Chef’s the nft of reality
What if you could write an NFT of a fine dining experience via brain computer interface and store it on the block chain? Does that make Anthony Boudain’s bouillabaisse worth more in 2202?
Like a culinary degree in comparison to a bachlors of science, NFTs are not as liquid as traditional assets. This means that they can take longer to sell and may not be as easily traded. Second, there is no standardized way to exchange NFTs.
- NFTs: While digital, NFTs exist indefinitely on the blockchain. However, their value can fluctuate based on market trends and cultural relevance.
- Michelin Star Food: The plate is ephemeral, consumed in a moment, but the memory of the experience, the chef’s reputation, and the prestige endure.
Recipes
No body does it better, makes me feel quiet the way you do…
People will take a recipe from you, people will take a technique from you, people can take anything from your process, but there will never be another with the gesture, thought, and intention that you had when you made it. Oh, and by the way, when you added something on the whim on the line that night during busy service, it changed your recipe again.
The intention of a recipe
Sometimes it’s just to get something tasty on the table in a flash. When you are a fine dining chef, something else happens, a chef in general, but fine dining chefs take intention from the floors of the restaurant, the booth and table, the lighting, music, the plate, the flatware, the glass, the drink pairing, and the delivery. Fine dining is like a performance art piece full-on with characters you interact with, choose your own adventure with your dinner choice, colors, textures, and sounds, and a very special aroma.
As I write this, the scene from the Titanic where they are in the dining room dancing plays in my mind. Things I notice, the uniformity. Between the circular tables, skirts spinning, and the symmetry and compliments within the design.
But when a chef sits down to make a new menu, it is sort of like when an artist sits down to sketch. Ideas of everything you see, humans you talk to, books you read, and emotional reactions start to come to life. Chefs will sketch out their plates, cull ingredients like a photographer culls photos, and express themselves in a way a traditional artist cannot. Sure, you might be able to crawl on a huge 3d sculpture, stare at a painting for hours, or press buttons on a digital exhibit. A chef’s art gives you life. Literally, it feeds your body to convert it into energy. Personally, I think the French and the Japanese do the best job of thinking about this factor. If you have had a great 12-course tasting menu from a French chef, you never leave with leftovers or a food hangover. The balance from plate to plate, the portions small, and the variety plenty. Traditional Japanese sushi leaves you with some of the best nutrition in the world (well, it did before the fish were all weird.)
So when you look at that beautiful art piece on the plate that was $38 and its two carrots, do you feel the chef? Do you feel the chef when they had nothing to eat in their fridge? Do you feel the chef and their family’s joy from the spice choice in the ice cream that their grandmother always put in for them? Or do you complain about how it’s $38? Do you walk into an art gallery and complain about how much the Mona Lisa would cost to purchase it? Go buy a ham from a cave in Italy, there is more joy in it.
So that ham you bought in Italy, charcuterie was good right? Well chef bought one too. Now chef is going to mix it up with everything on your board, but add lettuce and a sauce from the sky. Your dream ham, just got better. Chef thought about where to put everything to make it prettier than Botticelli’s Venus, she’s just down the hall from the Mona Lisa.
Certain processes
Cannot be duplicated
Process and thought
So the recipe is written, the chef tested it, chef sent it to the staff to taste with a description and the “artist statement,” if you will, time for the favor the chef gave post-modern artist at scale. Production. Ya’ll think Jeffery Koons or Andy Warhol, or even Henry Ford for that matter, didn’t look at food production for methods? When you are making a single pie for your family it’s much different than making 45 pies. Do you know how many slices Uncle Jack is going to shovel down? How big are Uncle Jack’s slices? Fine dining weighs mashed potatoes to the gram. The math goes down; scaling the recipe, ordering ingredients, reservation numbers, and make sure you have at least two extra for that single girl who shows up late at night for a drink and dessert.
Gesture and Emotion
Some chefs even take their intention into the production process, storing certain things in different places, figure eights with whisks, using one hand for seasoning and the other for stirring. I think of Jackson Pollock painting and Grant Achasz doing their thing. Like a bird flying, their eyes completely focused on their work in front of them. I have often pondered if Grant watches his guests and can feel what they are feeling. I wonder if he thinks about the emotions that are mixing around the table. Chefs have this added luxury of standing in the gallery while everyone looks at the art, not just for the opening, but almost every day. I have watched this be incredible and a complete nightmare for a chef. For me, it was watching the garmage staff plate my dessert better than me with very minimal training. Not joking, went in the bathroom and composed myself because I started to cry. I did not witness but I have heard first-hand stories of a chef throwing menu items at a wall because a girl he liked made it and did not respond well to his advances. This had me questioning if the rest of that menu item just didn’t taste the same that night. As a guest in a fine dining art gallery, can you taste the emotion on your plate? As an art gallery visitor, does the art make you feel…not just emotionally? Only asking…because you can’t lick a Jackson Pollock.
The signature
A chef can spot a chef. I’ve been called to the line when a pastry chef patron through my pavlova on the floor, and it didn’t break. The silver lining to that mortifying experience, I threw one on the floor in the kitchen…it also didn’t break. Although it was a part of my menu, it was not my signature plate. Not that I didn’t care about it, but that I was very interested in my signature, a chocolate cake that changed my life. I assigned the pavlova to my assistants, but still took responsibility for that. The pavlova got me fired later on when it was incorrect on the line in the opposite direction. However, after my menu was scrapped, that chocolate cake it was so requested they put it back on the menu. The sad part, its really hard to make, I have no doubt in my mind they could use a few extra shared secrets on that one.
That’s the beauty of finishing something: it has a signature and it’s final. The idea is complete. The wave is set into motion after all the particles are lined up. The flavor doesn’t change midway through a plate, and if it does, stop eating and question it. Maybe the chef is throwing it at the wall in the kitchen. The same goes for a feeling in a relationship, a pair of jeans, and you might finish your shower if the water goes cold, but you will probably ask what the fuck and fix it before jumping in again. They say to chefs, you’re only as good as the last plate you put out. Whatever you are going to do… be a good one.
Chef Monaya
