed celebrities, and not all celebrities are extraordinary chefs.

All of the chefs showcased in this book are, without question, extraordinary. According to American standards, many have been judged to be celebrity chefs, and I accept that term as an embellishment of their already stellar credentials, saying only that I have admired and selected them for their exceptional talent and vision.

My goals for this book are, first and foremost, to feature extraordinary chefs who have developed their own culinary genetic makeup and refined it into a personal language and style. Broadening my purview—giving myself permission to seek out chefs who have the conviction and courage to pursue something that sets them apart, such as preserving local flavors and history or developing a new ethnic forum—liberates both the chef and the writer from the exclusive pursuit of the star pack.

Secondly, I intend to provide the reader with a glimpse into the joys and pressures of a chef’s life and, most importantly, to provide a profile of what dreams and talents these chefs possess outside the kitchen, which remain unexplored, mostly undisclosed acts that, to a shocking extent, have not piqued the interest of food TV, food journalists, cookbook writers, or anyone even faintly connected to the culinary world. As the world experiences an unprecedented, almost morbid curiosity about professional chefs, isn’t it a natural progression to move from exploring the chef persona to examining chefs’ uncharted personalities? I imagined the mysteries and surprises that would and did surface.

And finally, I seek to create layers of discovery as the book reveals the chefs’ experiences through telling the interesting stories behind their cherished breakfast, lunch, dinner, and dessert menus. The chefs’ sensory recollections transport them to another place and time, giving birth to the menu stories—just another view into the life of the chef, complete with special tidbits surrounding their favorite dishes, drawn from somewhere along the chain of memories and fixed into a new position for so many to enjoy. Many of these chefs’ recipes have remained cherished and unshared until now, when new creations or old favorites—some almost forgotten, delectable jewels—are put to paper. The fact that each chef included in this book has so generously consented to share such personal dishes and stories is a tribute to their character.

But don’t think that’s all. I also persuaded, cajoled, and begged the chefs to offer a few of their unexpected and unconventional tips on kitchen products, equipment, and techniques. Try to imagine a chef’s home and/or restaurant kitchen outfitted with cooking utensils, ingredients, and apparatuses whose use can occasionally be far from evident.

By capturing the chefs’ creative endeavors and passions both inside and outside the kitchen, and appealing to those who want it all—the menus, the recipes, and the chef scoop,—I have provided you with the unique ingredients that will make the chef’s cocktail new and refreshing.

A native New Englander born in Southborough, Massachusetts, Rob began his career by training to be an electrician, but electrical circuitry held nowhere near the interest and passion that he had for food. Working in a restaurant at the age of fourteen set the stage for the inevitable. With an independent spirit that begot a self-taught mindset—mix equal parts desire to gain information and the quest for expert technique—Rob has developed into a talented chef who has garnered more awards and accomplishments than that boy of fourteen could have ever imagined as he peeled potatoes and daydreamed of his next meal.

For more than twenty years, Rob’s obsession with food has moved him along an impressive career path as a chef. His transformation revealed to him a whole other side of himself, and to the culinary world a new, talented performer on the food stage. The winding road commenced with Goose Cove Lodge in Deer Isle, Maine. Five years later, he worked with one of the country’s most highly regarded chefs and restaurants: James Beard award winner Patrick O’Connell, of the Inn at Little Washington in Washington, Virginia. Rob later threw his gear into reverse and headed across the country to the Napa Valley, California, to work under Thomas Keller at French Laundry. When you train with chefs of this caliber, a formal education in cuisine is beside the point. Gaining knowledge as you work, which Rob did for years, may very well be the more desirable format to keep innately talented chefs inspired and skilled.

They say a New Englander is one for life. Rob began to feel the Northeastern tug, and surrender would be sweet. His return to Portland, Maine, and a visit with Johnny Robinson at Hugo’s Portland Bistro, with its colorful history, proved just the right next thing to do—buy the restaurant. Hugo’s Portland Bistro was reborn in October 2000 as simply Hugo’s. Subtracting Portland Bistro from the restaurant’s otherwise dynamic Hugo’s was only the beginning of an impressive metamorphosis. The signage was eliminated, the inside of the restaurant was completely gutted, and what began to bake, roast, simmer, and boil in the kitchen sparked the Portland food transformation, which, for Rob Evans, must have been like cracking a cold case. The miles were diminished between New York City and Maine—well, between any other big food city and Maine.

Those closet foodies who yearned for and dreamed of culinary paradise in New England—and some, ecstatically, in their own city—woke up to a new reality. The ambition was fulfilled when the die-hard meat-and-potatoes aficionados were slowly weaned off the familiar, which allowed them to be converted by experiencing the depth and breadth of what food could be.

A trip to Amsterdam proved to be the perfect conceptual catalyst for Rob Evans’s second restaurant. Eating warm frites on a damp Holland day gave way to the idea that a good sandwich and terrific Belgian fries cooked in duck fat would be a great addition in Portland. The restaurant, whimsically named Duckfat, has been a tremendous success from the moment it opened.

Having recently sold Hugo’s, Rob may well find Duckfat to be the blueprint for another restaurant where he can practice his craft and values—composting all waste, using local farms, and making everything from scratch—maybe a small, seasonal format that will incorporate his own homegrown produce and pork.

Chef Rob Evans’s next culinary venture will factor in his very important ingredient—balance in all aspects of life—family, health, friends, spirituality, and leisure.

Named Best New Chef in the U.S. by Food & Wine magazine in 2004 and nominated as Best Chef: Northeast by the James Beard Foundation for 2007 and 2008, Rob took home the Beard award in 2009. He continues to be very grateful for all that has been bestowed upon him, and those around him seem to realize that his award-winning streak is just the natural result of his enduring efforts and talent—just part of his long and fruitful journey.

Food—that is, the act of eating food, the grinding desire to eat, the incessant hunger, the obsession with anything edible—is what chef Rob Evans will tell you got him started when you ask the question What sparked your desire to cook?

Most chefs when asked that question will respond with a rather pretty story of some sort, but Rob reduces it down to the essential—hunger! Getting down to the basics is really quite an accurate representation of his character.

Dreams are as important as what we’ve already attained. They are the seeds of accomplishment. Frequently, dreams are