The meal that changed me
An English woman in Yountville
A 3 Star Michelin cuppa
On an intensely hot day in July, I find myself, unbelievably, standing in the corridor outside The French Laundry’s kitchen, waiting to meet Chef Thomas Keller and Chef David Breeden at 3pm sharp. It’s 2.55pm and I lean in to catch the background sounds of the busy kitchen beyond.
A uniformed member of the team approaches with a welcoming smile: “Hello, we’ve been expecting you, come through.’’ I’m led through the prep area, the pastry section and finally, into the main kitchen where Chef Keller is leaning on the pass, making notes and diligently inspecting the evening’s menu.
He welcomes me with an air of someone who is used to putting people at ease.
“Are you thirsty? What will it be? Coffee? Tea?’’
“Earl Grey, please.” I need something for my nerves but a shot of Tequila hardly represents an appropriate request - the soothing effects of bergamot oil would have to do.
Chef David appears and, tea in hand, we make our way out into the sunshine.
Under the boughs of an apple tree
Making our way to an area of seating sheltered from the fierce sunlight by a canopy of foliage, Chef David shares a few details about how the garden has developed during recent years. And then, without warning, Chef Keller turns to me and asks: ‘’What are the four key elements of cooking, Sarah?’’
Sitting beneath the boughs of an apple tree, amidst the serene expanse of The French Laundry's verdant garden, my throat suddenly feels dry…very dry.
‘Salt, fat, acid and heat, Chef,’’ I manage to respond, receiving a nod of approval.
“And if you were to host Chef David and me for dinner what would you cook us?’’
I pause. I mean, what does one cook for the most critically acclaimed chef in the world and his exceptionally talented CDC? Beans on toast wouldn’t do.
“My mum’s recipe for Beef Bourguignon paired with a nice bold red and perhaps a cheese course to finish?’’ Another nod of approval.
“Chef David mentioned that you have some interesting stories and reflections. Care to share?”
I could hardly believe what was happening, here I was sitting in TFL’s beautiful garden, reading some of my musings to these two culinary giants.
A glimpse of the kitchen
Later, walking past the entrance to The French Laundry kitchen, I hungrily inhaled fragrant aromatic trails of butter, toasted meringue and freshly cut parsley. It was as you’d expect a 3 Michelin star kitchen to be: spotless, organized and impeccably designed. The result was a seamless balance between pragmatism and elegance.
A gentle hum.
A familiar dance.
An atmosphere of expectancy.
These were the crucial hours right before service. The kitchen was taking its last breath.
Oysters and pearls
How did I find myself having tea with one of the great American chefs of our time? Well, I’ll do my best to explain.
I first read about The French Laundry, at home, in England.
As I aimlessly sifted through my mother's collection of recipes and clippings from newspapers and magazines featuring restaurant reviews, one particular headline caught my eye: “The best restaurant in the world’’.
The writer waxed lyrical about Chef Thomas Keller, an elegant man in chef whites and a crisp blue apron, pictured arched over a plate, working with laser focus. Next to this image was an even larger photo with the caption: ‘Oysters and pearls’. In the center of a pristine, wide-brimmed plate lay a mound of gleaming caviar, its glossy sheen lustrous and tempting. Next to the caviar two succulent oysters reclined in a pool of creamy sauce, garnished with finely sliced chives. I was mesmerized. It was one of the most elegant plates of food I had ever seen.
Unexpected consequences
Fast forward ten years, and it was another gray Monday morning. A familiar lump had formed at the back of my throat and my heart was racing.
“Are you okay?’’ my husband tentatively enquired? The question surprised me. I looked at my reflection in the mirror and the answer was obvious. I was not.
I had just finished another soul destroying team meeting at my corporate job where a manager had been proselytizing on the importance of keeping costs low and profit margins high. He ended the lecture, declaring, without irony, that he expected us to think about company data and numbers “24 hours a day, with no exceptions!’’
Although I understood the importance of economics and prioritizing wise business decisions, at no point during this two hour lecture had there been any mention of vision, people or purpose. It wasn’t his fault, he did, after all, have a job to do and a company policy to implement, but for me, this supposedly motivational approach had unexpected consequences.
Is this it then? I thought, finally recognizing that all the color and all the hope was gradually vanishing. I felt very small.
On the side table beside my chair, a copy of The French Laundry cookbook seemed to beckon. I stared at it wistfully. Lately, the only time I had felt like myself was early in the morning and late at night when the world seemed to be fast asleep. It was then when I found refuge in the act of cooking. It became my therapy, a sanctuary where I could reclaim fragments of myself. At those times, the voice of Chef Keller would be right there, offering sage advice:
“When you acknowledge, as you must, that there is no such thing as perfect food, only the idea of it, then the real purpose of striving toward perfection becomes clear: to make people happy. That’s what cooking is all about.” Chef Thomas Keller.
Following my gaze, my husband said: ‘’Look, we’ve got some PTO and I think we should go away for a few days. We haven’t taken a vacation in years. How does San Francisco sound?”
