Mission: Cook! (2 page)

Then add all the other ingredients to the pot and simmer 40 to 50 minutes until all the flavors blend. Set this aside to cool.

When the ribs are cooked, carefully remove the plastic and allow the meat to cool.

When the ribs have cooled, coat with the sauce and cook on the barbecue grill or in a 450-degree oven until beautifully hot and caramelized, which should take about 15 minutes.

These would go great with a fresh coleslaw and a couple of Heinekens.

Finger-licking good!!!

Drain
and rinse all liquid off the beans; set aside. Heat the oil in a sauté pan and lightly sauté the onion and garlic until translucent.

Add the red wine and reduce by half. Add the demi-glace and tomato paste, then incorporate the beans. Lower the heat and simmer for 10 minutes. Add the rosemary and chives.

Season with salt and pepper to taste. Serve over rice.

In
a medium, heavy-bottomed saucepan, put in the milk, rice, and salt. Cook the rice at a low simmer (
do not boil
) until the rice is tender. (In classical French cooking, a “simmer” is
just below
the boiling point, when the bubbles are rising to the surface—but don't break the surface—of the liquid. This is the definition of “simmer” I am using here.) Once you achieve a simmer, the rice should take 20 to 30 minutes to be ready, depending on your cooker.

Remember to
keep stirring
so the rice doesn't stick to the bottom.
Taste the rice to make sure it is tender.

Once the mixture has cooked,
remove from the heat
and add the sugar, vanilla bean, raisins, and egg yolks. Keep stirring to incorporate all of the flavors, then let the mixture sit for about 10 minutes. The sugar and vanilla will infuse very quickly, giving a flowery aroma.

Add the heavy cream and butter. Just mix them well together in the saucepan.

Spoon into ramekins or individual serving bowls.

Rice pudding can be served warm, at room temperature, or chilled. This particular recipe benefits from sitting overnight in the refrigerator.

You may want to grate fresh nutmeg over the top or sprinkle with cinnamon, as many people do, but I prefer the pudding without.

I
N THE YEARS THAT INTERVENED BETWEEN THE INCIDENT AT ADEN AND THE
story I am about to relate, I suppose I had gained a measure of notoriety and a good deal of experience, and I was extremely pleased to accept an invitation to create the food for a charity dinner and after party following the 2005 Academy Awards.

In fact, a fellow had approached me the year before to cook for the same affair, the “Children Uniting Nations” Awards Celebration & Viewing Dinner. I was then under contract as executive chef at Caesar's in Atlantic City and was constrained to decline with regret, but this time, a year later, I was on my own and was about the business of establishing myself as what I would describe as an independent culinary operative.

My career to date had been a peripatetic one. Since my stint with the Royal Family, which in itself was characterized by constant travel, I had been executive chef in a number of places, opened and closed many, many restaurants for various employers, on land and sea, in hotels and casinos and on cruise ships. I had literally fed multitudes. I had been given wide latitude to exercise my ideas on food and management and had increased my portfolio of skills to such a degree that I thought I might be able to create a different kind of future for myself. I founded a consulting company, called The Irvine Group, with a business partner, Randall Williams. Mainly, I was looking for my freedom, for the ability to control my own destiny. I saw myself as a sort of an ambassador, an autonomous agent at liberty to pursue my own ideas, to develop products, to advise on and participate in culinary projects, to make live appearances where I could come in contact with audiences who were interested in my food and my ideas, to cook for private individuals, for parties, in restaurants or for largescale affairs, whilst always reserving the right to come and go as only I saw fit. The Oscars seemed to be a fantastic opportunity for this young enterprise.

The event was to take place on the night of the Academy Awards ceremony at the Factory in West Hollywood, sandwiched between the
Vanity Fair
party and Sir Elton John's
In Style
party. I was certain that there would be lights, cameras, and plenty of action…there would be palm trees and crystal blue skies and ocean breezes…there would be stars aplenty, glittering in their red carpet finery, some holding golden statuettes, others dazzling onlookers and basking in the flashbulb-illuminated glow of celebrity. And there would be publicity and accolades for the food, which would be spectacular, and its praises would linger on people's lips long after they'd sampled my wares.

Instead, it wasn't long before I felt as though I'd been plunged into the seventh level of culinary hell.

Now, let me state at the outset that the organizers of the event started with every possible good intention, that the charity was well served that night, and that I'm sure they performed wonderful work on behalf of their intended beneficiaries: at-risk youth and children in need. They are humanitarians and deserve full marks for the good work they've done.

They simply had no concept of what it takes financially and logistically to get a truly spectacular dinner and hors d'oeuvres on the table for nearly five thousand people.

Their first thought was to make the food preparation for the party an allstar team event, and names like “Alain” and “Jean-Georges” were bandied about. I thought that was a terrific idea, but warned them that the chefs they were discussing were at the top of the profession. They would need to be handsomely paid, would require first-class travel and accommodations and the finest ingredients and equipment with which to work. “We can do that!” was the incessant reply.

