James Beard Awards 2015: a conversation with Chef Chris Koetke

Last Friday, I had the absolute pleasure of speaking to Chris Koetke. In case you're not familiar with him, here's a bit of his formidable resume.

Koetke began cooking professionally in 1982, and has worked in some of the world’s finest kitchens, including French restaurants Pavilion Elysees, Pierre Gagnaire, Taillevent, and Pierre Orsi.

I know! Right?!

Currently, Koetke is the vice president of the Kendall College School of Culinary Arts in Chicago, an institution at which he's also taught and served as associate dean, dean and executive director.

Under his leadership, the School of Culinary Arts was awarded the Academy of the Culinary Arts Cordon d’ Or  and named “exemplary culinary program” by the American Culinary Federation. In 2009, Kendall was named the official educational partner of the National Restaurant Association Conserve Environmental Initiative and was the first culinary school in the U.S. to receive Certified Green Restaurant status from the Green Restaurant Association for both the Dining Room and Cafeteria.

On May 4, Chicago will, for the first time, host the James Beard Awards, aka the "Oscars of the Food World." I was invited to speak to Koetke about the Awards, what we can expect from them, and trends that will be celebrated and impact the culinary arts in the near (or, possibly, long-term) future.

The biggest shift  Koetke noticed this year is that there are just four previously nominated chefs in the impressive slate of contenders. Usually chock full of usual suspects, this year's crew is fresh and new.

A study of the nominees' menus provides further evidence of the evolution away from expected standards.

For example, ingredients previously considered supporting actors are now showing up as the stars: carrots as stand-alone mains; charcuterie platters as proud entrees bursting at the seams with house-made mustards, preserves and pickles. 

At this point I interjected to ask about Paul Virant, chef at and creative force behind Perennial Virant (PV) in Chicago and author of The Preservation Kitchen, a beautiful work I snapped up while sitting at the bar, fat, happy and impressed, of PV a couple summers back. As it turns out, Virant and Koetke are pals, and Koetke couldn't say enough good about his friend.

Another trend Koetke noted is that old is now new. Perhaps you've noticed the preponderance of punch, for example, on your favorite cocktail joint's menu. I've been thrilled about this resurgence since discovering The Franklin Bar in Philadelphia's Center City and imbibing their tremendous, old-school punches and drinks.

Lastly, ramen. Koetke sees ramen as a mega-trend with enormous staying power. Remember how pho had a resurgence several years back? It's kinda-kin, ramen, came along and has taken the reins. DC peeps, there are many ramen establishments to choose from now: Daikaya, Sakuramen, Toki Underground... Go forth and eat a trend.

Koetke sees these trends continuing, and I'm in full support.

I also asked about how institutions of culinary education  navigate the potentially tumultuous waters of classic, "old-school" cooking and newer, hybridized, improvisational methods. 

"That's the $100,000 curricular question," Koetke replied. "At Kendall, curriculum is a living thing, and we try to stay current and expose our students to as much as possible while making sure they are well-versed in technique; technique is core." Kendall's program boasts an impressive international component, and on campus are three restaurants from super-casual to formal so as to provide students much in the way of real world experience.

Our conversation sped by, and I wished we'd had more time. But stay tuned. The Awards are two weeks from today!

Pie fail

Y'all, I woke up with the greatest inspiration yesterday: a rhubarb meringue pie. Rhubarb is tangy and tart, rather like lemon, and I just thought it'd be a lovely twist on an old classic.

I made some unsweetened rhubarb puree, to stand in place of the lemon juice, and prebaked a perfect crust. The eggs came together beautifully, both yolks and whipped whites, and I slid the pie into the oven with grand hopes. Experimenting in the kitchen is such fun!

Is this not beautiful?

Ah but looks can be deceiving, and this pie was not great. Rhubarb is not as tangy as lemon and as I'd not reduced the amount of sugar, the custard tasted rather like some sort of sweet, herbaceous cream.

just look at that meringue

After a few bites, we gave up, and with a gentle tip of the hands watched 90% of the pie slide easily into the garbage. Better luck next time! 

Thoughts big and small

I am bone-tired this morning. Even my heel-pads ache. I gardened, ran and worked out yesterday in addition to taking Jack to a trial French class, going to the market, and actively negotiating Wii usage for hours, so there's all that, but still. 

Last night, Tom and I made a simple but superb spring dinner last night and then sank to the couch like weights dropped in a stream.

springtime caprese

We finished Episode 1 of the new documentary, Cancer: The Emperor of All Maladies (based on the book by Siddhartha Mukherjee). Despite the heavy subject, it's really, really excellent. Toggling back and forth between past and present, it provides, through the sobering lens of pediatric leukemia, a thorough sense of the evolution of cancer understanding and treatment which is both fascinating and hopeful. You want to kiss the feet of the brave doctors who have persevered in the face of kids dying horrible deaths and then go hug your children and send gratitude for their health into the skies.

fava bean and mint puree; we slathered this atop griddled bread

I'm now sitting quietly on my couch, both utterly tranquil and stressed about how soon this peaceful solitude will end. T took the boys to swimming lessons about a half hour ago, so I gather I have just about 40 minutes left to read the paper and finish this post and my coffee. Naturally I know that's impossible, and while I will be happy to see the boys rush through our door and regale me with news of their progress and which Dum-Dum flavor each chose, it is mornings like these, when much of me wishes I had the whole day ahead of me and alone, that I feel so very stretched by motherhood.

yogurt chicken with aleppo and lemon, caprese salad, sauteed asparagus/english peas/Brussels sprouts and pecorino

Yesterday, after meeting Jack's French teacher and surveying the classroom, I hugged him goodbye and said I'd be back at the end.

"Je t'aime, Mom."

"Je t'aime aussi, Doodle."

What a soulful love that little boy is. I want to give him every opportunity and walk alongside him as he forges ahead in life. But that giving tends to tip the scales away from time to pursue my own interests and goals. In the most unequal of moments, I feel as if the early years of motherhood strongly suggest I put huge swaths of my life on hold. Daily. For a long while. 

I don't resent that, but it compounds the challenges of motherhood which are already great.

Friday night antipasto dinner with strawberry lemonade in wine glasses. Festive!

Children are not goals. I have hopes for my boys, sure. But other than feeling confident that I'm raising terrific humans, I don't derive from mothering them the sense of accomplishment I do in finishing an essay or laying that last bag of mulch. Nor do I feel I should, for children are people not pursuits.

the antipasto platter

At times it is utterly thrilling to feel yourself subsumed by something, but in other moments, it's discomfiting. As if a force beyond your control is reeling your soul away to an unknown land. Do you know what I mean?

a pile of zucchini-feta fritters

I love my boys with such fierce desperation. Yet within that cocoon of love I sometimes feel bits of myself slipping away, as if on a boat that's loosed its moors. I don't feel I can push back on them in the way I do T or friends; not yet at least.

Surely this is one reason so many people speak of parenthood in terms of sacrifice. I'm not totally comfortable with that word in this context, except in the most denotative of ways: there are, literally, sacrifices made (financial, for example).

But, I chose to have children, so it seems unjust to then burden them or our relationship with the guilty connotations of words like job and sacrifice. And so for now, I find my way, in moments stolen and planned, in the words swimming through my head and committed to the page. And I am grateful for it all.