Modernist-Cuisine-Vol.-1-Small

In the autumn of 2001, while working in a biochemical
research lab after graduating with degrees in
biochemistry and mathematics, I took a hard look at
the path aheadseveral more years of schooling
and research workand came to the realization
that a doctorate in science was not in my future. So
what should I do? There was every reason to believe
that I was employable in science. The only problem
was that my passions, at that point, lay elsewhere. I
decided to get a job as a cook.
To a lot of my friends, this seemed like a bizarre
decision. But for me, it was an obvious choice: I
had always enjoyed cooking, so why not pursue it
professionally? I figured that I would become a
better cook and make some money at the same
time. (Well, I was right about the first part,
anyway.)
As I look back on it, a career in the kitchen
seems to have been predestined for me. If my
parents are to be believed, my first word was “hot,”
uttered after I pulled myself up to the stove top. As
a toddler, my favorite toys were pots and pans.
And when I was slightly older, I attempted recipes
from my mother’s encyclopedic set of Time-Life’s
book series The Good Cook.
While in college, I came across an interesting
book by Harold McGee titled On Food and
Cooking. It captivated me. Often, when I should
have been studying science texts, I was instead
busy reading my copy of McGee. It made me
realize how much I didn’t know about cooking.
So I got to work filling in gaps in my knowledge,
cooking my way through books such as
Pépin’s La Technique and La Methode. But it was
Thomas Keller’s The French Laundry Cookbook
that kept me toiling away into the night, perfecting
my brunoise, skimming stocks, trussing
chickens, braising short ribs, and thinking about
becoming a chef.
As a student, it wasn’t long before I desperately
needed to subsidize my hobby with a job. My
grocery bill was getting out of hand! So when the
time came to decide whether to go for the Ph.D. or
for a job in a kitchen, I hesitated only slightly.
Unsurprisingly, there was not a lot of interest in
hiring me as a cook. But I was persistent, and
eventually the Seattle chef William Belickis let me
volunteer as an apprentice in his kitchen at
Mistral. It was a lucky break: as protégé of the chef
David Bouley, William set high standards, cooked
great food, and taught me solid technique.
But like many young and ambitious cooks, I
thought I needed to work at an acclaimed restaurant,
ideally abroad, and preferably in France. My
inability to speak French posed a problem, however.
Then I read an article about an obscure British
chef whose restaurant had one Michelin star and
who was applying scientific principles to his
cooking. No less than Harold McGee had said that
Heston Blumenthal was the future of cooking. It
sounded perfect, and, better yet, they speak
English in England!
My first meal at Blumenthal’s restaurant, The
Fat Duck, was an epiphany. I promptly arranged a
three-month stage. It was not a glamorous existence:
18 hours of getting your ass kicked daily. If
you woke up feeling remotely well rested, then you
were seriously late! Still, it was a fantastic job. The
food we were cooking was exciting, and Heston
was an inspiration. In June, Heston asked whether
I would help him get an experimental kitchen up
and running. It was not a difficult decision.
Beyond the privilege of working with Heston,
running the experimental kitchen for the next four
years gave me the chance to work with many
talented cooks and scientists. Harold McGee was
among them, which finally gave me the chance to
tell him, “This really is all your fault.”
But all good things must come to an end, and by
the late summer of 2007, I was ready to move back
to the U.S. with my wife and son. My next job was
uncertain, but while getting ready to move, I sent
Nathan Myhrvoldwhom I had met while
working at The Fat Ducka courtesy e-mail to let
him know that he should use my new e-mail
address if he would like to stay in touch. Three
minutes later, I received a reply: the subject line
read “Crazy Idea,” and the message said only
“Why don’t you come work for me?”
And that decision, too, was not difficult.
