Christopher Kostow - A New Napa Cuisine

A JOURNEY TO NAPA

The prospect of writing a book terrifies me. My DNA screams against the idea of creating something permanent. To take a snapshot of my work now, to record something that is physically temporary (food meant to be eaten) and philosophically incomplete (ideas not yet there) seems foreign to me. I have never for a moment believed that I have arrived. Perhaps the only thing that I hope for is to be better tomorrow than I am today. My approach to the processes of cooking has evolved over time and will continue to change. Its comforting to know that my mistakes, foibles, and all things not quite perfect are being hammered out by the passing of time and gaining of wisdom. Like a river rock whose sharp sides have been smoothed by water, my thoughts and ideas about food lose their jagged edges and grow ever more succinct. I am nothing if not relentless, and Im not sure what I would do without the comfort of knowing that I have another year to perfect an idea or follow an inspiration. Thats probably why Ill do this forever.

As time goes by, I meet more people who contribute to what we do at The Restaurant at Meadowood: purveyors who raise a tastier squab or age a better beef, artisans who collaborate on a new plate, growers who successfully raise forgotten heirloom vegetables. New cooks and sous chefs bring the knowledge of their experiences; fresh activities are explored (frogging!). I read more books and meditate a bit more on the place I am in. These efforts are not Sisyphean. We are not pushing the same rock up the same hill each year. I think (hope) that we are getting smarter and better. We need to, for as the hill becomes taller, our climb gets steeper.

I have long favored the idea of wizened chefs writing books and sharing recipes in the twilight of their careers. I imagine these tomesthe accumulated knowledge and perspective of that cheffilling the sagging shelves of a great library. When taken together, these retrospectives would make up the whole of culinary history. But thats not how it works. Food is fluid, and our ideas as chefs are like those rocks in the river. What I have come to realize in thinking about this book is that those rocks are beautiful well before they become smooth, and that the smoothness is less interesting when not seen against the jaggedness that preceded it. The journey has its own value. The rivers story ought to be told as well.

So Im writing this book not as prematurely released greatest hits but rather as a celebration of where I am now. I dont want to cement my place in one locale or style or perspective. I just want to explore where I have been and share where I am today. When I lived and worked in Provence early in my career, I came across an old edition of Ralph Waldo Emersons writings. I carried that little, bright blue book with me for many years, memorizing the passages that I should have learned in college. If I disappoint anyone by departing from things that I have said or done in the past, I point to the quote that opens this introduction. While not a great mind, I fear that if I create a consistent definition of who I am as a chef, I will cease to be able to absorb new thoughts and ideas. In saying this is who I am, I dont want to unwittingly ensure that I can never be anything else.