I myself am incredibly vulnerable to even admit it, but for a long time being a chef on TV saved me from being a chef in real life. By the time I turned 40, the restaurant I once couldn't run without me – Chef & the Farmer, my flagship restaurant in Kinston, North Carolina – could no longer run with me.
my series over the years chef's life After airing on PBS, Chef and Farmer transformed from a special occasion restaurant to a pilgrimage destination. Guests came from near and far, more to bite an itch than to be hungry. Fans of the show wanted to see me, but whether they were from Raleigh or Rhode Island, they wouldn't leave their seats until I showed up at their table. My presence stopped the flow of service.
I needed to step away from myself because I was a distraction. And my dirty little secret is that I wasn't 100 percent mad about it. At that point, I felt relieved that my life was no longer a revolving door that only opened to C&F. At the same time, I felt like a fraud. The viewers who watched me toil on the edge of the cutting board, chopping, laughing, complaining, were moved enough by those messy scenes to travel to Kinston. I imagined their giddy anticipation as they boarded the plane and headed east on Google Maps. On the show, I said that I would perfect my cooking with Kitchen Pass, but I hadn't actually done it in years.
It wasn't that I didn't want to be a chef. I enjoyed all the creative aspects of the job. I loved the rhythm and camaraderie of the kitchen. I even appreciated the pressure of service. It was so urgent that the dining room felt like an emergency room, even though they were only grilling scallops and not suturing the wound.
What I couldn't stand was that running a restaurant took up all my time and energy. Since opening in 2007, whether it's a friend's wedding, a high school reunion, or a sacred milestone like your 30th birthday, you've come to the right place to flip a fish on the sauté station or sear a steak on the grill. I've traded everything. I was grateful and a little surprised that I had accomplished the impossible of launching a busy business from a fine dining restaurant in a small town.But I wondered how long it would last, and honestly I wanted more of both. and You will be less likely to stray from your life.
Growing up on a farm, I saw how people lived to work. My father ate, slept and breathed the farm. Every aspect of my family's life revolved around tobacco, cotton, corn, drought, and heavy rains. And by the time I was eight years old, I had vowed that I would never become a farmer or marry a farmer. Obviously, I didn't know anyone who ran a restaurant. Otherwise, he probably wouldn't have jumped headfirst into an even more uncompromising profession. Farmers don't work night shifts unless a hurricane is coming and the cotton crop depends on it. Farmers also have weekends, at least during the winter. That's more than I can say for a restaurateur.
When the pandemic hit, the challenge I had created suddenly hit me. For the first time in 10 years, I can't rush out to go on a cookbook tour or attend a filming schedule. And at that point, my career in media often meant being completely removed from the day-to-day operations of C&F, much less the kitchen. I was unhappy with C&F's adverse situation and decided to close it without any thought of how to reopen, which was not a popular decision. The Kinston community was outraged, and to this day, many of them claim (falsely) that I moved to Charleston, South Carolina, where he is thankful he has two restaurants. . Why should I shut down the pride of a growing city? My family claimed that the restaurant was my legacy and that I had been short-sighted and arrogant in closing it. But my closest colleagues and friends understood that my legacy was what I was trying to protect.
Reopening a restaurant often requires bank financing, concept development, and significant hiring. Reimagining C&F with me at the helm (80 seats, 6 days a week) requires all of this and more. And, as happens with many people mid-career, my priorities and aspirations changed. Maybe you have a remodeling project you'd like to tackle, a book you'd like to write, or even a promising TV idea. Even if you're lucky enough to undertake these initiatives, you won't be able to polish your plate every day in Kinston. I wondered if I could do something temporary, something small but ambitious, centered around me. Is there anything that can reduce the financial burden of maintaining the Kinston space? Can you even coordinate cooking or organizing yourself at that level anymore? Has playing a chef on TV turned you into a glorified home cook who can only share digital tips and recipes? There was only one way to find out.
The previous C&F had a beautiful, custom-built kitchen, my first, surrounded by 16 seats. This is my inspiration. I planned to spend his three weekends between Thanksgiving and Christmas sampling the menu at what we now call Chef & the Farmer's Kitchen Bar. I told myself that if the weekend didn't work, I would postpone the experiment to a holiday and hope no one would bother me anymore. But as I started dreaming up a menu of C&F's classic dishes reimagined through a modern lens, I became more and more excited. I was rediscovering my talent and love for my craft. At the same time, I had a lot to prove.
First Friday night back Really difficult. Originally I had a grand design for a one-woman show. I was going to dye napkins, paint, clean, and reorganize the restaurant myself, with occasional help from friends and colleagues. I accomplished all of these feats, but grossly misjudged how long it would take. I also forgot how many hours it takes to prepare a 60-item order. And it's no surprise that after I stopped cooking in restaurants, I had to learn how to operate custom ranges that restaurants purchased.
You could say that a lot of variables were working against me. I actually bled while dismantling a black bass and had to rely on my charisma a little more than I had hoped. But Saturday was different. I was ready. I was there and took pride in my food. I worked smoothly with her team of 3 and serviced the women I have seen so far. chef's life While working for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in Siberia. He also welcomed the C&F regulars who once felt like family. I invited my parents and convinced them that I wasn't crazy. It was all a joy.
I've been serving dishes like spotted trout with preserved tomatoes and crab gravy and braised rutabaga and shallots with chili crisps for a few weekends now, and I have no plans to stop doing that. I like that rhythm. Projects have planning and execution phases, with a clear beginning, middle, and end. And I'm inspired by that transparency. I have responsibilities because I'm not the secret sous chef, but I'm just not there full time.
