Out of the Comfort Zone

James Oseland explains why this week's challeng was, in fact, such a challenge.

The ultimate birthday meal for me when I was growing up was a trip to Benihana, the great Japanese-American chain restaurant that introduced tableside teppanyaki cooking to America. To this day, that style of cooking strikes a deep chord for me: the sheer kinetic energy of the chef, the thrill as a diner of being so close to the physicality of the act of cooking. A teppanyaki restaurant turns the normal dining model on its head: Normally, cooking takes place behind closed doorseven in so-called "open kitchen" restaurants, or restaurants where you dine at a kitchen bar, it's rare that chefs work while looking the diner in the eye. But with teppanyaki everything is stripped bare, and the very process of cooking is as important to the dining experience as the food itself.

It's a lot harder than it looks, though. The teppanyaki is a finicky heat source, like a standard restaurant griddle station taken to extremes: it's blazingly hot in the center while the edges are relatively cool. As a result, the types of dishes you can use it for (and the quantity in which you can make those dishes) is fairly finite. 

Which brings us to tonight's episode: add to that the fact that the chefs didn't just have to cook for their diners but perform for them, and teppanyaki-style cooking becomes a true exercise in leaving your comfort zone. The chefs were handicapped by time (ten minutes at a cooktop is barely anything), unfamiliarity with the grill, and for some of them, simple stage fright. 

All the challenges on Top Chef Masters expose vulnerabilities and strengths in the contestants, and the chefs who shine are often those you wouldn't necessarily expect to. This week's challenge was all about stripping away crutches: there was no hiding behind baked goods and butter sauces. The ones who rose to the top, particularly Chris, Art, Takashi, and Lorena, understood and embraced the form they were given to work in. They used the teppanyaki to make foods that made sense for the cooking surface, and pared the architecture of their dishes down to a place that allowed them to use their time wisely while still interacting with their audience of diners.

Art's winning dish may have lacked beauty -- those poor grits cakes completely disintegrated -- but what it lacked in aesthetic appeal it made up with truly delicious flavor. Add to that Art's own very personality, his warm humor, and his surprising facility with large bursts of controlled flame, and it was the full teppanyaki package. 

On the other side we had Mark, whose ambitiously minimal dish of scallops, a piece of bok choy, and a bit of pickled mushroom fell flat. He was also very nervous, working slowly and quietly; what was edited in the show to a few seconds of sizzling scallop was, for us, a good while longer of silently watching him cook. That lack of showmanship could have been redeemed by a strong plate of food, but unfortunately what he produced didn't deliver. The bok choy was raw inside and faintly charred outside, and the scallops were cooked unevenly. 

I'm going to miss Mark. He's a smart, hilarious guy, and boy, can he cook. But one things for sure: I'm certainly not going to miss him as much as Clark is! 


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.