Back in his Chicago days, Van Aken was the first chef to employ a shy young aspiring cook named Charlie Trotter. The two became close friends and stayed in touch as Trotter crisscrossed the country, working in kitchens on a self-guided educational tour, and then, in 1987, opening Charlie Trotter’s, his ambitious European-style restaurant in Chicago. Trotter had become friends with another young chef, Emeril Lagasse, who had taken over the kitchen at Commander’s Palace.
“I hadn’t met Emeril yet,” says Van Aken. “Charlie was going to be there. I knew a lot of the people that were going to be there. We got off that plane and we get to Santa Fe and we got to our hotel and all of a sudden it was like, ‘Holy shit, there’s that person, there’s that person, there’s that person, there’s that person.’ I mean, Mark Miller and Lydia Shire and Jasper [White]. And then Charlie’s like, ‘You’re going to meet Emeril tonight. You’re going to love him. You’re going to love this guy.’
“And funny story, too. I met him but it was that Woodstock moment of Holy shit, you know, a meteor hits the roof of this place, American cuisine is going to be seriously jeopardized.
“And we were just walking down the street and having this extraordinary awareness of all of these people being there at the same time and it was joyous, and it was a little nerve-racking, butterflies in your stomach and Holy cow. And I was invited. I was part of it, you know? I was like, ‘They’re having me here, too.’ I felt really excited and proud to be called on to be recognized in this way. It was powerful. . . . There were some people that I just was in awe of. Even though I was wowed when I saw Dean, quickly we got to talking, we realized we were, you know, interested in the same kind of thing. . . .
“But it was always fun, too. It was not competitive. It was just like, we’re on the same tour, we’re doing the same music, just in different sort of emanations of it. And it was very parallel to I think the music world that we saw in the late sixties and the seventies but it was with food and we were part of this madcap rolling party. ‘You did that? What ingredient was that? And how did you make that happen?’
“This was the party. This was the ballroom right now. People would be getting up and saying hello to each other and introducing themselves to one another. There were certain people that didn’t have that social comfort maybe to do it, but by and large it was good. And comparing it to today, I think there’s a lot more seriousness to it and a lot more kind of grouping that goes on. You know, like if we’re part of this group or that group or this subset or that genre. I think that there are exceptions to it, but I think that it has become a different thing.”
Of his speech, Van Aken confesses: “It was just five minutes. Two and a half pages. I just wanted to get through it. I didn’t think of it being an important moment. I had no idea. I had no idea that this word fusion was going to become something that people ever spoke about again.”*
It was also a moment for chef empowerment. Shep Gordon, a music industry manager and devout foodie, struck up a friendship with many of the top chefs in the country, prompting them to approach him en masse one morning at Spago and ask him to represent them and get them properly paid for their participation in special events, festivals, and the like.
“I walk in and basically they say, ‘Help,’” remembers Gordon. “‘We all get fucked over. We get paid nothing. We get treated like shit. We’re always the last one on the totem pole.’ So I said, ‘Okay, guys, I will do an agency. I’ll do it pro bono. I will get you all famous and then I’m getting out of town because this is way beyond me. This is too much work.’” Gordon formed Alive Culinary Resources and began negotiating on behalf of the crowd that included Wolfgang Puck, Larry Forgione, Lydia Shire, Paul Prudhomme, Mark Miller, Jonathan Waxman, Jean-Louis Palladin, and Alice Waters.
Awards, too, ramped up to the next level, as the James Beard Foundation Awards were founded in 1991, subsuming Who’s Who. The biggest prize, Outstanding Chef, that first year went not to an American-born chef, but to the one who had set the tone for much of what happened in the States over the past decade and a half, Wolfgang Puck. Ironically, the man who redefined the Oscar party didn’t put much stock in awards himself: After the ceremony, he went to Forgione’s American Place, in its second home on East 32nd Street. “I said, ‘What am I going to do with this medal?’” remembers Puck. “‘Just hang it here in your restaurant.’ And it goes there. I don’t know where it is now. I didn’t care. So what.”
