Ten years ago I finished college and moved from New York City out to California. I discovered my inner hippie in San Francisco, my inner hipster in LA, and my outer foodie all across the state. After eight years of good work for a good cause, my outer foodie and inner chef teamed up and demanded a career change. I left a secure , meaningful job to explore my newly-indulged passion. My first step was to
stage - fancy French word meaning "work for free" - at some of my favorite Bay Area restaurants. I was nervous, but determined and quickly fell in love with my new adventure. The two weeks I spent at
Chez Panisse were incredible, life-changing. But that’s another story for another time...
I came to understand that in order to become a chef, I either needed to run off to culinary school or work my way up from the bottom. Although it meant earning a fraction of my previous income, I decided to go with the latter. And I decided – for a variety of reasons – to move back to Roanoke, VA where my family lives. I found a great job as a prep and line cook at a little farm-to-table restaurant downtown. For a year I woke up early and stayed up late, I bought
knives and read cookbooks, I burnt my hands and cut my fingers, I came to understand why they call it "the weeds”, and I learned a thing or two about how to cook good food.
Some lessons are hard learned. And I learned, finally, that although cooking is my passion, it is not my profession.
Discouraged, I volunteered on a couple of farms I had gotten to know through the restaurant. And I finally came to know my inner farmer (a genetic and latent predisposition, I’m guessing, since I've got farming on both sides of the family). I herded cows, fed pigs, and de-wormed sheep. And when I was done, I found my way - thanks to a kindly shepherd named
Craig Rogers - into a temporary gig as the general manager of another local
farm-to-table restaurant. After six successful months there, I passed the torch and took on another temporary gig helping out a good friend and an excellent farmer, Alec Bradford at
Leaping Waters Farm.
I've now moved to the D.C. area where I've started a new chapter of my life. I'm still thinking about my days on the farm, but I'm also reflecting on this new urban experience. I still feel like a farmer's apprentice and hope this blog will be a successful way of sharing old stories, new adventures, and ever-evolving perspective on food and on life.
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| Good friends gathered for a nose-to-tail feast in celebration of my 33rd birthday. |
Discouraged, I volunteered on a couple of farms I had gotten to know through the restaurant. And I finally came to know my inner farmer (a genetic and latent predisposition, I’m guessing, since I've got farming on both sides of the family). I herded cows, fed pigs, and de-wormed sheep. And when I was done, I found my way - thanks to a kindly shepherd named Craig Rogers - into a temporary gig as the general manager of another local farm-to-table restaurant. After six successful months there, I passed the torch and took on another temporary gig helping out a good friend and an excellent farmer, Alec Bradford at Leaping Waters Farm. 
