Over a soft-ripened wheel of bark-wrapped Jasper Hill Harbison, my mother and I engaged in a heated discussion about existence, reality, and “God”….

I treated her to some thoughts about Maslow’s Heirarchy, and, in turn, she delighted me in anecdotes about scripture from Matthew, Mark, Luke, and some other plainly-named fellow.

In between us was the ruins from dinner: a half-eaten round of soft cheese, laced with sweetness from the lazy spoon that transferred cranberry jam and cheesy delight to crunchy baguette goodness. The creamy, silky smooth and nutty flavor of the Harbison, accompanied by bubbly effervescence of Prosecco D.O.C, left us able to converse on such subject matter without getting angry and storming off from the table.

My argument? The meal we just had was/is/will continue to be my form of communion. Pure joy: glutinous indulgence that forgives any wrong-doings from the previous day with each bite.

Her argument? Picture: “Jezus Christ, Suuuper-star!” Traditional, right-leaning, constitution praising, “Great-Again” values baked into prophecy of Godliness.

I love her, and what I love just as much about this evening….

Harbison.

The world is on the tip of my tongue. I can taste it.

While being pulled indulgently towards the experiential hedonistic pleasure of a fine tasting menu, I simultaneously feel the need to question chefs about best practices in the elite culinary scene. I seek to dissect the umbrella topic of how they understand their art in a high end industry that holds a slice of the fate of our society through food.

Top chefs today are food activists. Massimo Bottura, Ferran Adria, Jose Andres, all understanding the implications of where our food comes from, but not necessarily expressing through their work.

I challenge to find a fine chef turned food activist, not explicitly for political pull, but for humanity.

I challenge to find restaurants that have something to say, not only for the sake of art and expression through cuisine, but for society.

To find the spaces that allow the food and experience to speak for itself.

Let the hunt begin.

Turned down a job with a World’s 50 Best, three Michelin Star reputation..

“Do you want to continue?”, the manager asked after the initial meeting. Without hesitation, I agreed. We prepped for the working interview, termed “stage” in the industry, by doing drills consisting of repeating the performative moves associated with proper table side service: body positioning in the dining room, plate placement as varied throughout each of the nine courses (a short menu, considering the next menu will consist of over 20), and the rules regarding who is served first at the table and how. Most importantly, we discussed the proper timing as a team of runners, captains, and somms would dance around the dining room servicing two turns of ~50 guests, each spending two hours and between $300-500 a head for their experience.

Service begins and the back of house swirls with a high-stress show of controlled chaos. Ten tweezer holding, extremely skilled chefs stand at attention at their respective stations, ready for action. At the head of this operation is the expediter, who oversees that all dietary restrictions and further accommodations be met. Chef calls the tickets, occasionally terming them soigné to designate tables of importance- typically high spenders or food industry insiders that may be reviewing the restaurant. The kitchen, always responding with, “yes, chef!”, begin course one. A team preps seven small plates filled with bite-sized delicacies to be rolled table side on a cart and presented to the first seating of guests.. 

The sensation in the back of house is curated by the reputation and expectations of the head chefs; that all courses must leave the kitchen perfectly executed and represent the military precision that reflect well on the restaurant brand.

I look around the room during the stage and can’t help but want to know more about the stories of the people around me. This level of fine-dining training attracts a certain kind of person, both willing to accept abuse and work to the bone for little pay in the pursuit of perfection. The hardness, poise, and high levels of scrutiny bring forth in my imagination visions of what combat training would entail. Like military training, everyone accepts abuse as part of the process and hardens themselves to work tirelessly for a greater purpose. When stakes are as high as the bill at the end of dinner and the namesake of a chef seeking to maintain the elevated status of one of the World’s 50 Best, this sense of comradeship runs the current of energy propelling the staff through the evening…

I hated every second of it.

Why?

The energy created through pursuit of perfection (in this particular restaurant!!) left the experience devoid of humanity. While certainly elevated, the experience, cold.

The aesthetic appeal of the restaurant, sterile. The table side service, mechanical. The whole operation, a machine of precision.

I never thought I’d say no to the World’s 50 Best. I was never more happy to return home to Evanston that evening.