A lot of people assume that the more complicated a dish looks, the better the chef must be. I’ve spent enough years in kitchens to tell you that isn’t always true. Sometimes the hardest thing to do is leave a perfectly good ingredient alone.
I’ve worked with gorgeous cuts of meat, fresh seafood, and vegetables that were growing in a garden not long before they landed on my cutting board. One of the biggest changes in my cooking came when I stopped asking, ‘What do I want to make?’ and started asking, ‘What’s good right now?’
Working around gardens and seasonal menus taught me to pay attention. A ripe tomato doesn’t need a committee meeting and twelve garnishes. A beautiful piece of fish doesn’t need to disappear under a mountain of sauce. And a carrot, given a little patience and the right treatment, can absolutely steal the show.
Now, anyone who knows me knows I love playing with techniques. Smoke, fermentation, pickling, live fire, making things from scratch—I can disappear down those rabbit holes for hours. But every technique needs a job. Smoke should make something taste better, not just announce that I own a smoker.
Acid should bring balance. Texture should make the next bite interesting. A garnish should have a reason to be there beyond looking nice in a photograph. If I can’t explain why something is on the plate, there’s a good chance it doesn’t belong there.
Respecting ingredients also means respecting what went into producing them. When you’ve spent time growing vegetables, breaking down whole proteins, or working with producers, waste starts looking different. Those stems, bones, trimmings, and scraps often have another job to do. Good cooking is creative, but it should also be responsible.
I still love the excitement of building a complicated dish. I just try to make sure the ingredient is the star and not my ego. Sometimes the best compliment a chef can receive is that the food tastes exactly like what it is—only better than you imagined.