And there was another force trembling on the horizon in those idyllic Blue Ribbon days: the first tremors of the Food Network.
“It was the infancy,” remembers Bruce. “There were no chefs on TV. There was the Galloping Gourmet, Julia reruns, and Jacques Pépin. There were a couple of cool shows, but there wasn’t a lot of stuff going on. I remember when Mario told me, ‘Hey, I’ve got this opportunity. I think I might do this thing. What do you think about it?’ I was like, ‘Sounds fun. I don’t know. Are you into it? Do you think it’s cool?’ He was like, ‘I don’t know. I think it may be cool.’ I remember Bobby [Flay], the same thing. I remember us all talking about these things.”
In the case of Batali, Blue Ribbon figured prominently in the beginnings of his television career: After reading an article in the pink-tinged weekly newspaper the New York Observer about the scene there and Batali’s place at the center of it, Jonathan Lynne, a Television Food Network executive, got in touch with Batali to begin exploring a show, setting in motion a chain of events that would lead to the debut of his first cooking show, Molto Mario, in January 1996.
“It took me by surprise,” says Alan Harding. “I never thought of myself as a brand. I never thought of what we were doing as a brand. I never thought of television as more than something that you would just do for fun. I didn’t think you could become rich doing it. Mario was very exciting and very entrepreneurial and very focused on what he was doing. I remember being on MTV a couple times. And I remember being on the Today show or whatever. And then, the next thing I knew, being on the Food Network every once in a while on [their nightly news program] In Food Today. I did a pilot for the Food Network, What’s in Your Fridge Right Now?, that never got picked up. I never really did anything else with them. And then the next thing I knew, Molto had a show. And I was like, Wow, motherfucker.”
“THERE’S A LITTLE BIT OF SADNESS IN IT.”
Bruce Bromberg doesn’t tell me his story from New York City, but from Las Vegas, where he lived at the time of our interview. There are eighteen Blue Ribbon outposts in the United States and the UK, including a bakery, sushi bars, and collaborations with Brooklyn Bowl, for which Blue Ribbon provides the food service. We meet at the bar of restaurant Echo & Rig in Tivoli Village, a ritzy Vegas suburb.
“There’s a little bit of sadness in it.” says Bromberg. “Not from a Blue Ribbon perspective, but there’s two things happening now: There is a resurgence of cooking for the pure love of cooking. At the same time, what’s been around for a while is this very calculated kind of ‘I want to be a star.’
“I find myself meeting people, having interviews with people, fielding phone calls from friends and family who want me to talk to their son who wants to be a chef. And I was just kind of disheartened and shocked. Not to sound like the old guy going, ‘Hey, I remember back in the day . . .’ but that basic love and desire to cook and the passion for the art of cooking—not to be pretentious like it’s an art, but that guttural desire to cook and make people happy is somehow slightly tainted with ‘What’s the real friggin’ motivation?’ There are some great, awesome people out there doing great, awesome things. But there is a huge friggin’ amount of people out there for all the wrong reasons. I get résumés: Objective: To be on [The Next Food Network Star]. To be on Top Chef. That’s your fucking objective? Wow. I’m like, That’s an interesting starting point.”
Bromberg speaks for many of his generation, and those who preceded them. And while I understand and commiserate, I’ve also come to realize that it’s simply the nature of
things to change. The purity that drew so many to the cooking profession may be forever lost, but it’s not all bad: Embarking on my first research trip for this book, I turned on the in-flight television and found myself confronted by Master Chef Junior, on which preteens compete, demonstrating impressive kitchen chops, all of which once would have been the stuff of sci-fi. Is that spectacle cartoonish and craven, or is it a tribute to the new reality that children can grow up wanting to be chefs with their parents’ blessing, that cooks earn more respect and income than they once did, and have more options available to them? The answer, of course, is both. Sure, I was a little depressed when the man who media-trained Emeril Lagasse decades ago told me that culinary students come to him today for on-camera coaching while still matriculating at their institute of choice, but so it goes.
