Notes on A Passionate Chef

High class dumpster diving. The perfect pot.

I’ve said it before - I’m a terrible packrat. I throw nothing away. That was a burden when I was young… Now, however, what once seemed like junk tells the story of American food over the past fifty years. I’ve kept every scrap from every article I’ve written, which means I’ve amassed a trove of notes, menus, tapes, catalogues, letters and receipts that saner people tossed into the garbage long ago.

Today, searching for something else, a piece Tejal Rao wrote in 2011 when we were both working at Gilt Taste surfaced. (Sadly, none of the Gilt Taste articles remain online.) A profile of one of my favorite chefs, Francesco Buitoni, it contains copious notes from Francis Lam who is one of the truly great editors I’ve been fortunate to work with. “It’s not making me do back flips yet,” Francis wrote to me, “but it’s on its way.”

I wish I could publish the piece, because you get to see one of our finest writers- Tejal - before she was at the height of her powers - with thoughtful notes from an extraordinary editor.

Here’s Francis’ first comment: “I love this opening scene with the following graf. I wonder, though, if there's an even more ‘hand-oriented’ detail to further contrast him with the industrial pasta makers. Love the detail of catching the ribbons in his hands, which totally makes the point – just wondering if there wasn't something less ‘machine’. Did you see him crack the eggs into the flour or some such?”

But it’s not my piece to publish. Nor are the notes; apologies Francis. But I’ve been thinking about the editing process a lot lately, and how lucky any writer is to have an editor read with such intensity.

Reading the piece also reminded me that it’s time to return to Franceso’s restaurant, Gio Batta in Tivoli New York. Francesco Buitoni is the best kind of chef: generous, talented, and dedicated to cooking food he wants to eat. Raised in Rome and the United States, he loved cooking but his family (yes, those Buitonis), wanted him to have the kind of job that requires suits and ties.

Still, he couldn’t keep out of the kitchen and after working in various New York restaurants (San Domenico among them), he and his partner Michelle Platt moved to the Hudson Valley so they could work directly with farmers and cook food that is seasonal and local. In 2006 they opened their first restaurant Mercato. Here’s what I wrote about it back then:

In my dreams, sometimes, I walk down a New York side-street and find a simple, sunlit trattoria, the tables a bit rickety, the door open wide. The chef beckons me inside.  He sets bread, cheese, and salume on the table, picks up a plate and fills it with hand-made pasta topped with the simplest tomato sauce.  Music washes through the air. There is grilled meat, sautéed spinach, a splash of wine. One tiny cup of espresso. I go dancing out the door.

In real life I run in, breathless and a bit late, having reserved weeks ahead. The music is too loud, the chairs too hard, the tables too close together. Everything’s over-designed. The food is too fancy and it costs too much. By evening’s end my throat is sore from shouting.  I walk out unsatisfied, once again.

But the trattoria of my dreams does exist. It’s two hours north of New York, in Red Hook. There’s a neighbor who comes in every Friday carrying his own shaker of martinis (the restaurant serves only beer and wine). The dishwasher’s son runs around the place. I order the wonderful kale salad, delight in a perfect tagliatelle Bolognese or some seafood Fra Diavolo… and I always leave happy.

Francesco moved up the road to Tivoli in 2020, and the only thing that’s changed is that he now sells prepared food as well; I never leave without lasagna or eggplant parm for the next night’s dinner.

I wrote this eight years ago, but it’s even more relevant today.

Have you read Dan Barber’s book The Third Plate? 

It’s a critical text for this moment in food.

In it, Dan argues that if we’re serious about a sustainable food culture, our understanding of “good food” must evolve to include the leftover bits: the stems, the bones, the wheys. Brilliantly, he shows how reconsidering garbage is also critical to advancing cuisine. 

For most of human history cooks have tried to make food scraps appetizing. Think of the ancient – and irresistible – peasant stews of France and China. Think of our own scrapple. But fast food has changed the equation. It’s become cheaper than food and we've become a nation of wasters. 

Dan's latest endeavor aims a spotlight on food waste.  WastED is a food-scraps pop-up featuring a different star chef each night at Blue Hill in Greenwich Village; I think it's the most exciting culinary event of 2015. The chefs' challenge? Make delicious food out of perfectly good “waste” from every stage of the food production process. Not only will diners get to eat food cooked by wonderful chefs– Sean Brock, Dominque Crenn, Alex Raji and Nancy Silverton to name a few – but they'll also get an education.

And it's affordable: each dish is only fifteen bucks.

This is the menu from the first night I was there.

Hey Dan… isn’t it time to bring WastED back?

Speaking of recycling… This morning, as I was taking the bread out of the oven, it hit me that this wonderfully homely creature is the most-used pot I own.

I bought my Dutch oven at a thrift store, maybe forty years ago, for five bucks. Since then I've used it almost every day.  It's perfect for baking bread; if you preheat it in a really hot stove it becomes an oven within an oven, shooting intense heat at your dough from all sides so your loaf emerges with a fine, crisp crust.

It's also wonderful for braises; the little raised points inside collect steam, returning it as liquid so your meat is constantly basting itself. Nothing makes a better pot roast. On top of the stove it's the perfect vehicle for stews, soups and sauces. 

You could buy a new Dutch oven, but why would you?  Thrift stores almost always have a few on hand. It's not just that you're saving money, but getting a little bit of history as well. I like to think about my Dutch oven's last life - and wonder about its next one. 

 

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