#cookitrawcommunity

Two dishes today. 

Indiana Dunes: Chestnut, pine mushroom, tallow-fried crickets, and golderod.

I was sitting in a small cafe near the Kensington area of Calgary when I felt a vibration on my phone. The notification read "Gmail: Alessandro Porcelli." The message explained that both Sasu Laukkonen and I had been picked as the winners of Cookitraw's first competition, and that we were invited to participate in this year's event. It was signed "Big Kiss, Alessandro." In an instant, my eyes began to well up, and I couldn't find any words other than "oh my god" to tell my dining partner what just occurred. When my hands stopped shaking, I emailed my acceptance, and a mere month later I was on a plane to Charleston, SC.

The night before my flight I printed out a dossier of bios of every participating chef. Most I already knew well by reputation, but I wanted to be prepared... prepared to not look like an asshole. I sharpened my knives in the kitchen of my future restaurant. I packed an apron, my boots, and unhooked and packed my buck knife that never leaves my side, here, on the farm. I drank bourbon, lots of bourbon, while pacing in and around the restaurant, contemplating how I managed this and whether I would fail miserably upon arriving. I tossed and turned in bed, sleeping only two hours before I had to leave at 4am to catch an 8am flight from O'Hare. 

The plane ride was just as nerve-racking as the time that led up to my departure. As rough-around-the-edges as I may appear, I'm one of the most phobic people I know. Flying is at the top that logic defying fear list. After spending half an hour being "that guy" seated at the airport Chili's bar, I fumbled my way to my seat on the plane and squeezed my armrests in a panic until we landed. I grabbed my luggage and strolled outside, not knowing really who I was looking for or where I should meet them, and while I was standing on the sidewalk, looking for a cigarette to bum, I heard, "Brandon? Are you Brandon?"

I'm not sure if it was the salty-sweet Charleston air, or if I was just happy that I made it in one piece, but once I got in that car with two representatives of Cookitraw and Chef Matthew Jennings I felt at ease. What followed in the next seven days changed my life.

 I was hanging tight to Matt, he was one of the four or five chefs that I had had any contact with prior to the event. It was our first time meeting face-to-face and we both agreed before the party that we needed a drink. We high-tailed it over to The Griffon, a bar he visited last time he was in the area doing Charleston Wine and Food, and ordered two Beams neat, backed by two PBRs, and began to chat about books, Sean Brock, and football. Deep down, I was feeling subjacent to the other chefs that would soon be in our presence and I wanted to talk shop about them with Matt. And that we did. I learned who knew who from previous events, who kept to themselves, who were friendly,etc... All the while, not much of this made me feel any more at home in the group. With a bad play from the Patriots on the screen above the bar, we said goodbye to our bartender and proceeded to the welcoming party.

The majority of the chefs showed up on Sunday, and those who did were hosted by a wonderful family in Charleston. There we indulged in treats like deviled eggs, pimento cheese, and oyster shooters, all on a picturesque day in a historical house across from the Cooper River. Soon the chefs began to arrive, and we were greeted by the owners of the property and started to get to know each other better. An hour into the party, Brock wanted to show Jennings and I what he was up to lately at Husk. We headed towards Brock's car and and as I approached it all I could think was "Damn!?" It was a completely murdered out (jet black, all black everything) BMW-M3, and within five seconds of unlocking it I somehow managed to break his seat adjuster. The thing just popped off right in my hand like I was hopped up on PCP strength. I gotta say that didn't help the nerves much. But, Brock, jovial Brock, seemed to laugh it off. We got a brief tour of the grounds, smoker, and kitchen, followed by the chance to taste some delicious ham. He breezed through the restaurant, checking the status of production, orders, and the previous night's service. We walked to the The Griffon, which, from what I saw, might be the only bar in Charleston, and had a few beers far from the din of the party. It was nice to sit in a bar and shoot the breeze with a couple of chefs. I don't honestly get to do that much anymore, due to the location of my restaurant. It was somewhere between the topics of firecrackers and the debate on the best 'drinking all day bourbon' that I realized this might not be so scary after all.

We made a quick change of vehicles, from sports car to pick-up truck, and we headed back to Middleton Place, the plantation hosting all the chefs. We found that dinner was being prepared. The chefs were checking into their rooms. And I was getting exhausted from the aforementioned day-drinking. Somewhere between The Griffon and the plantation, Jennings managed to break something on Brock's truck as well, and I couldn't help but laugh at the coincidence. It was an interesting day, to say the least. And the first day of Cookitraw hadn't even begun. I passed out early that night, most likely from the open bar at Middleton Place. In that time, a slew of international chefs arrived from Mexico, Spain, Australia, and Singapore, and apparently had quite the night, singing audibly throughout the plantation until nearly 2am.

After some time spent abroad, I was curious what effect my trip to Copenhagen would have on my food. After getting over some jetlag, I decided to undertake a 6 course meal for a valued guest. These are the courses we put out, sticking to our guns on the hyper local aspect of food, given all of the product (including the teas and beverage used here) was from our very own 6 acres of farmland or our friend Rupert's apple orchard about twenty minutes away. So here's what we came up with for the first official tasting menu of TMIP Restaurant.

Photo 2: Trying to give a very forward perspective on where you are, we took a branch of fallen black walnut leaves, hollowed out a husk of the black walnut and then took our eggs from our hens, paired them with the roe we cured and dried from the salmon from our creek, added some nasturtium plucked from our garden and paired it with a tea of smoked hen of the woods we foraged from nearby. 

Photo 3: Bread service. Flatbread seasoned with mustard and celery seeds, grilled with okra leaves and red cabbage. 

Photo 4: Beet Tartare. Cooked in its juice and bound with its puree, seasoned with our brassica seeds and topped with wood sorrel 

Photo 5: Apple and spruce sauce, apple chips, crab apple blossoms, with charred chard root, and raw black walnuts. 

Photo 6: Tiger melon shell with its granita, sassafras meringue and pineapple sage blossoms.