A Chef and a Connoisseur

A Chef and a Connoisseur

The chef is a master. No doubt. The chef knows their ingredients by smell—what goes together, what aromas are enhanced by other aromas. The chef is a skilled technician who knows their ingredients before they know they know, on a molecular level. They know when an item is ripe and when it is spoiled within minutes.

So, when the onion and garlic hit the sizzling oil, that smell signifies generations of a beginning. Not the beginning—because onion and garlic are the base. They start the recipe, no matter what. And everyone knows that smell. Onions and garlic in butter. It’s the beginning of something rich. Everyone knows it. Mouths begin to water. Aroma melts in the molecules of the skillet. Stomachs growl.

This is a beginning, and it will introduce the rest of the story before the story unfolds. Because this is where connoisseurs live.

Connoisseurs know this is a beginning, and they know to wait. They know this is the beginning of a journey, not just food. Soul food. The best will wonder what comes next. Ginger? Filé? Wine? Flour? They will wonder from their lounging position on the couch, or maybe while they get ready for church. What’s important is that they are not affected by the smell of onions and garlic in butter. They KNOW that it will be hours until whatever is cooking is ready, and the smell of onions and garlic in butter will have transformed into a complex melody of grown flavors.

Watch for those who wander into the kitchen at the smell of onion and garlic in butter. They are thieves.

They may not be malicious. They may be starved and ready to consume anything edible placed in front of them. This is not their fault. They just don’t know.

The Connoisseur knows. The Chef knows. Ingredients are added, slowly and deliberately. A crowd gathers. Napkins unfold. People are watching this feast come to life and they know—this is going to be an amazing show. An amazing meal that will leave them full and fat, and they can’t wait.

Potatoes. How much longer? Potatoes come out. Why don’t you turn up the heat? They want to know.

The chef. The chef is preparing. Has planned and tested and tasted and wasted and cried. Performed a dance of herbal tradition and ancestral preparation. And everything is lined up and timed perfectly—if the guests would just eat the cheese instead.

Please, the wine is vintage and will pacify your urge to consume me, my meal, before it is ready.

The chef will step away, mostly to care for self outside of the warm kitchen, maybe to sit for a moment while the pan deglazes.

In their absence, someone will sneak into the kitchen and steal a taste. They will get caught and they will laugh and the chef will be angry. Because it isn’t ready yet. A swat of a wooden spoon and a smear of flour ends up on face. People sneak into the kitchen in jest and it is infuriating.

And while the sharks are appetizing, the Connoisseur peeks into the kitchen. Not to observe the food—to observe the chef. Water? Fresh towel? A kiss on the forehead. They know.

The mother recognizes her deviation from grandmother’s recipe. The friend knows it’s about another hour and I hope she remembers the salt this time. The mentor recognizes a new smell. An addition that wasn’t in the cards or the conversations.
The mentor panics because it’s probably vinegar, and I told you what vinegar can do—look now you’ve ruined it.

Everyone quiets. Silverware chime their last clinky chime, and hushes hush.

The Connoisseur is tall. The air is pregnant with ancestors, and bravery, and new, and fear.

This is not the recipe—and the recipe can be new—and it is the recipe—but it’s better if you’ll just please stop please don’t just.

The Connoisseur will refuse this meal. This is not their favorite meal. It smells different.

Where is the bread? I like my wine with my meal and this smells very different and I’m going to… hand me the salt.

There is a tussle between hands. Salt flies here, flour there, a spoon gets flipped and sauce is everywhere. Everyone is quiet and no one looks at anyone else.

The Connoisseur walks away. The chef looks up. All eyes return glances. Shame, delight, indifference, hunger.

Chef returns to the roux, just in time to take it off the fire and let it rest. Plated. Wiped. Garnished. Served.

Astonished.