Spent yesterday in DC. First stop was the Smithsonian Folklife Festival, this year featuring Oman and cooking. Oman seems like it’s worth a visit. But the highlight of the show was a much more local phenomenon – Patrick O’Connell of the Inn at Little Washington.
I’m not a foodie, but we thought we drop into his talk because he and his inn are neighbors of ours out in Rappahannock county, and we had dropped a few hundred bucks there last month.
I’ve always thought of O'Connell as probably a pretty good chef and a much better self-promoter. But I had my eyes opened yesterday to the full dimensions of the man as he held forth delightfully, intelligently and articulately for 45 minutes (until they practically had to drag him off the stage), preparing watermelon soup and crab cakes, and sharing his opinions on many things.
O'Connell brilliantly used the typical pedestrian questions from the large and reverential audience (most of whom, by a show of hands, had actually eaten at his restaurant) as triggers for impromptu discourses. Asked what he thought about recent TV cooking shows, he launched into a tirade about these shameful farces. What’s his favorite restaurant? We got a treatise on what it means to be a good restaurant, and what kind of torture it is for somebody like him to dine in somebody else’s restaurant (he goes to Vietnamese restaurants with kids or innocents who know nothing about cooking).
Most interestingly, O'Connell presented a theory of haute (or as he says “refined”) American cuisine, as well as a general theory of cooking and serving fine food. He explained exactly how he makes it worth it to drop hundreds of dollars on a meal – not in terms of his costs, but consumer value.
While O'Connell was talking, I reflected on the fact that for more than 30 years people have been hauling out to his place in the country and dropping ever escalating big bucks on his meals. Every day he passes the sort of market test that few other firms have to pass. The vast majority of his customers don’t just drop in (as we did) to dinner. They have to leave no later than early on the day of the dinner to avoid the crushing DC traffic, and probably stay overnight at his Inn or at some other expensive inn in the neighborhood to avoid the drunken ride 75 miles home. The experience will run at least a grand for two people, and twice as much on weekends with a table in the kitchen.
And O'Connell has to attract a workforce as well for a mammoth kitchen that runs 24 hours a day. In a town with a total population of around 150, the Inn has at any one time around 30 people working in the kitchen. This is the tip of the iceberg of the total workforce, which fills what looks like the largest parking lot in the county.
I once talked to a pastry’s assistant at the Inn who was renting the house across the road from us. He had come from a distant state, had worked in France, of course, and regarded this seeming rural backwater as a huge step up the ladder, and one that he felt extraordinarily lucky to make. (O’Connell, in condemning the “clowns” who do TV cooking shows, pointed out that his helpers could be doctors or lawyers, or anything else, but chose to try to be chefs.)
O’Connell spoke of his desire to have the right kind of cooking show – a serious show, where he would interview the great chefs of the world about what they do. Don’t we need, at last, somebody to fill Julia Child’s shoes? (In fact, don't we need all kinds of shows that actually explain what goes on inside business?) With cable, there’s no excuse for not giving the man the show he wants.
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