A ‘reluctant’ Israeli chef tells of messy journey to success
After a public split with Besh Restaurant Group, Alon Shaya left the New Orleans restaurant bearing his name.
In the months following, the James Beard Award winner for Best Chef: South launched Pomegranate Hospitality ( pomhospitality.com) and will open his “modern Israeli” restaurant, Saba, in New Orleans this spring. He’s also working on a second restaurant in Denver, expected to open by June.
His first cookbook, “Shaya: An Odyssey of Food, My Journey Back to Israel” (Knopf, $35), published this month, takes readers on a meandering, unvarnished journey through meals and memories that shaped him, from his roots in Israel and childhood in Philadelphia to his current reign in New Orleans.
Question: What is it you are trying to tell people through stories of your early days and grandmother’s cooking to your current career as a chef/ restaurateur?
Answer: I believe that the best tasting food comes from a good story. I always tap into moments in my life when I think about what I want to cook and how I want to cook it. I wanted the book to really have that feeling.
Q: The stories in this new cookbook give a picture of a messy path to success. What’s the lesson you want people to take away from your stories, not just the recipes?
A: Life is a journey, and I’ve always been kind of closed when it came to talking about my past. As I began writing the book, it was a very therapeutic experience. I didn’t quite know how I was going to bring my life story together in a set of recipes that would make sense for a cookbook. There’s Italy, there’s Israel, and the South. How do you put gnocchi and hummus in the same space?
I felt it would be best to start at the beginning. I realized that the way to truly connect with people would be to put it all out there. I really hope that when people read the book and cook the recipes, they think about those moments in their life as well — good and bad — where food made a difference.
Q: You write that you’re a somewhat “reluctant” Israeli chef, and started out by adding Israeli ingredients and touches to dishes at Domenica. Where did that come from?
A: I was a chef at an Italian restaurant. I had taken a trip to Israel and a lightbulb went off. I realized that food was part of who I was and part of my history. I wanted to learn more about myself through the food.
I was still a little embarrassed or afraid of my history. I suffered from this identity crisis. I started sneaking it onto the menu. People really loved it and the reaction was surprising to me. Eventually, I realized that I had to explore this. That’s when I opened Shaya.
Q: What can you tell us about your very public exit from Shaya and Besh Hospitality Group? What’s your next step?
A: I’m not involved with Shaya restaurant anymore, because I split up from my business partners. We’ve had an opportunity with our team to spend the last five months really focusing on the food we believe in and feel would provide the most opportunity for people to feel like they’re a part of something greater, and they feel comfortable, safe and happy. When we open Saba this spring, we get to put all of that into play.
Q: How do you define your approach?
A: My approach has very much to do with the moment in my life. The chapter about me kind of beginning to understand my Judaism is also about being kind of open to everything that was out there.
There was a moment in my life I wanted to make kugel, and the story of that chapter is me describing roasting a whole pig at our (school’s) first Jewish culture club, then realizing that was a huge mistake to say that to my audience. That’s how the Kugel in Crisis recipe came out, and that’s how there’s bacon in my kugel. It was reflective of the time in my life.
Q: How did Hurricane Katrina and serving red beans and rice to people during recovery shift your thinking about food and cooking?
A: It reminded me why I cook. Leading up to Hurricane Katrina, I was hellbent on trying to invent food, to create something that was uniquely me. I was thinking very inwardly about my approach.
When Hurricane Katrina hit, I was just kind of scrounging up the ingredients from a looted-out Walmart. I made a pot of red beans and rice. It wasn’t typically the way I would make it. I wasn’t really proud of the way it tasted.
Yet when I served it to people, it was a moment that I realized it doesn’t matter, it matters that they’re getting a hot cooked meal. That stuck with me, and it made me realize it is not about me. I should think about how I can give people a moment of comfort or pleasure through cooking.
Now, every Monday night we have red beans and rice at the house. My wife makes them. We call it our “Cajun Shabbat.”
Q: What recipe do you make as comfort food?
A: The lutenitsa, my grandmother’s recipe. Every time I roast peppers and eggplants over the fire, I
think of her. Q: One of the people featured in the cookbook is your high school home economics teacher, Donna Barnett?
A: When I was in her class, that was a low point in my life, but because I was open to the opportunities she presented me with, I was able to turn that into something great. I’m honored I get to tell that story.
She and I actually started a foundation, the Shaya Barnett Foundation, working toward putting culinary back into high schools.
Q: Do you see a change in people’s approach or interest in Israeli cooking or ingredients?
A: There is definitely a movement toward people discovering these ingredients and techniques. Even if there is no connection to Israel or any of the countries, people are still really curious about the cuisine. I hope that as people experiment that it translates to something deeper than grabbing a bottle of orange blossom water.
This is a recipe of Alon Shaya’s grandmother’s, from his new book, “Shaya: An Odyssey of Food, My Journey Back To Israel.”
“The aroma of peppers and eggplant charring over an open flame is what made me fall in love with food,” he writes. “Intense but simple, it takes me back to that early feeling of being so nourished by my grandparents’ visits.
“It really doesn’t require a lot of skill; patience — in thoroughly charring the vegetables, then peeling them and slowly, gently cooking them into the most concentrated version of themselves — is more important than anything else you could add.