I took my colleague’s travel advice to see the local area and not just do business then leave. I reserved some of my per diem for non-chain restaurants. This led me to finding a Reuben sandwich roughly the size of a loose-leaf binder in Moline, Iowa, the difference between barbecue from St. Louis, Missouri (ribs with sauce), Robstown, Texas (seasoned brisket), and Cerritos, California (Korean spare ribs), and other discoveries.
When business travel led to personal travel, I gained the confidence of dining at white linen restaurants . . . alone. The thought that started solo travel was if I have to wait for someone to go with me, I’ll never go. It carried to dining. Sitting alone at a fast food restaurant was nothing. Unaccompanied at Le Pont de Brent was intimidating, but I was willing to endure social awkwardness for the pleasure of an expertly prepared 17-course meal. Eventually, I had a collection of tape-flagged Mobil, Michelin, and Zagat Guides stuffed with faded receipts.
Let me summarize the pleasure of my visits in two brief anecdotes. Not one to seek attention, I nevertheless received it from two kitchens. I was finishing a plate of quail étouffée at Lacroix in Philadelphia. Wanting to enjoy every drop of the delicious sauce, I was wiping my plate clean with bread. Fighting the urge to lick the plate, I sensed someone standing next to the table. I apologized to Chef Lacroix for my table manners, but he reassured me, “I love to see people enjoy my food this way.” He sent me a second dessert. A few years later and midway through a 14-course meal at Joël Robuchon in Las Vegas, the server tells me, “You’re making the kitchen very happy.” Puzzled, I asked for an explanation. “Every plate you send back is completely empty.”
In spite of gastronomic pleasures such as these my world of food was incomplete. To better appreciate what was on the table, I decided to try preparing meals myself. Mark Bittman’s Minimalist recipes were the best first step. So, this is a stove, I thought to myself. Slowly I filled my kitchen with sauce-stained cookbooks, truffle oil, and Slap Ya Mama seasoning; duck fat smoke, flat meringue, and collapsed soufflés; chipped dishes, melted thermometers, and mismatched knives; and a thin film of grease in hard-to-reach places.
Soon I had answers to questions no one was asking.
Answer: Make mousse.
Question: What do you do with leftover foie gras?
Answer: Cover with lid.
Question: How do you put out a kitchen fire?
Answer: Apply direct pressure.
Question: How do you stop the bleeding?
Experiences in the kitchen give me a greater appreciation of what chefs and servers go through to put a meal on my plate and a smile on my face.
The travel and kitchen voyage continues.
“What treasures have you found on your culinary path?”
Michael Gabertan discovered eating a few hours after discovering breathing and has been on a culinary journey ever since. The college summer he experienced lobster bisque, cherries jubilee, and white linen tablecloth introduced dining excellence to his voyage.
Business travel permitted Michael to visit fine restaurants around the country. Personal travel introduced him to foreign interpretations of dining excellence. He was not always looking for amuse-bouches and petit fours, but a place that exhibited a passion for food prepared and served well. Whether it was a Michelin 3-star restaurant or a food truck, Michael looked for enthusiasm bordering on obsession for places to visit.
Michael has no training in food preparation or service. However, to deepen his appreciation of the effort to produce and serve a fine dish, he attempts to cook at home. Sometimes he is successful. Other times he goes to In-N-Out®.