The original Blue Ribbon still operates on Sullivan Street, at least it did at the time of this writing. There will come a day when it and most—eventually all—of the other surviving restaurants recounted here will reopen under new ownership and new names or disappear completely, their spaces converted to something else entirely. The chefs, as chefs do, will fade away. Their food will be rediscovered in cookbooks, where even the most cutting-edge contributions have already settled into antiquity. But there are moments that abide as more than memories, and none more vividly than those nights—each scarcely distinct from the last—when the creators of a new world licked their wounds, drowned their thirst, came down from the rush of their work, behind the glass facade of an unassuming SoHo restaurant. They stayed until first light, or close to it, staggered out into the open air, and went their separate ways. Then they caught a few hours of shut-eye, rose up, and did it all over again.
Acknowledgments
I don’t know whether to be moved or embarrassed (probably both) by the number of people it took to help me write this book. My eternal thanks to the following, and a profound apology to anybody I might have inadvertently left out:
Caitlin Friedman, who endured more hardships, on more levels, than any spouse should have to in service of a book—the next one will be quicker, and easier!
David Black, my agent, advocate, sensei, and friend, in every sense of the word.
Mike Friedman, my brother, for constant support and encouragement, and for navigating life’s sometimes rough seas with me.
Gabriella Doob, my wonderful editor, for your collaborative spirit and good heart, for sharing my geek love for the serial comma, and for understanding what I meant by “It’s a chef book, not a food book!”
Dan Halpern, publisher at Ecco, for first believing in the book, for sharing my fascination for the subject matter, for the meals and drinks on the town, and for your patience, which wasn’t endless, but was extraordinary.
The rest of Ecco’s crack team: associate publisher Miriam Parker, production editor Rachel Meyers, copyeditor Suzanne Fass (whom I specially requested based on past experience, and am I ever glad I did), jacket designer Sara Wood, marketing director Meghan Deans, and publicist Ashley Garland.
Karen Rinaldi, who brought the book to Dan, and helped me sharpen its focus early in its development. We’ll probably never conquer the waves, or the court, but it’s sure fun trying, ain’t it?
Declan and Taylor Friedman, my kids, for being your awesome selves and letting me work when I need to.
Sharon Saalfield, the best transcriber in the business, and a great sister in-law to boot. Couldn’t have done it without you.
Rachel Balin, ace research assistant and a crucial reality check when the question of “would somebody your age find this interesting?” came up.
Erin Larson, the only intern I’ve ever had, for some early research help. I will travel to the ends of the earth, if necessary, to patronize your first bakery.
Sarah Crary Cohen, a true sage; this book might not have been finished without your wisdom and insights.
Jonathan Waxman, for being my first interview for this book, for the encouragement and occasional chats, and for connecting me with a certain Austrian-born chef I otherwise might never have interviewed.
Bob Grimes, for making many introductions and for being a real pal. Sorry I wouldn’t let you read the book early.
Joel Buchman, who sadly passed away as I was proofreading these pages, for your friendship and that stack of old DB newsletters you sent along, but mainly for your friendship.
Bob Berensen, for making some crucial introductions.
Joyce Goldstein, for not caring that my book was possible competition with your own, and for generously sharing your Judy Rodgers interview with a stranger—I’m still blown away by that and think I always will be.
Gael Greene, for your flattering belief and for making some essential introductions, and for still cranking out those reviews every week.
Mimi Sheraton, for your insights and for connecting me with André Soltner.
Charlie Palmer, for trying to make that lunch (you know the one) happen, even if it never did.
Mark Miller, my Doctor Lecter and Jiminy Cricket all rolled into one. Thanks for the invaluable early direction and perspective.
Jeremiah Tower, for the many connections and perspectives.
Mark Franz and Pat Kuleto in San Francisco, and Joachim Splichal in Los Angeles, for generously hosting group dinners in support of this project.
Michael McCarty, for permission to use my favorite chef photo on the cover.
Gerry Dawes, for all your help in connecting me with the Chefs from Hell.
Jeff Levine at The Culinary Institute of America, for arranging a day of helpful interviews in Hyde Park.
