“Oh hey, we have three vegetarians, two pescatarians and a gluten free! Sorry I forgot to tell you.”
Heard.
Sigh.
I’ve been cooking, professionally and otherwise, for decades. When I was young, we never really heard much about guests who didn’t want gluten or meat or whatever. We served what was on the menu, and the primary adjustments were little fillips to say thank you to a good customer — an extra piece or meat, or more salad, or somesuch.
Times have changed. And I am OK with that. While I don’t love it when guests have dietary restrictions that run counter to what my set menu is, especially since I cook fish and game so often, adapting and overcoming is part of the job.
And, if I have enough notice, it can be downright fun.
Case in point: A few weeks ago, I was in California cooking at the Wing & Barrel Ranch, a swanky sporting clays and pheasant club in Sonoma. We were cooking a wine dinner, and the menu had been planned out well in advance.
Leading up to the dinner, we had received no notice of any dietary restrictions. Cool, cool. Steady as she goes…
The first came in around 4 p.m., an hour or so before service. Vegetarians. Um… OK. Our menu went from shrimp to pheasant to lamb. Wheeeeee! My co-chef, Jim Cutler, took care of this one.
I can’t remember the exact dishes, but there was a grilled cauliflower “steak” in there, a composed salad, and mushrooms I think.
The reason I could not remember is because about an hour later, as we had already begun serving, we got word of a pair of pescatarians in the crowd. And while you might think the opening shrimp dish would be fine for them, I had decided to cook the shrimp in seasoned lamb fat skimmed off the top of the chilindron stew that was the main course.
Easy fix, though: I just pulled off some shrimp and seared them in olive oil. For the main course, we decided to cook a dish already on the club’s regular menu, a roasted black cod with romesco — it had vaguely similar flavors to the chilindron stew.
I took care of replacing the pheasant escabeche. I dug around the kitchen’s walk-in cooler and pantry, and found a can of boquerones. Perfect! The purpose of this course was to whet appetites with something bright and tart, so these cured “white” anchovies would be seamless.
I looked around the kitchen again, and dressed them with some really good, Meyer lemon-infused olive oil, a few drops of high quality sherry vinegar, capers, and micro amaranth. It was a really pretty dish, arguably better than the pheasant everyone else was getting.
At the end of the night, Jim and I were happy with our “rectal fetch” alternative dishes. The special plates came back empty, which is a sure sign because while people lie, plates don’t.
But I really, really wished I’d had the time to plan my alternative dishes. The reason is because if you give me that time, I can come up with a simulacrum of the primary dish that looks and tastes so similar that you, the guest with dietary needs, fits seamlessly into the evening.
Some chefs I know hate changing things for vegetarians or “glutards,” or whatever the current kitchen slang is. But most of us, myself included, welcome the challenge — especially if you give us a day or two to think.
My favorite example of this was a dinner I did with a vegetarian some years ago. She had given me plenty of notice. My appetizer was my salt cod fritters, dressed with a saffron aioli. Hers? Cauliflower fritters, same aioli. The little fried balls looked exactly the same, to the point where I had to keep track of them so they didn’t mix.
Everyone loved them so much that she had to guard her portion from the ravenous omnivores. But she felt the opposite of singled out: She felt special. Her dish fit in with the overall meal so, had she chosen, no one would have had to know that she was a vegetarian at all — her dishes looked like and tasted similar to the main ones.
Flash forward to the Backcountry Hunters and Anglers big fundraising dinner in March. I got word the day before that there was a vegetarian, likely someone’s spouse or date, given the nature of the event. My dish was a riff off chocolomo, a fiery offal stew where charred vegetables and meats are a primary component.
Impossible? Nope. As it happened, I had a variety of dried wild mushrooms in my car — since I am on the road this whole year, I carry my weird and crazy stuff with me. That variety of sizes, textures and flavors mimicked the different offal in the main dish.
So I set aside the other elements, used mushroom soaking water instead of venison stock, and charred her vegetables the same as everyone else. Again, her stew was not only good and visually identical to the one made with offal, it was every bit as tasty.
What’s the moral of all this?
If you are the cook, embrace the difference and welcome the challenge of serving your guests food that makes them happy and suits their needs. Don’t get all pissy and whine. It does you no good. This is not only the modern world, but making great food without gluten or meat or whatever will absolutely make you a better cook.
If you are the guest, please please please tell us as far in advance as you can. Your food will be a lot better because of it. That throwaway salad you got that one time? Chances are the cook got blindsided and did what he or she could in the moment.
Oh, and there’s one more thing: If you are front of house taking guests’ information? It’s on you to tell me, the cook, ASAP. I absolutely have had cases where the guest told someone involved — front of house in a restaurant setting, maybe it’s your spouse or friend in a home situation — and that message was never relayed to me. Grrr… Don’t do that.
Another fun bit about all this is why “Top Chef” is the only cooking show I still watch: Unlike virtually all the other shows, it presents situations that happen all the time in the real chef world. This is just one of them. I’ll talk about more another day.
“Six vegetarians, two vegans, a gluten-free and a pesco, all day chef!”
Heard.
I once took care of a woman who was celiac and also allergic to alliums. I told her we could absolutely work around these issues (even though try avoiding garlic and onions in a Greek restaurant) and she could still have a fabulous meal. When she mentioned that she was a vegan, the sentence "You seem so delightful, so why do you hate yourself so much?" flew out of my mouth (very unprofessional).
I have unusual food allergies and don't actually trust someone I can't speak with to prepare food for me. Preservatives are a no, it's the entire reason I cook so much. I appreciate all the recipes from total scratch that you do so that I am not missing out on so many foods. Glad to see you don't discount people with food restrictions!