However, soon after having heard repeated promises of private air travel, donated food, and “all expenses paid,” and with nothing to show for it, I started to see the writing on the wall. It was clear that the responsibility would fall to me, or the event simply wouldn't happen. I was forced to bring my Rolodex of chefs, vendors, and purveyors into play; my beautiful, unspoiled Rolodex. I began making calls.

There is an implied brotherhood among chefs, especially among those of us who care to venture out regularly into the world beyond our kitchens. I have a very low resistance to appearing before live crowds for charity whenever and wherever I am asked, to cooking for fund-raisers wherein I feel I can do some good for worthy causes and meet new and interesting people, and for participating in fun and exciting events built around the premise of professionals coming together to create and share great food. I love to mingle with my fellow chefs at James Beard Foundation dinners, at theme dinners, at festivals, or at their home restaurants, where we can play and eat and show off our latest and greatest ideas about new dishes. You can make a lot of friends that way.

They came when I called, and agreed to do it all for free: first there was Ming Tsai, master of Asian fusion and a true professional; through Ming, I got in touch with Todd English, sophisticate and brilliant restaurateur. My great good friend, Italian giant Roberto Donna, came; the list further included the brilliant Cesare Lanfranconi; Kirk Avondoglio, fine salmon grower and good
friend; German chef Markus Seegert; !Pasión!'s Guillermo Pernot; The Four Seasons' Conny Andersson, Marc Fertoukh, Victorio Ivarra, Joe Miller, and Walter Cotta; and Los Angeles's the Jonathan Club's executive chef, Christian Montchâtre.

I also called Rocco DiSpirito. I have known Rocco for a few years and I like him. At that time, he was coming off of a wild ride, largely played out in the public spotlight. He had starred in an ABC series called
The Restaurant,
in which millions saw him portrayed in a highly unusual light, to say the least. The restaurant he had opened in that show, Rocco's on 22nd Street, had closed after a high-profile showdown with his then partner, Jeffrey Chodorow, and he no longer worked at New York's Union Pacific, where he had really made his reputation as a rising star, turning out amazing and innovative flavor combinations. Rocco ultimately answered the call, and his food was delicious but, to paraphrase Carly Simon, he probably thinks this chapter's about him.

With only a couple of weeks to go, the chefs began to submit their dishes for the main event of the evening, an eight-course, sit-down charity dinner for 650 people, for which they paid $10,000 per table. Preliminary to this would be a cocktail and hors d'oeuvres reception
for thousands
and a viewing of the awards ceremony; following would be a lavishly provisioned after party, with live entertainment featuring Chaka Khan and Wyclef Jean. Rocco was still on the fence at that point, with his agent demanding top billing and an appearance fee, neither of which I was in a position to grant.

I gave the rest of the chefs the option of prepping their food from where they were coming, or I offered to source their ingredients and set them up to work in Los Angeles. Todd decided to bring some items in from Las Vegas; Roberto would fly in accompaniments from Washington, D.C. For the most part, it became my job to find everything else. My food budget turned out to be considerably less than I had hoped: it consisted of, basically, nothing. This was all being done in the name of charity, and I had to convince my suppliers from all over the country that they had to give, and “give 'til it hurt.”

At this point, let us also be clear about one thing: no chef, myself included, rises to the level of these guys without a big ego and a deep-seated inability to compromise on quality. Translation: they want what they want, when they want it. All week long I had to make sure that their substantial egos were taken care of and that their exacting demands were met, especially since they were coming at my behest, and for charity.

Rocco had finally come on board at that point, and was rather stridently demanding a certain chestnut paste and
purple
sage, which was the only kind
he would deign to use. Todd wanted
Maine
lobsters only. He gamely agreed to use a fantastic mid-Atlantic lobster, once I'd managed to get more than six hundred, for
free,
from Pennsylvania. Guillermo needed gold leaf for one of his creations, which I scrounged together at the last minute. I found special flours, oils, pastas, sausages, duck, lamb, and black bass; Serrano ham, Manila clams, black tiger shrimp, enoki mushrooms, Key limes, Manchego and Boursin cheeses, Beluga caviar, foie gras, baby bok choy, Alaskan butterfish, and Hawaiian ahi tuna. For my entrée, I had dry-aged beef tenderloin for 650, donated by Stockyards in Chicago.

The party was to have been set up outdoors under a huge white tent in the parking lot of the Factory. there had been no provisions made for refrigeration or kitchen equipment, so I contacted some associates at a kitchen company and convinced them to donate and install fifteen stoves, a dozen or so industrial refrigeration units, and dishwashing facilities.

Wisps of black smoke began to curl from my cruelly overstressed Rolodex.

It also became clear that I was not to be afforded any real transportation budget to bring in the out-of-towners, so Randall and I somehow managed to cobble together a solution based on the frequent-flier miles of everyone involved. Chefs and cooks began to arrive, though Todd and Ming would not get there until the Sunday of the awards show because of unavoidable scheduling conflicts. Through intermediaries, Rocco was holding out for a first-class plane ticket (which he never got) and also would not arrive until Sunday. Most of the chefs sent or brought one or two sous-chefs to help with prep work. Rocco insisted on, and got, tickets and accommodations for an entourage of seven.