For several years after I sold
Cafe Beaujolais in 2000, people regularly approached me with the statement, “You must miss the restaurant.” I shocked them by saying, “No, I don’t.” How could a business that was my life for 23 years, 2 months, and a day not leave a gaping hole once I had let go of it? I think because I was ready. Yes, I loved it, I loved the staff, I loved the customers, and I loved the garden and the Brickery. But I was also tired, bone-weary tired, of this incredibly demanding business. And yet when I returned to the civilian life I thought I so desired, the contrast stunned me. Who knew that “real” life could seem so strange?
You may be wondering, “What is she talking about?” For starters, there is the relentless meal planning, shopping, cooking, cleaning up. So much work for a mere household? On the rare occasions when home-cooking happened during my Beaujolais years, provisions were assembled after a quick trip to the restaurant’s walk-in refrigerator, laden with superb organic ingredients. I used to joke that I’d never leave the restaurant business because washing dishes at home was so tedious. But it wasn’t so funny when I turned out to be right.
The real shocker was cooking for my daughter Celeste, who turned out to be the most demanding customer of my life. An adventuresome eater when she was very young, she narrowed her food choices drastically for several years. Too many nights of plain boiled noodles with Parmesan cheese followed, while my lovingly prepared “Mama food” (her words) was callously pushed aside.
The cost of eating in “real” life also stunned me. Every day for nearly a quarter of a century, I had most of my meals at the restaurant. Of course, I was well aware of those expenses (costs were scrutinized regularly), but it’s different when the money comes out of your own pocket. Factor in that I also worked more waking hours than the average couple combined, and it’s amazing how little money you spend when you don’t have time to do anything else but work.
Perhaps other restaurateurs lead lives more balanced and integrated than mine, but I doubt it. I recall a gourmet magazine feature profiling the contents of a chef’s home refrigerator. What was revealed was a sorry assortment of sour milk, moldy cheese, and a flaccid carrot to round out the food groups. I read that article, ruefully, recognizing a kindred soul.
Although much has already been written about the restaurant business, a veil of glamour still screens the less-exciting realities from public view. Or perhaps it’s hard to believe just how taxing a business it is: the endless hours of standing, the heavy lifting, the intense heat, the stress, the interpersonal complexities, the less-than-ideal diet. And did I mention the heat? And the stress? Now I understand why one of my close relatives burst into tears and sobbed, “For
this you went to
college?” when I told her, in 1977, that I had bought a restaurant.
It took about three years without Cafe Beaujolais in my life to create balance in what I think of as my “recovery phase.” And this brings me to this book and its origin. Why a revision of recipes from a restaurant I no longer own?
In November 2003, I attended the
Women Chefs and Restaurateurs’ 10th annual conference. (You can take the girl out of the restaurant, but not the restaurant out of the girl.) To my amazement, I was approached several times by women from all over the country who told me how influential my books had been: they quoted my text, they cited my recipes, they recalled experiences I had written about that had affected their career decisions. I was astonished. My only intention had been to inspire readers to head for the kitchen and prepare a good meal. Evidently, I had done more than I knew.
John Bear, my co-author, and I discussed this, and he suggested we write a new edition of Morning Food. A review of the recipes revealed that oat bran, for example, apparently deemed an essential ingredient in the early 1980s, does not enhance all baked goods. And recipe yields have been changed to reflect a more restrained, but no less enthusiastic, approach to rich foods.
Working on the new edition has brought back what I loved most about those years at Cafe Beaujolais but happily now have in my own home: getting up early and “going to work” in my sun-drenched kitchen, filling the house with delicious smells, and feeding hungry friends who just happen to drop by when another coffee cake is coming out of the oven. These activities have put me back in touch with the very best parts of my “old” life.
I still live in Mendocino, but nowadays I work in Fort Bragg at a job that I love as Culinary Director of the vibrant and exciting
Harvest Market, the world’s largest (40,000-square-foot) pantry. And I look forward to seeing my products in Harvest at Mendosa’s in Mendocino.
Nowadays a gym bag holding my daughter’s soccer uniform sits on the counter next to my professional mixer. This juxtaposition sums up my “new” life. What more could anyone want?