I had never been to San Francisco. San Francisco sounded good.
“We’ll drive there, it’s only eight hours, and we could visit that bakery you told me about, you know…”
“What, Tartine?” I laughed, holding up the bakery’s cookbook.
Once the decision had been made, one thing led to another, and before we knew it, we were also planning to include Napa in our itinerary - my husband had already selected possible tours of wineries in advance, and, naturally I wanted a photograph taken standing outside The French Laundry
An invite
It may sound unlikely, and even as I write this, I can hardly believe the timing of it all. Yet, a few days later, I found myself in a zoom meeting with none other than TFL's Chef de Cuisine, David Breeden. We were already following each other on Instagram and had started to engage in a discussion regarding the importance of seasonal produce. During our conversation I asked whether there were any interesting projects in the pipeline. “Always!” he answered, and with that we arranged a zoom meeting.
During that meeting, David enthusiastically shared ideas concerning some of the creative projects he was planning. Witnessing his evident passion only served to emphasize what I already knew: something had to change. This meeting couldn’t have been more different to the company zoom call I had participated in a few days before. Now, concepts and creative suggestions were automatically multiplying in my mind. At that moment, I knew that I needed to return to a sense of purpose in my work life and that this decision would entail some serious consideration. The realization stopped me in my tracks and then…
“Why don’t you and your husband come for something to eat, then perhaps we could discuss some of your ideas?” Chef David quietly suggested. It was an invitation I couldn’t refuse.
It was this unexpected opportunity that led to me not only standing in TFL’s kitchen, but also savoring the sublime dishes that emerged from that hub of creativity and commitment.
Life was about to change, how and in what way, I had no idea.
A lesson in excellence
It must have been during the sixth or seventh course (it became impossible to keep track), that I found myself deeply moved in the way some might feel during a symphony or when admiring an old oil painting. The precision and perfection disrupted and provoked me in an unfamiliar way.
An immaculate kitchen, exquisite cuisine, and genuinely friendly people - it was all unbelievably perfect. Despite the technical brilliance of the food, however, it was the sense of being nurtured that enhanced the whole experience. I felt as though I was eating my Mother's cooking, surrounded by family.
As I proceeded to eat the Chesapeake soft shell crab, the ground opened up and the restaurant walls disappeared until I was barefoot, in a quiet cove in Wales, 5 years old and hunting for starfish. Licking my lips I could taste the sea salt and feel the sun beating down on the sand and my skin. I scrunched my freckled nose as fronds of seaweed wrapped themselves around my ankles as I searched the rock pools for treasure.
Lowering my knife and fork and opening my eyes, I found myself back in the dining room. The mouthful of crab was delicate and sweet with a lingering taste of the ocean. The Oregon chanterelle mushroom ‘tapenade’ was rich and slightly earthy with a whisper of acidity, and the ‘creme de champignon’ had a gentle pungency laced with a creamy silkiness. There was pleasure in every fragrant mouthful.
Keller's dishes are edible works of art. When the next course arrived - a toasted brioche kugelhopf with buttered parmesan mousseline and an abundance of freshly shaved black Australian truffles - it seemed almost a shame to dig in and disrupt the canvas. That said, no matter how beautiful and painstakingly plated the composition, Keller wants to feed you. And, without a doubt, when the meal is finally over, you feel wholly nurtured.
Michelin starred or home-made, where there is truly good food, there is always a sense of home.
Chef Keller knows this; he recognizes that each texture, each flavor, each culinary sketch will transport you, with all your wonderful idiosyncrasies and collected memories, to a specific time, a specific place and a specific set of emotions.
The next day I emailed Chef Thomas Keller and Chef David Breeden to convey my appreciation for the unexpected culinary experience of a lifetime. “Something to eat” had been a lesson in excellence as well as sincere generosity.
One month after this meal, I quit my job.
A seed has been planted
Ever since that trip, I have been in the process of developing my own template for research and recipe development. More than that, I’m learning new skills (putting myself through home culinary school by studying Escoffier’s Le Guide Culinaire), cooking more than I ever have in my life, finding my voice, developing my flavor vocabulary.
There comes a time in life when you become achingly aware of your own inadequacies. It feels as though the more I lean in, the more reading I do…the more dishes I make…the more decorated my hands become with scars, burns and calluses… the more I realize how little I know. This is exciting.
Up until a few years ago I had never considered a career in food. It’s true, I have always been intrigued by the unyielding commitment and red-hot intensity of professional chefs, but as a young woman with a proclivity for over-sensitivity and creative distraction, I imagined there wasn’t a place for me in a professional kitchen.
I’m not sure I believe that anymore.
If I told you my current ambitions they would seem absurd. I’m a home cook after all. But ever since that meal, in Yountville, at The French Laundry, something has changed. A seed has been planted.
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The way you describe the transcendent moment that recreated a childhood experience is glorious. The whole article conveys a sense of inevitable and building momentum culminating in your decision to reinvent yourself (or perhaps unveil your hidden self) in the culinary arts. I am enchanted.