I met Charlie in late 1995 in Barcelona.
We were attending the annual Relais & Châteaux Congress for that year - me as General Manager of Hastings House Country Inn on Saltspring Island and Charlie as a new Relais Gourmand inductee that year with his eight year old Chicago restaurant. At the opening reception I introduced myself to he and his wife Lynn, telling him how much I admired his philosophy, his approach and his book. He invited me to hang out with them as they were finding it challenging that virtually nobody at the Congress spoke English. That offer didn't require much thought on my part. Had I been a young hockey player at the time and Gretzky had asked me to hang with him, I 'm sure the feeling would have been comparable.
This is where my exposure to the professional drive, talent and generosity of Charlie Trotter began. Over the subsequent five days we spent a great deal of time together eating, drinking, talking and enjoying conference seminars and excursions. On day-three he asked me to join him on a trip to Codorníu winery just outside of Barcelona. I explained that the excursion was for Relais Gourmand members only, not Relais & Châteaux properties. Once he had pulled few strings we were on the bus to the well-known cava producer.
Lunch at Codorníu that day was memorable. The framed menu is the only menu hanging in my office at SAIT. Other than reading from that menu I can't begin to tell you about the many dishes we ate and wines that we drank that afternoon. What I can recall is that our table of eight included Charlie, friend/ex-boss Michel Troisgros, Georges Blanc, Michel Roux, Roger Vergé, Paul Bocuse and Dominique Loiseau, wife of chef Bernard Loiseau. My time was split between eavesdropping and translating the musings of legendary chefs for Charlie.
A few months later I was honoured to be the first Canadian chef invited to prepare a dinner at the James Beard House in New York. Charlie, being deeply involved in all things James Beard stepped forward and offered his assistance. He provided valuable information as to the pros, cons and limitations of cooking for 74 guests in the small home-kitchen of a converted brownstone in Greenwich Village. He called a friend of his with a restaurant nearby so my tiny team of wide-eyed Canadian chefs and I would arrive in the Big Apple to friendly kitchen space and a supply of kitchen staples to complement the styro-foam cases of British Columbia food and wine we had traveled with. The event would not have been half as successful as it was without Charlie's assistance.
And Charlie absolutely insisted my wife and I spend a few days in Chicago on the way back to Vancouver; again, an invitation foolish to refuse. I believe the one-way conversation went something like, "You will spend a couple of days in my restaurant kitchen and stay at our house".
My experience at Charlie Trotters on a cold February night is one I regularly share with my students at SAIT when speaking about the heights of what is possible in regard to restaurant guest service.
Our flight arrived a few hours late on a dark, snowy night in an unfamiliar city. For those who remember those pre-internet, pre-cell phone days, it wasn't always easy to contact people when plans changed. Not knowing what else to do, we told the cab to take us to Charlie Trotter's. They would not be expecting us, but we figured we'd sort things out when we got there.
Upon arrival at the front door of the restaurant, suitcases in tow, we were welcomed not as strangers, but with friendly formality. We told our brief story to Charlie's welcoming team who surmised that we must be hungry and that we should have dinner. We said we didn't have a reservation and they said that wouldn't be a problem. (did I mention it was February 13th, the day before Valentine's Day, in the most celebrated restaurant in the US?) We accepted the invitation and asked what we should do with our suitcases. They smiled because our suitcases and coats had already silently disappeared from sight. Only when we were seated in the dining room was Charlie informed of our arrival. The intuitive, empowered, seamless service to that point still gives me shivers as a hospitality professional who has seen much over the years. It set my bar of expectations, both as a consumer and with my many hospitality teams since, extraordinarily high.
Upon arrival at the front door of the restaurant, suitcases in tow, we were welcomed not as strangers, but with friendly formality. We told our brief story to Charlie's welcoming team who surmised that we must be hungry and that we should have dinner. We said we didn't have a reservation and they said that wouldn't be a problem. (did I mention it was February 13th, the day before Valentine's Day, in the most celebrated restaurant in the US?) We accepted the invitation and asked what we should do with our suitcases. They smiled because our suitcases and coats had already silently disappeared from sight. Only when we were seated in the dining room was Charlie informed of our arrival. The intuitive, empowered, seamless service to that point still gives me shivers as a hospitality professional who has seen much over the years. It set my bar of expectations, both as a consumer and with my many hospitality teams since, extraordinarily high.
Charlie and his team sent out a seven course dinner, plus at least another seven courses of whatever he wanted us to see and experience that evening. Each was more exquisite in appearance, smell, taste, texture and originality than the next. One of his team of prized sommeliers matched wines perfectly on-the-fly. When it was time to leave, we asked our server if he might call us a cab. He replied immediately that there was a car available anytime we wished, to take us to Charlie's house. There was no bill.
I spent the next day and night in Charlie's kitchen watching the quiet, disciplined symphony that was his brigade, serve another sold-out house. With an average of ten courses per person, 120 diners per service, I watched their nightly 1,200 plates leave the kitchen with an urgent calmness. Charlie examined every one of them. I remember observing the first in-kitchen chef's table I had ever heard about or seen. I also remember seeing his team strip and clean that kitchen, exactly as they did every night, until it appeared brand new. For this to impress someone like me, who had spent several years as a part of modern day slavery in European kitchens, where we too shined screaming hot stoves with sandpaper, is something special.
I spent the next day and night in Charlie's kitchen watching the quiet, disciplined symphony that was his brigade, serve another sold-out house. With an average of ten courses per person, 120 diners per service, I watched their nightly 1,200 plates leave the kitchen with an urgent calmness. Charlie examined every one of them. I remember observing the first in-kitchen chef's table I had ever heard about or seen. I also remember seeing his team strip and clean that kitchen, exactly as they did every night, until it appeared brand new. For this to impress someone like me, who had spent several years as a part of modern day slavery in European kitchens, where we too shined screaming hot stoves with sandpaper, is something special.
We all know Charlie Trotter for his cuisine, the first vegetarian tasting menus any of us had seen, and the remarkable cookbooks. (he bought the building next door, partially to purchase and age mountains of the world's great wines in the basement, but also to have one talented chef working solely on new ideas and cookbooks). Whether it was cleaning a kitchen, writing a menu, welcoming guests, buying and aging wines, selecting bathroom tissue, or offering to assist a fellow chef far beyond what is reasonable, Charlie had long ago decided to do everything better than anyone else, start to finish.
The Charlie I know I consider to be the shining example of a 'complete' chef; culinarily experimental, innovative and honest; a great supporter of local purveyors long before any of us thought that might be a good thing to get back to; financially savvy and successful; charitable to a fault; a hard-on-work, soft-on-people leader and chef-builder; personally driven, passionate and focused more than anyone I have ever met in any line of work. His personal motto at that time was "sleep is cheap".
Now, he has decided to take a break 25 years after bravely launching his eponymous restaurant. He plans to both further his education and travel. Maybe he'll do a restaurant again, maybe not. This sensibility, change of direction and personal need to, as Stephen Covey once wrote in The Seven Habits Of Highly Effective People, "sharpen the saw", only makes him more complete.
