crabtree’s kittle house
The Genius in the Kitchen: Behind the Scenes of Fine Dining at Crabtree’s Kittle House
Chef Brad(ford) McDonald
After a month poking at the Kittle House website and creating general Internet harmony (like moving their email systems to Gmail), I decided I wanted to hang out in the kitchen.
Chef Brad McDonald graciously allowed me to hang out in the kitchen for a day. It was a Monday night, so we had plenty of time to chat. He’s from Mississippi, and has cooked at Alain Delancey, Per Se, and Noma.
I’d eaten quite a few of Brad’s dishes already and admired his precision in contrasting textures, along with a elegant, playful wittiness to his flavor pairings. Seared foie gras with sour cherry brownie. Beet salad with peanut meringue.
He is economic in body mass and motion. Before meal times, he’s bent over the counter, peeling shrimp or working on some dill with short, swift motions. If you talk to him, he carries on conversation while still deeply engrossed in his task.
Brad is a very particular kind of person. The first thing you notice about him is the beard – his semi-sarcastic explanation is that it’s winter, hence, beard-growing season. He does not tolerate bullshit, nor does he speak it, cook it, or serve it. While he radiates a certain cynicism – or, if he were to explain it, realism – there’s a beauty in how it rubs up against extraordinary pride in his work. His words are as blunt as his mind is agile. You see, Brad does not describe things. He critiques them.
And everything should be perfect. He will work 7 days a week to see that it is precisely that.
He had me put on some highly unflattering chef’s whites – it involved very high-waisted pants and a top with much-too long sleeves. Then I watched from noon until 9pm.
The general rhythm was that an order would come out through a machine, then Pete, another cook, would handle the protein, while Brad would prepare the vegetable component. On busier nights, Brad would be in sole charge of plating.
Brad and Pete worked in a choreographed high wire act – Pete would fire up a piece of salmon, relay how many minutes until it was ready, then the two would magically be finished at precisely the same moment. All plating was done underneath scorching heating lamps, then placed on a gridboarded table with table numbers and settings relayed for each dish to the wait staff.
Pete's hands
Pete’s hands were covered in scars, discolorations, and a blackened flap of skin on his thumb hung open like a door left ajar. “You should have seen my hands last month,” he said when I scrutinized his arms. He shared one horrifying story of an employee at another kitchen stepping knee deep into a fryer.
“He didn’t work for awhile,” he said.
Pete also taught me a neat kitchen trick: by touching your index finger, then middle finger, and so on, to the fleshy part of palm under the thumb, you can approximate the increasing doneness of a steak. Another highlight: there was a photo of Giada De Laurentiis taped to the inside of a storage door. We both agreed she was gorgeous.
During lulls, Brad worked on a new recipe concept. He a squared off base of a cauliflower, with all its natural nooks and crannies, and immersed it in a gelatin-laden red pepper puree. The idea was that the puree would fill in the holes, solidify, then he could cut off slices into a millefiori vegetable terrine. I asked him about it later, and he said it was going to be more technically challenging than he had originally thought.
Plating
Another challenge I found was the sheer heat of a kitchen. To watch them work, you’d think they were handling cold plates. They both kept poker faces squeezing, prodding, and holding insanely hot food and tools. At one point, Brad tried to make me useful by moving a dish literally two feet.
I failed. The plate burned me. I had to resort to wrapping an apron around my fingers to sustain three seconds of contact.
Clearly, I’m not cut out for kitchen work. The most labor I did all day was stirring a bowl of chocolate truffles – sitting in an ice bath. More my comfort level.
If you run into me, I’d love to talk about hierarchy, culture, and other things I learned behind the scenes. But the main point here is that kitchen work is incredibly demanding – Pete’s hands can prove it.
Cauliflower panna cotta, caviar, shoestring fries
Lingbo discovered some Russian eats at New Year’s party
Here’s my friend and I, ready for New Year’s. I was fueled by yet another home run lunch at Crabtree’s Kittle House: salmon on a bed of lentils, preceded by a juicy, colorful lobster roll and homemade potato chips.
Lobster roll, with mango and avocado
I can’t say that the pelmeni (Russian dumplings) were blew the Chinese version out of the park, but since I skipped dinner, I found the salami, cheese, and mini pickles bizarrely alluring, and in true starved foodie fashion, wolfed down a plate of appetizers.
“It looks like the vacuum cleaner arrived,” another guest commented as I furiously shoved handfuls of potato crisps and cheese-globbed crackers into my mouth. I ignored him and helped myself to more salami slices. Dipped in sour cream. Oh my gosh. Everything just tasted amazing since I was so hungry.
