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Food

The Evolution of a Chef

For most chefs it takes time to find your voice—especially when it comes to plating. If something looks good, you’re generally going to be more accepting of it. Over the years, I've found that less is more.
Photo courtesy of Paul Liebrandt

If something looks good, you're generally going to be more accepting of it. I like to use an analogy when I talk about food presentation because it's a more interesting way to think about it: Say you go to the doctor's office and the doctor looks unkempt and smelly, like he hasn't showered in five days. People would probably freak out. It's a personal thing to go to the doctor; you're discussing problems with yourself and would rather it be with someone who looks sharp. It's the same with food. If food looks well-presented and well-focused and the ingredient is shown off in a way that it's the best it can be, it embraces the dish. But of course it's not just about the looks—plenty of dishes look great, but the taste really is the main part of it. I would rather have a dish that doesn't look quite as perfect as another dish but tastes better, because taste holds memory.

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People eat with their eyes. I think that it's very important to have focus on the plate. Human beings are very visual; we all tell ourselves how we're going to respond to something before we've even done it. Before you've smelled it, tasted it—you're already giving yourself a notion of how you feel or how that thing looks, which is where plating comes in. Food should look real, so we've tried to not disguise it if we're working with the building blocks—a piece of meat, a piece of fish. I want it look like it's a piece of meat, or a piece of fish if that's what it is. If I can recognize it, I can set—in my mind—the expectation of how delicious it's going to be. I don't like to slice and fan on the plate or anything like that. That's not the way I've ever done dishes. There should be a center to every dish, and it should lead your eye around the plate. The ingredients shouldn't all be focused on one side. As with any good painting, one thing should lead to another.

"Say you go to the doctor's office and the doctor looks unkempt and smelly, like he hasn't showered in five days. People would probably freak out. It's a personal thing to go to the doctor; you're discussing problems with yourself and would rather it be with someone who looks sharp. It's the same with food."

I think artists like Cy Twombly and Rothko are great; they tend to be more my style. If I'm looking at something like a Rothko, it's got a very clear focus on colors and shape. And when it comes to summertime, when you have melons—like watermelon or honeydew melon or Galia melon—and tomatoes coming into season, you can shape them beautifully and gain that inspiration from a Rothko or a Miró. It's the same with vegetables. They're very beautiful to work with.

As you mature—as we all do—we refine who we are. Ten or 15 years ago, my dishes were an amalgamation of people I had worked for. It was very osmotic as most young chefs are. It takes time to narrow it down and find your voice. But the reality is: Nobody ever finds their voice. You have to keep finding it every day. No one is like, I'm done, I've arrived. I think that as we get older, our voices change and the plating style changes and the palates change. We have new influences. And that's very important; that's what makes it fun! Now, I like the execution to be perfect rather than have a creative part just for the sake of being creative. That means the minimalism of the plate can maximize the flavor and the texture, or the punch of whatever that ingredient is.

A recent (and huge) influence for me has been studying Japanese history. I also went to Tokyo for the first time three years ago. It's all well and good to eat the food, but when you understand that reverence for the ingredient and the cuisine—to me, that strikes home the culinary lineage and the history of where I've come from in France. Japan is a good symbiosis; it's very similar in the mindset. That was a big changing point for me.

Everybody gets the simplistic approach, but for me, it made me really mature my view and my approach to cooking. It's the reverence for the ingredient, and you're still experimenting with the ingredient, but doing it so that it doesn't feel manipulated. It's like sushi: Sushi is fish and rice—only two ingredients. But the magic when you have a piece of Hokkaido uni when you've never had it before, at the right temperature and the right maturity of it? It blows your mind. For me, that really was a defining moment, not just for the artistic point of view, but from the thought, Okay, I feel like I need to reorganize the way I approach my voice in plating and cooking. Less is more. It's maturing in palate, in voice, and evolving your point of view. At the end of the day, it's also about maturing what your customers like. Not everybody sees food through the eyes that I have. It may be very clear to me, but to others, they might not understand. So one must clarify, minimalize, and mature.

As told to Kirsten Stamn