Chris Young
When I was two years old, I put my family in peril
in the name of chocolat chaud. I escaped from my
room in the middle of the night, found a pot, milk,
some Nesquik and a stool to climb on, but alas no
matches. The gas was left to fill the apartment for
quite a while as I pondered my next culinary
venture. Fortunately, tragedy was averted that
night, but my sense for culinary exploration was
left uncompromised. Our family had a great
passion for sharing good food, and they inspired
me to communicate through creative cooking.
My grandfather was a gourmand par excellence
who regaled us with stories of his experiences in
great restaurants, secret wine cellars, and obscure
chocolatiers. To him, food was a philosophy: “the
essence of existence,” he would exclaim before a
feast of Gillardeau No. 2 and cold Chablis. He
demonstrated the joys to be found in living with
an open mind and an adventurous palate.
I began to cook seriously while studying art and
literature in college. My friends and parents were
patient customers as I experimented with recipes
selected from my ever-growing collection of
cookbooks. Looking back at those early days, I
cringe at some of my interpretations of gastronomy.
But the creative freedom was alluring, and
soon I was catering dinners and small parties.
After college, I spent a few months at the
Institute of Culinary Education in New York City,
which led to a two-month externship with Allison
and Slade Vines Rushing at Jack’s Luxury Oyster
Bar, which was serving very refined Southern
food. The small team there permitted me far more
responsibility than I would have had in any of the
other top restaurants. It was Jack Lamb, one of the
great restaurateurs of New York, who inducted me
into the wild world of professional restaurants.
Soon after I started work at the oyster bar, the
Rushings returned to Louisiana, and Jack left it to
me to run the restaurant. Who knows what he was
thinkingI was only 22. But I gave it my all.
Eventually, I grew thirsty for more culinary
know-how and bought a one-way ticket to Europe.
I made my way to Megève, home of chef Marc
Veyrat’s legendary restaurant, La Ferme de Mon
Père. There I discovered the wonders of foraging
and cooking with wild ingredients, which Veyrat
incorporates brilliantly into his innovative cuisine.
On moving to London, I landed a stage in the
prep kitchen of The Fat Duck, Heston Blumenthal’s
extraordinary three-Michelin-star restaurant.
I met the research chefs, Chris Young and
Kyle Connaughton, who later invited me to spend
a few months working with their development
team and with Heston to create new dishes for the
restaurant and his 2007 book, Heston Blumenthal:
Further Adventures in Search of Perfection. Heston’s
exploration of clever flavor combinations and new
ways of presenting and refining food had a profound
influence on me.
Soon after, during a visit to Lyon, I was asked by
Jean Christophe Ansanay-Alex, the owner of
L’Auberge de l’Ile, to help open a new restaurant in
London. His approach to cooking, while imbued
with the soul of traditional Lyonnais food, was
incredibly nuanced and progressive; he was a
French Modernist in disguise if there ever was one.
From him I learned much: from making a proper
blanquette de veau and canneles aux pralines roses to
creating liquid-center polenta beignets and crawfish
with nectarines and almond milk.
But after a few months in Lyon, I realized I was
not yet committed to being settled. I moved back to
the United States and, upon reconnecting with
Chris Young, stumbled upon a most unconventional
but extraordinary opportunity. Indeed, it wasn’t
until Nathan Myhrvold took me on as head chef of
his ambitious book project that I began to really
explore the incredible depths of Modernist cooking.
In the process of documenting a culinary
revolution in progress, we have developed a strong
sense of what Modernist cuisine can be, even
should be. To me, Modernist cuisine is about
cooking in a thoughtful way that builds on acquired
insight while harnessing the precision of technology
and embracing a complete openness of taste and
creative spiritall in the pursuit of delicious food.
Guided by Nathan’s sensibility, deep knowledge,
and incredible creativity, our culinary, editorial,
and photographic teams have gone through a
tremendous learning process. I hope this book will
be approachable, useful, and inspiring to creative
chefs and curious cooks everywhere.
Maxime Bilet
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MODERNIST CUISINE
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