- me and some horseradish sauce, salami, cheese, and a mini pickle… Russian?
Food porn: ricotta gnudi, sweet 100 tomatoes, nicoise crumble, petite basil
Lunch, when you’re working at the Kittle House, is a daily treat. They call it the family meal, and everyone sits down with an entree of choice to relax in the middle of a shift. Like a smattering of earth, crumbled olives are sprinkled over sweet 100 tomatoes and an unusual preparation of gnudi, which means nude in Italian. Normally gnocchi’s lighter, creamier cousin – made of ricotta, sometimes spinach, and akin to ravioli minus the doughy exterior – this gnudi is made by steeping ricotta balls in sorghum flour overnight, then fishing out the delicious results. Pregnant, newly clothed, and adorned with basil, and roundness echoed in the tomatoes, they’re creamy, indulgent, and oh-so-photogenic.
Facebooking & eating for a living – my first day of work
It’s 9am, and I’m beginning work as a social media consultant for Crabtree’s Kittle House, a progressive American restaurant in Chappaqua with an award-winning wine cellar and a hot new chef who’s done time at Per Se. Never would I have thought that what I do in my spare time – Tweeting, blogging, and stalking high school alums on Facebook – would come in handy.
Well, never is an exaggeration. But not so soon!
I’m set up on a beautifully set dining room table with my laptop, a saucer of blueberries and granola, a white china cup of coffee, and a place setting of juniper fronds and berries, brushing up on social media marketing. And I’m also looking forward to plenty of excellent food, learning all aspects of the restaurant biz, and hopefully (if I’m lucky), dinner with a big deal food critic.
Excess, Delicious Excess: 5 Course Meal at Crabtree’s Kittle House Inn, Chappaqua, NY
I arrive a half-hour early for my interview with Glenn Vogt, who manages Crabtree’s Kittle House Inn, a high end restaurant in Chappaqua. (Bill Clinton and his family dine here on a regular basis, including this past Christmas. His secret service team usually stands in the lobby, but this Christmas, they dined along the Clintons.)
Glenn arrives at the bar as I was taking some notes in my moleskine on the decor. He is tall and gray haired, one of those rare people who immediately puts you at ease, so much so that you forget this very fact. He has that rare brand of immediate affability and unassuming friendliness that condenses the usual ten minutes of finding a conversational rhythm into no time at all. I reveal my secret ambition to try lamb brains, and he tells me about an old dish involving eating the brains of a live, restrained monkey. He shares a story about alcohol infused with cobra snake. After asking him the usual questions about local foods, I ask if I can have a tour of their famed wine cellar, rated as one of the best in the world. “I was going to suggest it,” he says, and leads me downstairs, through the banquet hall and unlocks a glass door. (Along the way, he says he doesn’t believe in reading online reviews from diners. He is oblivious to Yelp.com. When I tell him the reviews are good, he is congenially indifferent.)
It’s kept at a chilly 50 F. I hug my bare arms as he leads me through wines arranged by region and grape. He points out wines from Alsace, the Rhone, wines from Spain, Australia, and California. The entire cellar is maybe the size of two master bedrooms. And then there’s the famous wine rack, full of bottles signed by their makers.
In the middle is the holy grail of wine: a bottle of 1988 Romanée Conti, in a black glass container perhaps the side of a toddler.
“One guy offered us 75 thousand for that,” he says, with a bit of a laugh. It’s not for sale. “There are only five bottles in the entire world. This is number 4,” he says, pointing to a serial number on the label.
All the wines are arranged in wooden partitions, each labeled with a number. They have a computer program to locate wines, thankfully, since the wine list is the size of two phonebooks. He points out a few more bottles of Romanée Conti. 1990 was an even better year – he approximates the price of this normal size bottle of wine, perhaps 4 glasses, at $5,000.
We chat a bit about restaurant reviewing. He’s also read former NY Times restaurant reviewer Ruth Reichl‘s biographies (“Tender at the Bone!” he exclaims, laughing again) and remarks that she was very generous in her reviews. We debate her double review of Le Cirque, one incognito, the other as herself. He’s met Gael Greene, former critic for New York magazine, and notes one time she dined at a restaurant he was working for with the manager from a competing establishment.
He used to be a wine purveyor, and he tells me about his trips across the world in search of great wines – a good Pinot Grigio was in particularly high demand. Now, Kittle House Inn focuses on buying from winemakers around the world who really know their product, their grape, and who are environmentally conscious.
After escaping the chilly wine cellar, I end up staying for dinner and inviting my long-suffering father along. My mom had already gone home and turned down the offer.
