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SCARS OF A CHEF

TYNDALE HOUSE PUBLISHERS, INC.

Chapter One

Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. MATTHEW 11:28

I stood inside my home office with my back against the heavy wooden door. I closed my eyes and sighed.

What am I going to do now, God?

I was so tired; the stress of the past few months was definitely catching up with me. Yet in spite of the exhaustion and physical pain, there was still a part of me that felt like I should be doing something—anything. I just wasn't sure what.

Right now, my staff at Osteria di Tramonto were wiping down the grill for the final time, boxing up the glassware and the china, and taking down the black-and-white photographs from the walls. One of the managers had called me earlier as I sat in traffic to ask me what I wanted to do with those photos—shots that I had taken on my many trips to Italy over the years. Beautiful Italian grandmothers rolling out pasta, smiling boys devouring slices of crusty bread, Italian families carrying bags of fresh produce home from the market—culture and food seen through the lens of my own experience. We had hung hundreds of them all over the restaurant, and they looked so striking against the exposed brick on the walls.

What use would I have for them now?

"Auction them off, give them away. I don't care what you do with them," I had said. "Just get rid of them."

Those photos represented everything I had loved about Osteria di Tramonto. I had been a partner in several other restaurants, but none reflected my heritage, my roots, and my passion for cooking as much as this one. Some of my earliest and best memories center around my grandmother's kitchen, where I watched my mom and grandmother transform fresh meats, seasonal produce, and aromatic spices into hearty and comforting fare. Whenever one of them invited me to help, I eagerly set about rolling out dough or stirring tomatoes into a sauce. Sunday dinners, which sometimes lasted all afternoon, drew our large extended family together for simple but satisfying food, laughter, and spirited conversation. Osteria di Tramonto featured homey family-style Italian cooking reminiscent of those dinners. In fact, some of the items on our menu had been inspired by the recipe cards passed down to me.

For years, I had made frequent trips to Europe, gaining the "continuing education" that is essential for any chef. Yet while building the Osteria, I had been drawn back to Italy again and again. Whether waiting at dawn for returning fishermen down on the waterfront, eating bread and cheese from small bakeries, or examining the produce at market stalls, I delighted in rediscovering my Italian heritage. And everywhere I went, I snapped photos. Each one captured some aspect of the country I had come to love. Now those photos, which I had so carefully framed and arranged on the walls, simply reminded me of the grief I felt over the Osteria's closing.

Osteria di Tramonto had felt like home to me. In fact, I had spent more time there than in my own home during the past three years. My culinary partner, Gale Gand, and I had created the Osteria from the ground up. We selected the china and designed the interior. We developed the menu, hired and trained the staff, and searched high and low until we found the perfect wood-burning pizza oven for our exhibition kitchen.

I had spent every waking minute getting ready for our opening. But that was only the first step. When the doors opened at 5:00 p.m., October 12, 2006, the hardest work was still ahead. Once Osteria went live, we quickly moved from planning mode to action mode. Our steps quickened, and our worry increased. We talked about food costs, labor costs, overhead costs, marketing costs. We dealt with the restaurant critics as we tweaked the menu, pouring everything we had—and more—into getting this new baby to stand on its own two feet. All in the hope that after more than a year of seven-day workweeks, we might eventually get a night off just to breathe.

And then we had to do it all again—in fact, we had to do it three times. Osteria had been part of a much larger project that included three other concept restaurants. As we worked with a large hotel conglomerate on Chicago's North Shore, our vision had been to create a Las Vegas–style hotel, where guests could enjoy a wide variety of offerings all in one location.

Opening four restaurants simultaneously had been a daunting task, even for partners who had been part of more than twenty openings in our careers. But I had hoped it would be the start of a new phase in my career, bringing me on par with other celebrity chefs in my industry who had built their own brands through multilocation restaurants, television programs, and national publications.

I knew the odds. The research says one in four restaurants never make it past the first year. Over three years, that number rises to three in five. Osteria di Tramonto's demise was nothing new in the restaurant world, especially in light of all the big businesses we had seen fail during the economic crash of 2008. But knowing that didn't make it any less painful.

I had been in the culinary industry for over twenty-five years, so I was used to the physical demands of standing on my feet from dawn until well after dusk. Years of standing on hard tile floors, lifting, and using my hands had resulted in double knee and numerous back surgeries, as well as a rotator cuff surgery. Treating minor burns and cuts was just a normal and expected hazard of the job. I didn't mind that I often had no time to eat—ironic, of course, when you're working with food all day—or that I smelled like fish or the grill, no matter how often I showered. Even on the days when I felt mentally drained and totally exhausted, I couldn't imagine ever wanting to do anything else. Until now.

I was spent, both emotionally and physically. This project had been like a marathon for me, one I wasn't sure my body was going to recover from. Fifteen-, sixteen-hour days, seven days a week, I had been at the restaurant, carrying boxes, stocking shelves, moving equipment—whatever it took, I did it. I had lived and breathed that place, often fueled only by adrenaline, double espressos, and ibuprofen.