Susan Chumsky, for giving this book a staggeringly close early read and showing up for lunch with pages of brilliant notes.
Sydny Miner, for reading and opining on two early chapters.
Cecilia Chiang, for your help arranging an interview with Alice Waters.
Sean and Renee Baker, Mike and Jessica Friedman, Ralph and Donna Seligman, and Lyle and Limor Zimskind, for your guest rooms, and your hospitality.
The Huntington Hotel and Hotel Vitale in San Francisco, for your media rate and hospitality.
Norman Van Aken, for one of the nicest emails I’ve ever received.
Skip Schwarzman and Lynn Buono, for suggesting an important subtitle adjustment.
Mike Colameco, Arnold Rossman, and Patrick Terrail, for your special help and enthusiasm.
For friendship and support over the last few years: Jimmy Bradley, Stefanie Cohen, Harold Dieterle, John Capanelli, Danit Lidor, Evan Sung, and David Waltuck.
And most of all, to the more than two hundred chefs and industry figures who sat for interviews with me, all of whom—even those not quoted—provided invaluable context and insights: Thank you for your time, your enthusiasm, and your trust. I tried to do the right thing with all of it.
Notes
The pagination of this electronic edition does not match the edition from which it was made. To locate a specific passage, please use the search feature on your eBook reader.
INTRODUCTION
5“You’re not happily” Ruth Reichl, “How to Build an Empire.”
11“the Henry Ford” Nathan Myhrvold, “The Art in Gastronomy.”
14 “The time has come” John Rockwell, The Times of the Sixties, page 22.
28Just as each commandment Heather A. Mallory, “The Nouvelle Cuisine Revolution.”
31“Pot Luck was doing” Joyce Goldstein, Inside the California Food Revolution.
41“looked as if” Ned Smyth, “Gordon Matta-Clark.”
42“What do I have” Ibid.
43“Please don’t write” Milton Glaser and Jerome Snyder, “Food, Glorious Food.”
44“still [didn’t] know much” Bethsheba Goldstein, “Under the Brooklyn Bridge.”
44“oddly . . . kind of had” Ibid.
50“There are two camps” David Kamp, “Cooking Up a Storm.” Brackets in the original.
1. NEW WORLD ORDER
55“It’s not like
today” Paul Freedman, Ten Restaurants That Changed America.
60“You’ll never amount” Michael Barrier, “The Chef as Famous as His Customers.”
61“He was my mentor” Wolfgang Puck, as told to Liz Welch, “How I Did It.”
61“robust and poetic” Wolfgang Puck, Modern French Cooking, page xiv.
74“She wanted to put” Ruth Reichl, “How to Build an Empire.”
81“He bragged about” Ruth Reichl, “A Tip of the Toque.”
84worried that the restaurant Ibid.
87Referring to his kitchen team Ruth Reichl, “Is This the Best French Restaurant in California?”
88“McCarty claims” Bruce David Colen, “Michael, Throw the Gloat Ashore.”
89“Given the egos of both men” Ibid.
99“an area more” Jeremiah Tower, California Dish, page 137.
106“The first special” Lesley Balla, “Susan Feniger and Mary Sue Milliken Are Cooking.”
113“I had $10,000” Michael Barrier, “The Chef as Famous as His Customers.”
114“I was so nervous” Ruth Reichl, “The ’80s: A Special Report.”
118“It was so crazy” Michael Barrier, “The Chef as Famous as His Customers.”
120“I didn’t set out” Aljean Harmetz, “Hollywood: This Way In.”
121“I paint my face” Mary Rourke, “Extreme Taste.”
123“They couldn’t cook” Susan Heller Anderson, “Coast’s Latest: ‘Francasian’ Cuisine.”
123“There are a lot” John Soeder, “Dances with Wolf & Barbara.”
124“I’m the bride” Ruth Reichl, “Puck’s Progress.”
124“Yeah, this is cute” Ibid.
124“Introductory material written” Wolfgang Puck, Modern French Cooking, copyright page.
125 “I know that everybody” Ruth Reichl, “Puck’s Progess,” Los Angeles Times, June 12, 1988.
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