Alice Waters and Chez Panisse
The food world divides into two camps about Alice Waters: those who see her as the patron saint of sustainable food and those who see her as an elitist hippie who gained fame by stealing the credit that others deserve. No one denies she's an icon.
She barely needs the appositive "founder of Chez Panisse" next to her name, but it's always there, like the implied "you" in an imperative. Waters almost closed the restaurant a few times over its three-decade life, but she has yet to give up on it. It's her passion and her platform. Chez Panisse wouldn't exist without her; nor would she, as a household name, exist without it.
Of course, you can make the case that Chez Panisse exists in spite of Waters' efforts. As you read Thomas McNamee's heavily researched and well-written Alice Waters and Chez Panisse, you'll keep seeing the same question: How did this restaurant survive? McNamee paints Waters as a woman with a flighty demeanor and a solid-steel will, like cotton candy hiding a metal pole. Mesh those two traits and you get a sieve that filters out profit. Waters had no business sense tucked into her arty exterior, and every attempt by others to control her spending slammed against that hard core of obstinance.
But McNamee points out that "impossible" isn't in her vocabulary. She inspires those around her to make it work. She knew that if the food was good—and the ensemble cast of interviewees all agree on Waters' pitch-perfect palate—it would all turn out somehow. And it did. McNamee plucks out a thread that runs through the Chez Panisse history: The perfect person always seemed to appear right when they were most needed.
One of those people was Jeremiah Tower, conspicuously absent as an interview subject in a sea of firsthand accounts—quotes from him all come from his book California Dish or ephemera. Tower and Waters adored each other at first, but like so many relationships, passion wasn't enough for the long haul, and the two now lock horns in a decades-old battle. Perhaps Tower first raised the common cry that Waters claimed his work for her own. He has certainly been the most vocal about his creation of "California cuisine." McNamee makes it clear that Waters isn't innocent of all the charges, though he refrains from passing judgment.
But just as Chez Panisse wouldn't exist without Waters, it would never have survived without Tower. His stunning menus, cooked early in the restaurant's career and bearing little resemblance to today's less elaborate dinners, pushed Chez Panisse into national reviews. Elaborate French feasts, rare ingredients, and an unwillingness to bow to diner comfort made for an unforgettable experience, or so I imagine.
Of course he was high as a kite most of the time. McNamee doesn't pussyfoot over the restaurant's famous drug-and-sexcapades—everyone sleeping with everyone, waiters stoned on the floor—but he doesn't feel the need to tee-hee over it for his reader's enjoyment. It was a fact of the restaurant; it was a fact of the time.
Other famous chefs came and went: Lindsey Shere, Mark Miller, Paul Bertolli, Deborah Madison, Steve Sullivan, Judy Rodgers. The list goes on and on, and McNamee interviews them all, along with the waiters, dishwashers, and friends of the restaurant he could find. Squabbles arose often, but every person who walked into Chez Panisse took away and spread Waters' gospel that the best ingredients are the freshest ingredients. The local and seasonal slant of Chez Panisse's menus grew out of that philosophy—it wasn't a fixture from the start—and so did Waters' activism.
Today, Waters is rarely in the restaurant. She devotes most of her time to speaking out about the deplorable state of school lunches and promoting sustainable agriculture. She has become a famous figure, no longer sporting the beret she wore for years but still recognizable. Slight, still a little scattered, but as passionate as ever. McNamee admires her drive to make the world a better place and respects her commitment to her ideals. She has not become a brand, like so many other famous chefs—no Las Vegas branch of Chez Panisse is planned—but that iron will transformed her restaurant from a quiet statement to a megaphone that all the country can hear.
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