what is a chef? part 1: the sally effect
on humble roots and who we glorify... and who we overlook
The French Laundry. Chefs and foodies alike all know the name. If it’s unfamiliar to you, suffice to say it’s one of the most famous and well-respected restaurants in the country, if not the world. Nestled in the fertile center of Napa Valley, it’s heralded as one of the birthplaces of the California cuisine, emblematic of the understated elegance of a farm-to-table fine dining restaurant- only this one boasts three Michelin stars. Getting a job in the kitchen on such hallowed ground- not to mention a mere dinner reservation- is famously impossible. The French Laundry has been patronized by celebrities, CEOs and the who’s who of the international food world pretty much since its inception in 1978.
At the helm of this food world juggernaut is Thomas Keller, a global superstar in his own right who’s long been cemented in the culinary consciousness as one of the best in the world. He holds several multi-Michelin star ratings, after opening NYC French Laundry successor Per Se and other institutions in Napa, Vegas and Miami- the only American chef in history to earn three stars at more than one restaurant. As far as any chef is concerned, Keller is the pinnacle of success, having obtained god-like status in the industry. Under his reign, the French Laundry has remained a comfortable mainstay on every “best of” list in existence. Check out Keller’s roast chicken recipe, a great example of true farm-to-table mastery- the purest, simplest and humblest fare elevated to greatness (although it does take a full day-plus to make).
I’ve never been to the French Laundry. Even though I grew up about an hour south of it in Oakland, my sister and I were raised by a solidly middle-class single mom; when we did take weekend trips to the Napa Valley, luxe experiences like that were barely on our radar. When I stumbled into professional cooking in my twenties, pursuing tenure there never entered my mind. I knew the chefs working under Keller all had expensive classical training (which wasn’t an option for me, financially), and/or insane industry clout and connections that always felt way beyond the scope of possibility for me. The refinement of institutions like this was a just a totally different world, the embodiment of an upper echelon I felt I didn’t have access to. The French Laundry was unattainable, in every sense of the word.
Then I learned about Sally Schmitt, and my whole worldview changed.
As it turns out, Thomas Keller didn’t start the French Laundry. He bought it in 1994, taking it over from the Schmitt family. The executive chef, founder, and creative visionary behind one of the world’s most iconic restaurants was Sally Schmitt, a housewife turned culinary entrepreneur who entered the world of professional cooking somewhat accidentally- with zero formal training other than what she’d learned from her own mother and a few home ec college classes. In 2022 she published her first cookbook, Six California Kitchens- part memoir, part recipe catalogue. In a bittersweet turn of events, it was released posthumously just one month after her death- at the age of 90.
Schmitt (neé Kelsoe) grew up outside of Sacramento during the Depression, in what could be described as California’s heartland. Farm after farm punctuated by gently rolling hills still characterizes this region to some degree today. Back then there were still some wild spaces and unfenced fields, which she recalls roaming through as a kid to forage for mushrooms during the rainy months. She grew up at her mother’s elbow in their homestead kitchen, when from-scratch cooking using garden fare, fruit trees and whatever local farmers were growing was just how rural families stayed fed. Garden surpluses were canned or preserved. Eggs, milk and meat were from animals the family raised and butchered themselves. Schmitt always enjoyed cooking and was a willing student of her mother, although the utility of such skills was assumed to be for when Sally herself married and had a family. When the time came she did so happily- she married Don Schmitt in 1952 and stayed at home “keeping house” for 15 years.
Schmitt’s foray into professional cooking began in 1967when Don convinced her to take over the café in a complex of shops he owned in Yountville called Vintage 1870; she was 35, a mother of five, and had heretofore only ever been a home cook and housewife. She learned the ins and outs of the industry on the job- scaling, sourcing, managing staff. The Vintage Café was such a success that she later opened The Chutney Kitchen in the same complex, followed by the French Laundry in 1978.
Schmitt’s culinary ideals were simple. She never used any fancy equipment, not even a food processor- “a toaster and a blender” were the only things she ever “plugged in”. She only used two knives: a paring knife and santoku, in stark contrast to the massive toolkits of many of today’s chefs that are part utility, part collector’s showpieces. Style-wise, Schmitt writes in Six California Kitchens: “I try to let the food be what it is, and more importantly, let it be the best it can be.” Thomas Keller himself actually sums up her style quite well in his introduction: “Sally operated from a minimalist kitchen that somehow reflected her cooking style. There was nothing grandstanding about Sally’s food. Her repertoire employed Gallic touches but also drew on cherished elements of Americana: tomato soup, braised oxtails, cranberry and apple kuchen.” At the Vintage Café, she made the revolutionary switch from iceberg lettuce to romaine in their burgers, opting to shape the patties by hand instead of smashing them with a can as their first cook had done- when Schmitt suggested this change, he reportedly threw his apron on the floor and said “good luck on your own, girly!”
