by Scott Haas
Of course, Matt was right. Chefs are allowed to display public anger, a prerogative unique to professional sports as well, and one they especially revel in early on in their careers. It sure felt better than being sad or worried, and it was glorious to be able to scream at people knowing that they had to take it.
But I also knew that chefs, no matter how great or famous, would have been more productive and had happier lives had they felt and shown less anger. Anger is debilitating, a distraction, and a weak emotion compared to the power of love to change us.
So while I could relate to their intensity, their need to create and nurture, and their passion, it was only when I got older that I understood: You have to let the anger go.
Tony did not have anything to prove to anyone.
When he came back upstairs, he walked over to me. I was standing at the pass.
“What do you feel like eating?” Tony asked.
“Surprise me,” I said.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I get deep pleasure from thanking Laura, my wife, who introduced me to wine, and who shows me how to savor all things sensual. Delighted, too, to thank Jenni Ferrari-Adler, my agent and jackal in the making; Andie Avila, my editor, for her keen eye, honesty, and intelligence; the chefs who introduced me to restaurant kitchens—Gordon Hamersley and Silvano Marchetto; Darra Goldstein, who understood right away this project years ago in Gastronomica; the chefs, restaurateurs, and industry folks from whom I learn something new each time we are in contact: Daniel Boulud, Thomas Keller, Joël Robuchon, Luca di Vita, Alfred Portale, Roger Berkowitz, Mark Fiorentino, Carl Fantasia, and Jiro Takeuchi; friends who take the time to educate me about food and dining—Yuko Enomoto, Shinji Nohara, Claude Mangold, Shoko Inumaru, Georgette Farkas, Kristine Kiefer, Karina Shima, Ken Yokoyama, Ueli Buetikofer, Nancy Berliner, and Takeshi Endo; Chalit Chawalitangkun, a true friend; Jay Cantor, a real Krazy Kat whose kindness runs deep; Marjorie Maws, Stewart Maws, and Karolyn Feeks; the entire, stalwart front of the house and back of the house at Craigie on Main for allowing me to join them—including, but not limited to, Danny, Jill, Matt, Orly, Santos, and Ted, whose ferocity is kind of scary; to my mother and father for picking up the tab all those years—and for my dad who often told me about how the food he ate while we were growing up fell short of what he remembered eating as a child in Bavaria, and by telling me that introduced the idea that food could anchor memories otherwise adumbrated; and, above all, to Chef Tony Maws, a true original and man whose protean outlook and passion and skill are inspiring.
