james beard event--napa--the reverend of fat

this story will be challenging to write.  as one of this weekend’s more memorable characters put it best, it’s like every hour of the weekend is five hundred color photos, how can you possibly explain what it’s like. 

well, i have forty photos, and a fair amount more in word. so, i'm gonna give it a shot. 

it all started two weeks ago when I walked into the butcher shop at blackberry farm for the very first time.  although two weeks is a short distance in time, two weeks of ten hour shifts in a forty five degree steel box, hands wrist deep in near frozen proteins—well, let’s just you start to get to know a fella. 

so there stood michael Sullivan (head butcher at blackberry--also of cochon 555 fame)--or sully, as the charcutier is almost always known. upon first sight, you could tell he was just a little bit different.

sully proved within the first ten minutes of conversation to be a completely unique individual.  like some sort of real life comic book hero, sully is some sort of four star general leading a one-man army across the pastures of mediocrity and lacklusterness to the fabled land of old-world artisanal charcuterie and skillful craftsmanship.  his eyes ablaze with passion, he thinks and speaks almost entirely about one topic:  breaking down animals.  information, and stories, and opinions, and references, and even the not-irregular full length sermon stream from his mouth like the stock price ticker tape.  the man educates—his student body:  everyone.  

here and there throughout the week sully kept making mention of an event coming up for which he was travelling to napa.  tidbits and hints—stories from events past—reminiscences of butchery competitions and festivals gone by—began seasoning our conversations at an increasing pace. 

as week two in the butcher shop began, the pace of our work doubled as we worked at top speed to get everything done in time for the away game.  four chefs from around the country, selected by the celebrity chef tour, which supports the James beard foundation, will butcher four whole lambs, a dozen rabbits, one hog, and four massive salmon to be prepared atop log fires in front of over a hundred guests in napa valley.

one night after work, while filling her in on the details of sully’s trip, she mentioned six beautiful words:  why don’t you go with him?  and that’s why I’m marrying her, folks. 

sully and i landed in san Francisco and caught a ride north to wine country.  our first destination was farmstead—the host for this weekend’s event, and our home for the next three days.

on sully’s direction and insistence, we walked through the back door and directly into the humming kitchen.  dinner service was in full swing at farmstead, and I felt deeply uncomfortable.  like a lost child, I shuffled through the kitchen and out the front door of the restaurant as quickly as possible to recover from the self imposed anguish.  had you told me just thirty hours later I would confidently stride into the back door of ad hoc, one of Thomas keller’s holy kitchens, with a freshly muddle rum and fruit cocktail to shoot the shit with yet another renowned chef, I would have scoffed in disbelief. 

the next two days straight were spent prepping for the event.  plans of barrel tasting at a friend’s vineyard, and ideas of visiting long meadow ranch’s (the farm side of farmstead) grassfed cattle herd quickly evaporated as the task at hand became all consuming. 

a team was gathered.  in addition to sully, I would be working for and with chef Stephen barber (chef at farmstead, napa, ca—formerly of fish story in napa and mecca in san francisco), chef john currence (chef and founder of city grocery, in oxford, MI—deep south food icon and previous james beard foundation winner for best chef south), chef chad Colby (chef at mozza, los angeles, ca, and last year’s winner at cochon555 LA, a traveling nose-to-tail hog competition).  swooping in to bust ass along side them, despite having to commitment to do so, was chef john fink (chef/propietor at the whole beast, can Francisco, ca).

supporting the celebrity chefs were three culinary institute of america student volunteers, farmstead’s one-day-fresh farm to table manager, a current kitchen/farm intern, and myself (no culinary background.  never worked in a kitchen or at any restaurant--ever). 

the entire kitchen at farmstead, not to mention its staff, was also essential in a myriad of ways, however, a jam packed restaurant, as well as a concurrent wedding being held the night before, kept them pretty busy on their own work throughout much of the process. 

and then, the night of, we were right their on the front lines.  in the shit, as they say.  the entire experience was outer body for me, and expanded my spectrum of appreciation for chefs and restaurant employees from it’s already inflated position.  the effort was intense, but with much reward.  in napa valley, a modern day garden of eden, hard work is rewarded with tasty delights.  

two fifteen-hour days of consitent team effort was required to pull off the event.  as I type, my fingers ache with knife sores.  a dozen slices and burns sting across my skin.  my eyes are devastatingly heavy.  my legs are sore and achy.  

cinder block kitchens were constucted, whole animals were hoisted onto shoulders, and logs were gathered for burn.  

i’m filled with joy, and pride, and satisfaction for having been “on the team”.  overcoming my first minute fears of stepping foot into the kitchen for the first time, I eventually found myself standing along side the celebrity chefs, front center at the tableside carving station, assisting with almost all aspects of the entire night.  it felt like being under the lights at wimbeldon—it was the real deal. 

my hard work, and ability to learn quick kept me almost entirely out of trouble as my first day in a kitchen was akin to game seven of the world series.  in a hilarious and undeserved manner, I was referred to as “chef” nearly thirty times throughout the multi hour event by various staff members.  “yes, chef”.  “right away, chef.”  “sorry, chef”.  no time to correct them—the pace far too hectic to deviate from whatever three tasks were currently underway.

after the event, which was received with rave reviews, an adrenaline pumped crew stayed up wee into the morning hours enjoying some of the valley’s finest juices.

in the photo above, you'll take note--one of us isn't in chef's whites.  

the most remarkable thing, despite the immense effort which was spent to pull the evening off, everyone decided to do nearly the same thing again the following day—just for fun. 

twenty or so friends—most new, some old—gathered around another cinder block fire pit for a wine soaked feast for the ages.  chefs, and vinters, and farmers, and friends gathered vineside to cap off the weekend with an afternoon of stories, food, and good drink.  the century old zinfandel vines provided a serene backdrop for the impromptu affair. 

a red-eye back to Knoxville later and the whole thing reads like a foggy dream.  did it even happen?  at times throughout the day I’ve been almost certain it didn't.  I mean, how could it have?