Job Security

Francis Lam expresses his and his fellow judges' anxiety over competing in the Quickfire Challenge.

What is there, really, to say about this episode but, “Awwwwwwwwwww…”? I mean, those kids! Their parents! Adorable. Tearz. Real waterworks. 

Well, let’s start from the top. And by “the top,” I mean, “the part where Ruth, James, and Francis risk their careers by cooking on the TeeVee.” Fun fact: The three of us did actually sit outside the kitchen before the challenge, saying things like, “No, really, I think this could ruin my career.” We were talking about our food careers, of course—fairly or not, who can respect a critic who cooks like a buffoon?—but considering Ruth was putting on her best French Maid-by-way-of-Greenwich-Village accent, James was trying to sound like an Oklahoma belle, and I dug back into my childhood to find my Deep Jersey Doofus (“Ay, yo, chef!”), our acting careers were certainly going to be smothered in their cradles.

And it turned out that we didn’t need to disguise our voices anyway, since the awesome hum of the ventilation fans, the desperate clacking of knives and clanging of pots made it almost impossible for the chefs and their remote-controlled cooking droids—that’s us—to hear each other anyway. By the time I heard Lorena tell me to put water on for pasta, Elvis had already left the building with a gaggle of groupies. But still, we at least crushed the sauce part of the dish. Big laughs, big hugs, mad respect, and let’s never do that again. Ok, I’d do that again. Next time, we’ll use cilantro, Lorena!Then the Elimination Challenge. I love that Lorena kept saying that this was her favorite challenge, because it was mine, too. Sure, it seems a little cruel that the challenge that determines whether a chef will go on to the finale forbids them from actually cooking the food, but as they all said, the real job of these chefs in their restaurants is to communicate a vision, teach skills, and let someone else make it happen on the plate. In an important way, this challenge really was the most true-to-life practice of what it means to be a chef. 

And the student-cooks were just adorable. No! Sorry! Let’s not talk about that, because I don’t want their cuteness to overshadow their skills, their work, and, most importantly, their desire to learn. At the table, we talked with the chefs and the students and their families. It was incredibly moving how proud of themselves the students were, and how proud their families were of them. And how, in many instances, these kids came from families that are in tough situations, and how much they believe in their dignity and hard work. 

I loved watching the episode and getting some sense of how they were working and learning under Chris, Lorena, and Kerry. How the chefs all had different styles and priorities—Chris in connecting the students to the life and truth of what they’re cooking; Lorena in showing her team how to concentrate and bring out flavor in what they already knew; Kerry in challenging his students to work faster, harder, and yet still in a more refined way than they might have known they could. Not one chef showed any hint of resentment that their fate wasn’t directly in their hands. They all did what truly great chefs do: they taught, they mentored, they risked their reputation by trusting in others, and they took pride in that. 

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Francis Lam: What's on the Menu?

The critic focuses on the first part of the cooking process.

When I talked with Chris Cosentino about cooking last season's Top Chef Masters finale dinner, he said one part of it was easy --the menu planning. The challenge then was to cook four courses, with a theme of letters: a love letter, an apology, a thank you note, and a letter to his future self. Chris' menu came together quickly because, he said, "I know who I am." The wording of the challenge was provocative, but it was really just a way of asking the chefs to tell a story about themselves through their food. It left lots of room for personal interpretation. 

This year, the finale challenge also asked the chefs to dig into their personal lives but with more specific instruction. Asking Jen, Bryan, and Douglas to make dishes that represented their past selves, their current lives, something from a mentor, and something from a protégé was asking them to encapsulate their careers in four courses. (Only giving them a day and a half to do it meant that no one could lie on a therapist's couch to unpack their memories, which is probably a good thing.) 

I loved this challenge, and I was happy to not actually be there as a judge, but rather as a diner, as an observer, and as a fan. Without having to worry about who did “better” than the rest, I could just focus on the food and, even more, on the insight into each chef’s culinary life. Who these great chefs thought they were.   

I loved the way Douglas’s first thoughts were to his formative cooking experience, the first dish he remembers making in a restaurant, and how it became his mussel billi bi soup. I once had a version of that soup at his restaurant Cyrus in 2007. It had so much mussel flavor I can still taste it. To taste it at finale was, for me, like the past come back to life. And for him, someone now so inspired by the lightness of Japan, to reach back to the glories of a wallop of cream and brine… it felt like he was starting the meal by going back to his roots. 

I loved the way Bryan went in another direction, going to the first dish he ever cooked for his wife. I thought his dish was fantastic: the sweet subtlety of crab hovered over the grains and the egg yolk, but honestly, I also could’ve eaten the OG version of a sautéed chicken breast with crab and cream sauce. I kind of miss food with names like Chicken Chesapeake. Who will be the brave soul to bring back ye olde cruise liner food in their restaurant? But anyway, Bryan’s cooking impressed me through the whole season with its creativity and intelligence—I was shocked to realize he hadn’t actually won a challenge until the end—but it was so great to see, in the end, how grounded he feels in his emotional side as a person and as a chef. The dish was light; it felt full of possibility. You could tell his was cooking with the memory of being at the start of something, the excitement of it. 

And I loved it when Jen took the “something borrowed” part of the dinner as a chance to nod to her old mentor Wolfgang Puck, from when he was borrowing from Chinese cuisine at Chinois on Main. Her “Chinese duck with shiitake broth, eggplant, daikon, grilled bok choy, and duck wonton” was too busy, too over the top, too 1992… and just freaking awesome. Just like L.A., really. (I used to think that L.A. is stuck in the '80s and '90s, until I realized that, no, it’s just that in the '80s and '90s, the rest of the country was just trying to be like L.A.) I hadn’t had the pleasure of eating her food before Top Chef Masters, but I could see a direct line between what she was “borrowing” and her own food: it pulls flavors from a global palette—pulls them mightily, puts her back into it—to come up with thoroughly American dishes. Her cooking is so muscular, so full of umami and depth and, when she wants to use them, pungent spices. 

There were many other dishes that day: thrilling ones (Bryan’s white-on-white dessert), masterful ones (I mean, you try to wrap a piece of fish in individual noodle strands like Douglas did!), just bang-up delicious ones (Jen’s paella gnocchi. That is all.) But I most loved seeing into these chefs’ past and how they went from there to who they are today. I haven’t had a chance to talk with them yet, but I wonder which of them will say that writing the menu was easy. All three of these chefs were so good, their cooking so assured, I wouldn’t be surprised to hear that from all of them.  

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