I could not have anticipated what happened next.
Glenn hands us the menus. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you try what you should,” he tells us. I pick out two appetizers and a salad that uses local eggs and greens. My dad picks out the Chilean sea bass.
We sit back. The food arrives, and arrives, and arrives, and arrives. We stay for over two hours.
FIRST COURSE
After he puts down our dishes, “I don’t know if Ruth included this in the review of Le Cirque or not,” Glenn muses, “but…”
I know exactly what he referring to – the line in the review that goes, “The King of Spain is waiting in the bar, but your table is ready.”
Oysters on the half shell, with salt and pepper granite, beet and horseradish, and tabasco jelly accompaniments
Really nice oysters, very fresh.
Seared sashimi and spicy tartare of yellowfin tuna, served in a block of sea salt
The tuna tartare and sashimi are presented on a block pink sea salt, which they take and shave down after each presentation. Those are taro chips and a lovely citrus salsa on the size.
SECOND COURSE
“We’re calling this the pork course,” Glenn says, putting down the pork belly in front of my dad and the salad I ordered in front of me. He helps me figure out to construct the salad.
“We’re feeding you a lot of food, so don’t feel like you have to eat it all,” he adds as he leaves.
Bacon and egg, baby arugula and fresh herbs, panko cursted farm egg and prosciutto
The idea here was that you’re supposed to cut the egg open, which oozes warm, yellow yoke into the avocado underneath. Then you mix it all into the salad with the lemon dressing and it makes a kind of super dressing. I’m still not really sure that the freshness and locally produced egg makes all that much of a difference – it was a fine egg, to be sure.
Braised Hudson Valley Berkshire pork belly, anjou pear puree, caramelized onions
My first time having proper pork belly – the top is deliciously crisped, the meat on the bottom falls into hefty strips, moist with fat. I particularly like the pear puree, which had a silky, unplaceable sweetness.
THIRD COURSE
The pasta course.
Not on the menu - braised oxtail and handmade pasta, if I recall correctly
Potato parmesan gnocchi, oven dried cherry tomatoes, nicoise olives, pea shoots
Superb gnocchi, your teeth bite into it and it just slides right through the velvety smooth texture. The thing with gnocchi, a potato pasta, is that you have to get the proportion of ingredients just right – too much potato and it falls apart, too much flour and it’s hard to chew.
FOURTH COURSE
Trio of Hudson Valley Foie gras, three ways: torchon of vanilla scented pear, brulee and green apple, brochette and grilled stone fruit
Oh my god, how do I even explain this… For the uninitiated, foie gras is made by force feeding a duck or goose until its liver becomes engorged. So it’s essentially a big of hunk of decadent, PETA-hated fat.
At the bottom right, we have the brochette (skewer) of foie gras. It comes a delicate, slippery, and piping hot. When you put it in your mouth, it immediately melts and commands every last taste bud’s attention: umistakeabley fatty, rich, and mouth-filling flavor.
The creme brulee was also made with foie gras, lending it the same, though muted, flavor, suspended in a creamy texture with a burnt sugar crust. The torchon (foie gras poached in a towel, then refrigerated) had the hardness of swiss cheese, and was incredible on the bread with the pear – a complexity of pleasure.
I found it impossible to eat the creme brulee and torchon purely on their own, however. The flavor was just too strong.
Chilean sea bass, roasted pumpkin, spaghetti squash, bacon apple cider sauce
A perfectly cooked fish, with a nice brown on top. The pumpkin was great.
DESSERT
The waitress brought us dessert menus. I was hideously full by this time. Glenn comes over and asks us what we want, or should he surprise us? I decide on surprise. I figure he’ll choose two signature desserts.
Lo and behold, the grand finale is a sampling of four their most popular desserts. My dad and I look at each other in shock. And awe.
Warm valrhona chocolate ‘gift’, crème anglaise
Their signature dessert, open it up and out pours a lava of valrhona chocolate. We packed it up and brought it home to mom. (I am actually not the biggest fan of chocolate. I am a vanilla girl.)
Pecan pie, caramel sauce, crème chantilly
A dense, rich pecan pie, on their menu since the early 80′s.
Classic crème brûlee
A nice version of this classic – a lighter flavor in the creme, which I liked.
Alsatian style cheesecake
My favorite of the bunch! A truly outstanding cheesecake, the best I’ve ever had, with an airy, creamy texture, and lighter flavor. The sauce was an incredible accompaniment. What every cheesecake should aspire to.
And that, my friends, that is how one winter afternoon somehow morphed into a magical culinary journey. My father and I walked out of there, dazed, full, and deeply at ease with the world.