The menus at the French Laundry were designed daily around local products, using what was available and in season nearby, a novel concept for restaurants in the 70s- but that was just how Schmitt had always done things. The French Laundry featured an all-California wine list, basically unheard of in that time. Upon its opening, it featured a prix-fixe menu featuring a choice between three starters, a soup, an entrée, a salad and a choice of three desserts plus coffee- for $12.50.
Thankfully, Schmitt was appreciated in her time as the trailblazer she was. She was profiled in multiple publications, got rave reviews year after year, and had luminaries like Julia Child jostling for reservations that were always booked out months in advance. Despite her monumental influence on the culinary world- she’s credited as one of the pioneers of the farm-to-table movement- her name has faded somewhat from the national consciousness. While male chefs of the era like Jacques Pepin and James Beard continue to be household names- as well as Alice Waters, a much younger white woman- Sally Schmitt has been somewhat relegated to the margins of history along with so many other women chefs (many of whom who are of color) who have helped shape 20th century American cuisine: Edna Lewis, Emily Meggett, Cecilia Chiang and Leah Chase, to name a few.
The concept of a female chef is actually extremely new. Despite unpaid domestic cooking having been “women’s work” since time immemorial, the realm of professional cooking has always been reserved for men- as well as the prestige, fame and accolades that come along with it. It isn’t that female chefs and restauranteurs haven’t existed- all the women mentioned in the last paragraph owned successful restaurants, and (white) women have been earning Michelin stars since 1929. It’s that they’ve been viewed as anomalies or aberrations, undervalued and overlooked in their barrier-breaking accomplishments, if not outright discouraged in their pursuits. The men get the glory in an industry built by and for them, while the women remain mere footnotes.
I myself struggled for a long time with my professional identity. I never planned to be a chef- never went to culinary school, never sought out any coveted internships or apprenticeships at any prestigious institutions. Cooking for me was just a passion/hobby that I discovered in my college years while in recovery from anorexia, trying to learn how to feed myself food that tasted good (so that I’d actually want to eat it). I’d had kitchen jobs here and there over the years but never considered it a career path until I got a very strange opportunity: to run my own kitchen, as the chef at one of the largest sororities at UC Berkeley. Unsure if I’d even enjoy it, I decided to just try it, learning everything on the job just as Sally did; turns out I loved it, and it stuck. By age 30, I’d held the title of chef for 5 years.
I was doing all the things that executive chefs at restaurant did- menu planning and creation (I served ten distinct lunches and dinners every week, with brand new menus written weekly), recipe testing, budgeting, inventory and commercial ordering, keeping track of equipment maintenance and DOH standards, even managing a small staff. I also cooked all of the food, with the help of my sous chef, but sometimes all by myself. And yet anytime someone asked me what I did for a living I would give the same answer: “I’m a chef…. But I’m not like, a real chef.” It’s what I honestly believed. In my mind- and as a matter of fact, in the minds of many people- a real chef was someone in a nice restaurant, working their way up the brigade from prep to line to sous to chef de cuisine. A real chef had been to culinary school, or at the very least had spent years working under the watchful eye of distinguished and demanding mentors as Thomas Keller did. A real chef was making souffles and beef Wellingtons, not harissa or raita or curry paste (all things I was doing regularly).
A friend of mine, Jacob, finally told me “you know, you should really stop saying that you’re not a real chef. Of course you’re a real chef.” It stopped me in my tracks- I’d really, really needed to hear that. This tidbit of much-needed external validation helped me really start examining this whole ideology, both from within the industry and in the cultural mind’s eye (and within my own belief system). What does it mean to be a chef? Are some of us “realer” chefs than others? Who gets to hold that title, who “deserves” it? Who is excluded or disqualified from it? Why had I never heard of Sally Schmitt, while everyone- in and out of the industry- knows Thomas Keller?
Stay tuned for part 2, where I go deeper into these themes- who gets the clout in the food world, who we leave behind, and how we can help shift the narrative.
Love this❤️
Can’t wait for part 2