I ate some wonderful meals in 2011, from simple creations at home, to elaborate feasts at restaurants with friends, but one meal stands out as a very special experience. It is a story of so much more than the food on the plate, though that alone would have been memorable. For me, it was a seminal moment in both my appreciation of food, and my appreciation of the kindness of someone I admired. The story goes like this….
My love of cookbooks has been well documented and the morning of October 18th was a big day in my world. American Flavor by Andrew Carmellini was hitting the shelves and I was incredibly excited. Growing up, I loved heading to my local record shop to buy an album that had just hit the shelves. I would eagerly head home to listen to the tape—later CD—in its entirety. I would sit, holding my guitar, eagerly listening for chord changes, yet never playing a note. It was solitude in its finest fashion. Tuesdays have remained special for me, because that is the day that music and books—two of my favorite things—are released. In many ways I treat books with the same reverence that I once held only for music. I will bring a book home and settle in to absorb every nuanced word. I do this with cookbooks, reading each recipe in much the same way I listen to a new song. American Flavor was part of a short list of cookbooks that I needed to own last year. I am not afraid to admit that I am a disciple of the joys that the New York Public Library has to offer, but some books are meant to be purchased, hopefully one day to pass on. So that Tuesday had two things on the agenda, work, and picking up a copy of American Flavor.
I happened to be in Tribeca as I was finishing up work, so I headed to the closest bookstore, only to discover that Chef Carmellini was doing a book signing at 6pm. I purchased my copy of his book and sat down for the signing and discussion. I dove right into the text with determination and purpose, hoping to absorb as much as possible before the author’s arrival. Book signings in New York are a strange affair, sometimes garnering hundreds of people, and sometimes just a handful. The level of attendance rarely has any correlation with the quality of the author or work that is featured, so I wasn’t particularly stunned to realize that at 6pm there were only fifteen or so attendees. It mattered little to me; I was thrilled to be there.
Having eaten at Locanda Verde—Carmellini’s Tribeca restaurant—several times, and being somewhat obsessed with his first cookbook, Urban Italian, I was pretty excited. Some people could care less about chefs, or food in general. I am not one of those people. I love food, and I thoroughly appreciate the craft of cooking that is exemplified by high level practitioners. Whether it is the old lady who hand makes fresh tortillas, or the four star chef who leads a brigade of talented cooks, I find inspiration in the dedication to producing good food that nourishes people. Cooking with passion and purpose resonates with my soul, and Andrew Carmellini has come to exemplify that in my head. Chef Carmellini walked in, assessed the situation, and decided against the podium that had been set atop a stage of sorts. He politely asked those in attendance to gather closer, and he too pulled up a chair. He discussed the inspiration of the book in a casual and disarming fashion. It was completely devoid of the pretentious quality of many literary conversations, and Chef Carmellini even opted for a bit of crowd participation, asking people what they thought ‘American food’ was. He asked me that question, and I must admit I don’t remember much of what I said. It had something to do with the regional food that I grew up eating in New England, but I’m pretty sure the delivery lacked any real poignant insights. It mattered not, because Chef Carmellini listened intently, and made me feel—for a brief second—like I was part of his world. When all was said and done, he graciously signed my book, and I was off.
I finished the book the following morning—not unusual for me—and reflected on the experience of the day before, with two things standing out in my head. First off, chef Carmellini had been incredibly gracious and down to earth with everyone at the book signing. The second thing was that the book was incredible, and some of the stories had transported me back to my childhood memories that continue to shape my food experiences today. I felt that a email to thank him was in order, so I composed something quickly and sent it off before leaving the house for work. This was not an email sent with the intention of generating a response, but simply a cordial attempt at thanking someone for taking the time to interact with others, and doing it in a genuine way. I have made it a habit to thank people for things that they do because it seems that this is lacking in our society. I believe in the idea that gratitude to others goes a long way. Within the email I mentioned that I was looking forward to eating at The Dutch—his latest restaurant in Soho—though I figured it would be sometime before that became reality due to the ‘hot new place’ status it had generated.
I was shocked when Chef emailed me back that day. There was an offer made to help with a table if I wanted one. With my girlfriend Ashley in school, and interviewing for jobs across the country, Friday or Saturday was all we would have been able to do. I felt a bit awkward asking for a weekend spot.... but I did. Chef made it happen for that Friday at 7:30pm. This whole thing deserves a bit of context. For starters, The Dutch had received one of the most glowing two-star reviews in memory from NY Times critic Sam Sifton (a two-star review for a restaurant that insists on a fun and comfortable atmosphere is a huge win). Andrew Carmellini is widely considered one of New York’s very best chefs, and this was his newest venture. The Dutch was a restaurant where bona-fide people of importance or celebrity were clamoring to eat. And in New York, getting a table at a hot restaurant on a Friday or Saturday between 7 and 10 is a genuine blood sport. Another thing to consider is that at this time Chef Carmellini was releasing a book, working on the opening of a new location of The Dutch in Miami, and doing appearances at the Today Show, Google, and other media outlets. Add all this up and you have the perfect storm of factors that should have precluded me from ever enjoying a reservation, courtesy of the chef, at 7:30 on a Friday night.
