The Kitch Lit Series: Visual Edition, Round 2

A discerning diner I am not. I admit it. I love pizza and macaroni and I eat PB&J for lunch every day. I have only recently become acquainted with fine dining thanks to 801 Chophouse. While I ate my first meal at 801 a light bulb literally went off in my head, so that is what properly prepared meat tastes and chews like? Generally speaking, my taste in culinary entertainment is similar to my taste in food itself. Plain and simple is good enough for me. Spring Baking Championship? I’ll take it. America’s Test Kitchen? I’d love to pretend that I’ll whip up that recipe. Top Chef? Yes, please. And then I was introduced to Netflix’s Chef’s Table, the 801 Chophouse to my homemade pizza pie. Exquisitely simple, Chef’s Table will open your eyes to new ways to think about what we eat, how we eat and the chefs who imagine the possibilities.

Chef’s Table profiles one chef in each episode, all at the cutting edge of their field and at the top of their game. Most of these Chefs operate restaurants that are among the best in the world, some awarded multiple Michelin stars. The appeal of Chef’s Table lies in its’ minimalism. The show employs a beautifully simple documentary style: the chef telling their origin story and a couple of critics or fellow chefs explaining their influence on the culinary field intercut with passages of their work in a kitchen creating dishes. 

With breathtaking cinematography, not just of the food but of the locales as well, Chef’s Table forces you to consider food as more than sustenance and dining as more than simply the exercise of eating. Whether it be in Peru, Slovenia, New Zealand or right down the road in Chicago, you will be astounded by what chefs are doing with food. Virgilio Martinez uses natural ingredients from Peru to create dishes based on the region and altitude from which the ingredients originated. Ana Ros uses similarly natural ingredients from her native Slovenia. Ivan Orkin perfects the deceptively complex and layered Japanese ramen dish. And then there are the edible balloons from the mind of Grant Achatz. Edible balloons, people. I know, it’s hard to comprehend. Google it.

The road to becoming a chef was different for all of these men and women. Some knew from a young age that pursuing a career in culinary arts was their only desired course. Others are self-taught. For some, cooking was a means to an end, a way to travel or secure a green card. As varied as their backgrounds are, the singular similarity between these chefs is absolutely striking: they have found their calling. Rarely in life do we identify a singular passion. Even more rarely do we get the chance to live it every day. These chefs did and do, and it radiates from their being. And more than just enjoying cooking, the chefs love and appreciate the effect of cooking and eating together and the emotional connections it has the power to create.

Their other commonality: an innate willingness. Whether it is trying new ingredients, techniques or plating, or perfecting the perfect dough (even if it takes hundreds of loaves), these chefs are relentless in their willingness to do. Obsession and perfection are common themes. 

All of the enthusiasm poured out thus far has been without mention of the chefs' fascinating, often incredibly humbling, personal stories. And though my Midwestern sensibilities lead me to believe that I would likely be ready for some dinner after enjoying a meal at one of these incredible restaurants - I seem to have the metabolism of Pizza Rat - not to mention the fact that some of the dishes are so stunning that it seems a shame to ruin the composition by eating it, the prospect of dining at one of these restaurants is what dreams are made of.

The Kitch Lit Series: Visual Edition

Kitchens of the Great Midwest may have sparked my interest in kitch lit but Danny Meyer’s Setting the Table fanned the flame into a bonfire. After I read Meyer’s book on hospitality in the restaurant industry, books in the kitch lit genre were exclusively on my nightstand for many months thereafter.

Now many moons later, flipping through Netflix and, what a surprise, being fed a lot of Netflix’s original series (let’s be real, Netflix is the real puppet master in this world) I came upon the series 7 Days Out. This documentary series highlights the preparation and logistics of some of the biggest events in the world. The first episode, bizarrely intriguing, follows the lead up to the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show. A unique brand of folks to say the least, but hey, whatever floats your boat -er, fluffs the coat on your show dog. The second episode of 7 Days Out seems to have been written for me, for episode two features the last minute flurry of activities surrounding the reopening of one of the country's greatest restaurants, Eleven Madison Park. 

In 1998, Eleven Madison Park was opened by Meyer’s Union Square Hospitality Group, and in 2011, Will Guidara and Chef Daniel Humm purchased the restaurant from Meyer. In 2017, Guidara and Humm closed Eleven Madison Park  from June to October. for extensive renovations and a menu overhaul. The episode focuses on the seven days before their reopening. 7 Days Out confirms what so many successful – and unsuccessful – restaurateurs have learned: the restaurant industry is not for the faint of heart. Opening or reopening a restaurant is an incredible feat. Physical aspects of the kitchen and dining room must combine flawlessly with staffing, process and, oh, the small matter of actually executing the actual dishes.

To say I find it all fascinating is an understatement. Successful stress management is on abundant display at Eleven Madison Park. Less than a week to opening, the tables and chairs have yet to be delivered. There is the small matter of the Ansel inspection, which must be passed in order to get gas certification in New York City. Yep, the gas to power the stoves in the kitchen, so chefs can cook the foodstuffs. Who needs heat for cooking? Minor details. After several delays and one failed inspection, the gas was turned on at Eleven Madison Park on the day of the friends and family opening.

The result of many, many rounds of testing.

The restaurant industry, almost as much as the theater industry itself, is about putting on a show. In fact, the similarities between the restaurant world and the theater world are plentiful. For instance, the industries share a common language. Terms such as ‘front of house’ and ‘back of house’ are second nature to both. And in both industries the success of the night requires that both the front and back of house run like a well-oiled machine. Guidara describes their similarities perfectly: two days out from opening was tech, dress rehearsal came one day out with the friends and family dinner followed, finally, by a much anticipated opening night. And, as in the theater, tweaks are happening up to the very last minute when the show is frozen. The priceless moment in which Chef Humm finalizes plating for a dish with caviar on top - he determines it should be the way they had done it before - his executive chef responds, with a hint of helplessness in his voice, “we did 25 different versions” could just as easily be a director deciding at the last minute to light a scene from a different angle. Attention to detail in restaurants, as in theater, is quite often what separates the good from the great. Indeed, the front of house staff steams the booths on opening day because the fabric – being brand new - is stiffer than anticipated. That's the cream rising to the top.

I wish I could say that my trip to New York in a couple of weeks would include a meal at Eleven Madison Park, but with the dining room tasting menu currently running $335 a pop, I will probably never cross the threshold at Eleven Madison Park. Taking a photo out front and peering inside will have to suffice. Chef Humm, wave if you see me outside!