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Glamour Shots Food scientist Grant Achatz gets a close-up
Grant Achatz is the culinary Barack Obama. If you stacked all the press
that positively chronicles his rise, you'd have a glossy skyscraper of
Sears Tower proportions. Where his peers, evolutionary gastronomists
like Homaro Cantu at Moto, have endured scathing criticism, Achatz has
been a Teflon Don. The worst thing anyone has written was when GQ's Alan
Richman said Achatz's food was "a little too safe."
Regarding Achatz's cuisine, that's typical Richman. Richman, who once
lambasted New Orleans cuisine in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, is
fond of making arguments that'll play in Peoria whether he believes them
or not. Regarding Achatz's personality, Richman was on to something.
Achatz is one of the most deliberate folks I've met. He's got a
thoughtful answer to every question, and he's a philosopher as much as a
cook. He'll turn the abstract wall art at Alinea into a visual metaphor
for his cooking style at the drop of a fork.
While most college kids were finishing their last keg stands, Achatz
had already graduated from the Culinary Institute of America and worked
at Charlie Trotter's and the French Laundry. When he was labeled a
molecular gastronomist, he knew that being dubbed a food scientist might
distance him as a chef in an ivory kitchen, and he smartly rejected the
label.
Given this background, I was surprised to see the cover of last
Sunday's Chicago Tribune Magazine. There beaming in black and white
ring-a-ding-ding rat-pack glory is Achatz with ruffled hair, in loosened
black tie, his smiling chin exaggerated into Jay Leno like proportions
by lens distortion. It's definitely a care-free playboy side of Achatz
we've never seen. Next to Achatz in the photo is a frizzy-haired,
doe-eyed, mascara-slathered supermodel leaning over the dining table.
She's looking at the camera with a full-on quivering lower lip so plump
it reminds one of Angelina Jolie after a few minutes in an angry
beehive. And as my father who was in town this weekend said, (he's also
one of the most religious people I know), "It looks like she's angry
that someone just interrupted her while she was coming up from under the
dining table." To cap it off, the sub-headline on the cover dubs Grant
Achatz as a "Haute cuisine hottie."
Normally, I probably wouldn't blink at the cover, as I think people
are too serious about food and they need to lighten up in the spirit of
growing and learning as tasters and cooks. And on the surface this was
just a garden variety shot, the kind of ego-driven photography spurred
by high budgets and overactive stylists (Achatz's socks matched the
chair fabric in the picture) that you see every day in fashion
magazines.
But this was Achatz, the choir boy of what is sometimes a drug-fueled
world. Despite the fact that Alinea is very expensive, I still think of
Achatz as a democratic chef who believes in improving people's lives
through food. The Tribune cover seemed contrary to that.
Also, the cover undermined what was a well-written feature,
documenting the most memorable meals of some of Chicago's culinary
leaders, with witless glamour. The cover appealed to the crowd that
equates the cost of a meal with the quality of a meal, the same kind of
folks who see Alinea got four stars, immediately make reservations and
then wonder why they can't order a side salad. It sent the message that
the best meal ever should involve vacuous models at the expense of good
food.
Achatz doesn't have control over the editorial decision to call him a
"hottie," so I contacted the Tribune editors to ask about the
decision, but they did not respond by press time. I told them that I
thought the headline trivialized Achatz's craftsmanship by reducing him
to a pin-up, and that if they ran the same photo and headline with a
female chef, people might be up in arms citing blatant sexism.
I thought Achatz had control over whether he agreed to the shots in
the magazine, so I asked him about it. He was in the middle of a house
move, but he did mention my query to his publicist Jennifer Galdes, who
reiterated that there should be no question where Achatz's heart is. She
said, "Grant works as hard as any chef, and spends an incredible amount
of time in his kitchens."
In the last year, I've seen him de-stemming rosemary and separating
seeds from fruit during afternoon prep. I suppose he's entitled to have
fun, or at least appear like he's having fun. After all, magazines, as a
local editor recently told me, are aspirational.
In the end though, for Chicagoans who care about food, I think the
Trib went for the sexy cover to sell issues. Now that we're no longer
the second city of cuisine, we should expect more from our journalists.
I'm willing to bet most of the serious food enthusiasts in this town
regard Amanda Hesser or Mark Bittman and the rest of the New York Times
food crew as a better and more informative read than those at our local
dailies. This will continue as long as editors send the message that
glamour is more important than the idea of cooking as a craft and dining
as a cultural gathering point.
Also by Michael Nagrant Brunching in Brazil
Hungering for More
Ramping Up
Requiem for a Restaurant
North by Northwest
Smuggler's Blues
To Be Franc
Culinary Mythology
Sweet Sojourn
Super Party
Big Greek Breakfast
Mass Appeal
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