Ashley and I were pretty excited come Friday evening. We don’t get to eat out often, and this was certainly a special occasion, mainly because we had been unable to spend much time together due to our schedules. We jumped on the subway and headed down to Soho, Ashley listening as I droned on about how excited I was. She puts up with me and my interests, and I make up for it by cooking her enjoyable meals and desserts. We arrived at Houston St. and walked the short distance to the corner of Sullivan and Prince. Strolling through Soho at night is both romantic and engaging, in a way that is unique to downtown New York. Lights flicker, side streets are quiet, people move with graceful purpose, and restaurants and shops project a glow and warmth that is lost during daylight hours. Arriving at the Dutch, I was struck by the fact that the restaurant resembles the image I had always created in my head of the quintessential corner restaurant in New York. It is truly inviting, yet still retaining that special air of ambiance, a coolness that speaks to the imagination, conveying that this is exactly where you want to be.
We headed inside and were led into the rear dining room that sports an open view of the kitchen. We were seated in a large u-shaped leather banquette that was home to two separate tables. This arrangement allows for a couple to sit adjacent to each other, which I find to be the best experience where romance is concerned. My positioning allowed for a wonderful view of the kitchen, while also being able to soak up the dining room itself, resplendent in reds, tans, black, and various shades of wood. It is a comfortable space that is elegant, classic, and modern at the same time. I was flooded with gratitude at the opportunity to dine there, at that table, on a coveted night in New York City. We were greeted by our server, who turned out to be excellent, both in personality, and the level of service he provided, hitting that special zone of hospitality that lacks any semblance of overbearing qualities. During the evening I was reminded of how much great service can accent a meal, and that so few places nail it like The Dutch. It really was a perfect setting for a great night, in a beautiful room, with my girlfriend who looked amazing, and a chef at the helm who knows how to take care of people.
We began the arduous process of narrowing down our choices, which can be quite difficult at a place where everything is something that I would like to try. Our order was placed, and we settled in for our meal, which consisted of:
Cornbread
Asian White Boy Ribs
Smoked Chicken Stroganoff
Glazed Pork Chop with Apples and Greens
Sides: House Made Fries, Spaghetti Squash
Buttermilk Pie
At first glance, the menu looks somewhat simple, and it is, but underneath the implied simplicity is superb technique, impeccable ingredients, and soul. Yes, I just used the word soul to describe a white chef who grew up in Cleveland, and I stand by the description, because that is exactly what Chef Carmellini brings to the table. I could describe with intricacy and detail, the nuances of each dish, but I won't. I could have taken pictures of the food, but I didn't, because I feel that this often stands in the way of a great restaurant experience. My memories are what matters, and they are vivid, easily transporting me back to that night. This is food that you really want to eat, that nourishes the spirit, and is always fun. Shouldn’t eating be fun? I think it should. Every dish we had was top flight, from the ribs with their succulence (I’m a sucker for anything with Asian-American flavors), to the Smoked Chicken Stroganoff that was probably the best thing I tasted last year. I long for that sauce in a way that is potentially unhealthy. Whoever would have thought that a dish with stroganoff would be the best thing I tasted last year? Certainly not me, but that is why Chef Carmellini is a killer cook. It is also important to note that the bookends of the meal were stellar. Kieran Baldwin, pastry chef at The Dutch, opened with the best cornbread I’ve ever eaten, and finished the meal with a dessert that really made me remember why I’ve always had a sweet tooth.
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| The Chef |
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| The Chef (beat maker, street art lover, and swell guy to boot) |
At some point during the meal, as I was enjoying a mouthful of the pork chop, I realized that Chef Carmellini was standing at our table. He was incredibly gracious, introducing himself to Ashley simply as ‘Andrew’, and inquiring as to how we were enjoying the meal. This was both unexpected, and incredibly memorable. Giving me a table was kind enough, but to leave the kitchen to say hello made an impact that has stayed with me to this day. It reminded me of how far kindness can go, and certainly put the icing on the cake of the best meal I ate in 2011. It is good to know that an incredibly successful person, at the top of his game, who often interacts with famous people, could be so down to earth. I was left feeling like I would love to hangout with Andrew, and not because he is a famous chef, but simply because he seemed like a genuinely good guy. Thanks Chef, and thank you to the entire staff of The Dutch for a wonderful evening.
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