It was early September 2016 when I sat in a one Michelin star dining room in the center of Paris. It was my first time in Europe. Dining alone, with four years of high school French long faded from memory, I put myself at the mercy of the chef, carte blanche.
I fumbled through the first half of dinner, assembling the waiter’s broken English alongside memories of paging through the books of French greats, Escoffier, Bocuse, Robuchon, Passard, trying to learn French cooking techniques. The meal was wonderful, and when the staff realized I was a cook, I was brought back to the kitchen, for a tour.
The chef and two cooks stood elbow to elbow in a kitchen no large than the one in my 600 square foot apartment in Chicago. Greeted with smiles and handshakes, the chef, who spoke no English, described passionately something the waiter did his best to translate about their pride in their trade and gastronomic history.
Through a whimsical blend of gestures, cognates, and a perhaps unspoken mutual love of food I was able to share that it was my last two days in the city, and I had checked all the boxes but one: a meal at L’Arpège. Renown for having committed l’acte indicible of abandoning the use of red meat on his menu in 2001, Alain Passard was a chef who inspired me, but I had been unable to get the reservation.
I was taken back to my seat after my brief kitchen encounter, and extra courses continued to appear. Just as another plate hit the table the chef jogged into the dining room and frantically waived his hand signaling me to follow him.
Confused I politely folded my napkin and began to follow, almost to slowly, as the chef darted out the door and down the street. Running just to keep up, I was utterly confused and in the wrong shoes to attempt dining and dashing in a foreign city.
As he reached the end of the street, I caught up to find him at a corner bistro greeting a table of four silver-haired French men, with far more than four empty bottles of champagne on the table. Hands were shaken and a flurry of French laughter exchanged as they quipped more quickly than I could comprehend.
With his arms crossed, leaning back in his chair the gentleman at the far side of the table was introduced to me as the owner of a prestigious champagne company.
“Ahhhh, L’Arpège, oui oui je mange là-bas une fois par semaine! I weel call zem toomarro.”
Confused I fumbled, “Merci beaucoup, enchanté!”
The chef hurried me back to my seat in the restaurant. Not fully understanding what had happened, and having had received a very discounted bill, I thanked the staff graciously after my meal and spent the evening getting lost along the Seine.
I awoke the next morning to a message; a reservation had been confirmed for me that evening at the 3-Michelin star L’Arpège.
The meal was a dream. Everything they prepared was sourced from their own farm outside of Paris. I couldn’t believe the restraint in the execution of each dish. The simplicity of every plate and the clean taste of every ingredient. I had no idea food could be so elegant and so grounded.
The meal forever changed the way I cook and eat, and I’m happy to share this was the first of many international experiences that have shaped the chef I am today.
There is something profound that happens when we go somewhere we don’t know, and simply open ourselves to it; when we try and speak a language we don’t, or eat the thing we don’t recognize, or let ourselves by taken care of by someone we’ve never met.
So stop waiting for an excuse and go. Cook. Eat. Learn. We at The Chopping Block encourage it. We encourage it so much in fact, that we offer unique trips around the world to do just that. Check out this year's trips to Italy and Ireland, where you’ll get the chance to eat, drink, and cook with likeminded travelers, and expert guides.
