Like so many other art forms: painting, photography, music, or writing – cooking is an expression of who you are. In all art we express what we feel, how we think, and what we have experienced. Traditions, ethnicity, deep seated beliefs, and all forms of family connections find their way on paper, instrument, or plate. This is a natural process for artists and craftsperson’s – it is how life works.

As we age, our experiences accumulate, the people we meet influence how we think and feel, our minds and hearts are filled with newness, and life happens to help us evolve. It is this evolution that needs to come out in some form or another – this is what drives us and helps to make us unique and whole.

Cooks and chefs are craftsperson’s who over time, change in subtle ways. They cannot help it – this change is their evolving signature, and the plate is the canvas that begs to receive what the cook knows and feels.

I have had the pleasure of working with hundreds of expressive cooks and chefs whose signatures have evolved yet remained uniquely theirs over time. I can look at a plate of food and instantly recognize the signature or the influence from another’s voice. Behind that signature is a lifetime of experience and influence and the cook is always challenged to make sure that their lifetime is evident as a story. The plate is the place where that story can be told just as a writer creates a novel, a painter creates a work worthy of inspiration, and a musician builds a timeless masterpiece worthy of listening.

This is what cooking is meant to be. Whether an Italian grandmother who cooks from dawn to dusk on a Sunday for an extended family meal – a meal that promotes timeless traditions and memories; a farmer who cans and pickles vegetables at harvest in the same manner as generations before; or a chef who has worked in French and Asian kitchens seeking to find expression in a fusion of both cuisines – cooking is meant to tell the story of life – a cook’s life.

When this happens, when the cook finds their voice and the plate becomes their canvas, then dining is elevated to a memory.

I thought of this the other day when I prepared two meals at home – meals that were simple yet filled with pieces of who I am. I didn’t think about the connections until a day later, but they are evident just as they were in the dishes I planned and prepared when working in restaurant kitchens. On the first night I roasted a simple chicken, a young organic chicken that drew from countless experiences in my life. I filled the cavity of the bird with onion, garlic, half of a lemon and sprig of fresh rosemary. I slid butter under the skin of the breasts and rubbed salt and pepper on the exterior, finally I trussed the bird and roasted it – first at 375 degrees and then finished at 350, basting with the juice from the bird and chicken stock every 30 minutes or so. After it reached an internal temperature of around 155, I removed the golden-brown chicken from the oven and allowed it to rest and continue to carry-over cook for 10 minutes or so before removing the breasts and legs. The pan juice and fond were lightly thickened with a slurry and ladled on top of the breasts mounted on creamy whipped Yukon Gold and sweet potatoes. Glazed carrots and Brussels sprouts finished the plate with a fresh spring of rosemary. This dinner drew from my experiences growing up in Buffalo, NY – a Sunday dinner in the fall; time spent in France where the chicken is revered; and my belief that a cook can easily be judged by the way they roast a chicken and make a perfect omelet.

On the second night, I prepared a stock from the remaining chicken carcass with thighs and wings still intact, a mirepoix, and a few fresh bay leaves. The remaining meat was pulled from the stock carcass, mushrooms and Vidalia onions were sauteed until slightly brown, and all were combined with the reduced chicken stock, tempered milk, petite pois and a blond roux – chicken a ’la king. Served atop hot buttermilk biscuits and garnished with fresh chives from the garden, this dish was as grand as the most perfect filet mignon, or intricate fresh fish dish I have served in restaurants over the years. A simple comfort food that spoke volumes about my life, the people in it, respect for ingredients and a desire to make simplicity shine. I challenge anyone to not find joy in this expression when it is prepared with care and signed as if it were a painting waiting to be mounted and hung.

When chefs cook, it should be with this in mind: Cook who you are! Build those experiences and memories and make sure they find a home on the plates that you prepare. It is this honest expression that will be felt by all who break bread in your presence and share in your life.

PLAN BETTER – TRAIN HARDER

Harvest America Ventures, LLC

Restaurant Consulting

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