Food and Art

"When you feel like you have made something that has meant enough to someone for them to really bring themselves to it, and pour themselves into it, and make something out of it that you really could never have intended - I really believe that fifty percent of art is the perception of the listener... When you make something that wasn't there ten minutes ago, I feel like that puts you closer to something bigger than you."

--Jeff Tweedy

As chefs, we romanticize the idea that our motivations are purely intrinsic. Unlike the waitstaff, we don't necessarily interact with the guests. Therefore, we have removed ourselves from the feedback and reactions they have of our food. We don't need a pat on the back because we are confident enough in ourselves. Well, that's a lie...

Whether we like it or not, we measure ourselves by our plates. In actuality, we thrive on it. It's an obsession akin to the mad rush at the news stand when the latest issue of US Weekly pops up - who's getting divorced, who cheated, what's Beyonce wearing to the Grammys?! We wanna know it all. Just as a pro golfer can tell you the weather conditions, green speeds, and club selection of every shot, of every hole they have ever played in their career, a chef can identify every plate and every bowl from their life in a kitchen. Thirteen years of cooking and thousands of plates later, I can tell you what you and everyone at your table ate on any given night - what substitutions were made, what the steak temperatures were, how long it took me to get the food to the table, and of course, what was left on the plates when they came back. ALL OF THEM!

It took me a long time to appreciate the art of cooking. Sure, people would refer to me as an artist all the time, but I thought they were silly. Don't they know that I just peel potatoes and boil water for a living? And I'm not even the fastest potato peeler person in the kitchen! And artist? Heck, I couldn't even paint my name if given a blank canvas and a weeks worth of drawing classes.

Over time, however, the comparisons have become too obvious for me to ignore. Every plate, every menu, every nightly special; the reality is, I am "painting" my plates. I strive for each plate to be a masterpiece. I am putting a piece of myself in every plate that I touch, allowing for any and all to make their own interpretations.

It is a bond I share with everyone that comes into the restaurant. Food, similar to other artforms, can transcend you to a time and place gone by. It can invoke feeling and emotion for you that the chef could have never purposefully intended - grits like Grandma's, spaghetti just like Mama's.

The plate is my canvas. Food is my medium, though some (Janice) would say its pickling.