The maternal energy you witnessed in the kitchens of your childhood is something you bring up a lot—the power of the female spirit. How has that shaped your craft?
I’m fascinated by women. I’m fascinated by the stories women tell—and also don’t tell. You know, I think of women as kind of like Russian dolls. There are layers and layers and then you get the tiny one on the inside, and she remains hidden a lot. No one sees her story. And I think that I am particularly interested in the stories of women from my culture, the stories that have often been very marginalized. I think it’s important for us to begin to own our narrative and tell our stories before somebody else tells them badly.
The chewy udon noodles, delicate desserts, and sushi reservations to plan a trip around.
How does this foundational experience of yours contrast with the more masculine energy that prevails in many restaurants? How do you reclaim that space for yourself?
I think I have to just always keep talking about how I grew up and remain authentic to that. I’ve never claimed to be a chef who has worked in kitchens for 30 years. I grew up around women who were experts at what they did, and who didn’t get the recognition or get paid for what they were doing. My mother can cook for 50 or 100 people without breaking a sweat. These are intuitive cooks, women with such wisdom, and such exceptional palates. So I’ve learned from the best and I teach my chefs to cook the way my mother, grandmother, and aunts taught me how to cook, and we keep their memory alive through our food.
Those lessons have seeped into your philosophy around hospitality, too—your book is called Comfort and Joy for a reason.
Hospitality comes above anything, but it starts with your team. If I’m charming to guests but not my team, that’s not true hospitality. So I think that idea of hospitality, of how you make someone feel—whether they’re a guest at your restaurant, a member of your team, or a supplier supplying to your restaurant—sets a really good culture. The second part of that is the idea of restaurants being places to restore. The word for restaurant comes from the French verb restaurer, meaning “to restore.” There is great power in being able to touch someone or transform their day, through a simple plate of food. There aren’t many industries where you feel that immediate effect of touching someone, you know, the way that you do with food. I always say to my team that we have to look at this as a complete privilege. If we’re not restoring our guests, if we’re not restoring our neighborhood and community, or the world around us, we’re not doing our jobs.