Now as I sat down at my desk, last week's special menu caught my eye. I read over the list of entrées we had so carefully created: the Tramonto pizza topped with olives, arugula, and a fontina-mozzarella mix; a carpaccio of sea bass sprinkled with a tart, red grapefruit vinaigrette; and the bistecca alla fiorentina, a Tuscan-style porterhouse grilled over a wood-burning fire with aged balsamic vinegar and extra-virgin olive oil.

Doesn't get much better than that.

Why, God? Was all that work for nothing? Was all that time spent away from my family for nothing? Missing my kids' school events, my wife's birthday, my wedding anniversary—was it all for nothing?

The reality of Osteria's closing began to sink in as I slid to the floor and began to cry. What happened? Where did I go wrong? And how was I going to fill my time now?

Cooking was the only thing I knew. I'd been in the restaurant business since I was sixteen years old. I didn't know how to do anything else. I never even had a paper route.

I supposed I could spend more time focusing on Tru, the fine-dining restaurant Gale and I had opened in downtown Chicago nearly a decade ago. Or maybe I could write another cookbook. I looked around my office at the thousands of books that lined the walls, six of them with my own name on the front. Six hundred magazines were organized by category and issue date—every Gourmet, Bon Appétit, and Food & Wine printed in the past ten years. Culinary awards and recognitions filled in the empty spaces, a record of my accomplishments and successes.

It had been a good run. I had really made something of myself. I had worked with the best of the best; I had cooked for royalty, dignitaries, celebrities, and three U.S. presidents. I had been on more television programs than I could count and in more food magazines than I could stack on my shelf. I had written books and earned the highest culinary accolades. I had done it all—and done it well.

But now I wondered, What if I've reached the end?

BRUSCHETTA WITH OVEN-DRIED TOMATOES AND GORGONZOLA SPREAD

One element of the Osteria that I loved was the wood-burning oven. It cooled down slowly overnight, so I'd slide trays of sliced tomatoes into the oven soon after closing time. The next morning, I'd pull out perfectly dried tomatoes—the inspiration for this tasty bruschetta.

Garlic oil is one of the cooking staples I keep in my refrigerator at home, and it can be prepared the day before you make the bruschetta.—SERVES 4

Loaf of sourdough or baguette, cut into eight ½-inch slices 1 c. olive oil 1 clove of garlic, smashed Extra-virgin olive oil, to drizzle 1 Tbs. flat-leaf parsley, chopped

For the oven-dried tomatoes 12 ripe medium Roma plum tomatoes ½ c. extra-virgin olive oil 1 Tbs. fresh thyme, minced

½ tsp. red chili flakes, crushed 6 garlic cloves, crushed ½ tsp. sugar ½ tsp. kosher salt ¼ tsp. ground black pepper

For the Gorgonzola spread 6 oz. Gorgonzola cheese or Gorgonzola dolce 2 to 4 Tbs. heavy cream 2 Tbs. basil, chopped 2 Tbs. large green onion, minced Kosher salt, to taste Ground black pepper, to taste

Combine and refrigerate for at least 24 hours.

TO PREPARE GARLIC OIL

Combine 1 c. olive oil and 1 smashed clove of garlic. Refrigerate for at least 24 hours.

TO PREPARE OVEN-DRIED TOMATOES (can be made one day in advance)

1. Preheat oven to 250°F.

2. In a pot of boiling water, blanch tomatoes. Drain, refresh in ice water, and drain again. Peel and core the tomatoes; cut them into quarters and remove seeds.

3. Line a baking tray with parchment paper and arrange the tomato quarters on the tray, cut side down. Drizzle generously with olive oil. Sprinkle with thyme, chili flakes, and garlic. In a small bowl, combine the sugar, salt, and pepper, and sprinkle the mixture evenly over the tomatoes.

4. Bake until tomatoes begin to shrivel, about 1 hour. When the tomatoes are cool enough to handle, transfer them to a container. Drizzle with more olive oil and cover. Refrigerate until needed.

TO MAKE GORGONZOLA SPREAD

1. In a small bowl, use a fork to mash Gorgonzola cheese with enough cream to make a spreadable consistency. Add basil, green onion, salt, and pepper to taste.

2. Refrigerate for at least 24 hours.

TO SERVE

1. Slice bread.

2. Lay on sheet tray. Brush liberally with garlic oil on both sides.

3. Grill both sides of bruschetta on pan grill or outdoor grill until crusty.

4. Top bruschetta with 1 Tbs. of Gorgonzola spread. Add 2 to 3 pieces of tomato and drizzle with oil from tomato marinade. Garnish with parsley.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from SCARS OF A CHEF by RICK TRAMONTO LISA JACKSON Copyright © 2011 by Rick Tramonto. Excerpted by permission of TYNDALE HOUSE PUBLISHERS, INC.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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