Key Ingredients

It was mid-afternoon in late july, and Rick Moonen had just turned his day inside-out to pick up 18 flats of fresh organic peaches at New York's JFK airport. After making his way through stand-still traffic and almost dropping half his cargo on the expressway, the executive chef finally arrived back at his Oceana restaurant in Manhattan and set up a roadside stand of sorts.

"I only needed four flats for my pastry chef to make his Perfect Peach dessert, a poached peach filled with peach ice cream nestled on a square of crisp puff pastry," Moonen says. "But Al, my trusted California purveyor, could only ship them by the container load." So Moonen bought the container, then contacted a few colleagues in the neighborhood. Soon cooks from such upscale establishments as La Caravelle, La Cote Basque, and the River Cafe were handing over wads of bills and hurrying back to their kitchens with a flat or two of cherished California fruit.

Why all this work for a peach, especially in the middle of summer, when it's easy to get terrific fruit from nearby farms? "I want guests to tell me 'this is the sweetest peach I ever ate,' " says Moonen. And Al is the only peach person he trusts to deliver the goods -- even if it means

buying a whole cargo container.

Sophisticated restaurant customers have always cared that the lamb came from New Zealand, the onions hailed from Vidalia, and the juice was squeezed from oranges still on a Florida tree that morning. But operators of all sorts are learning that patrons' curiosity is extending these days to what farm, what grower, what variety, even what cultivation method was used. Yesterday, it might have been enough to call a peach fresh; today, it helps to specify that it was hand-picked from the third row of a 5,000-acre orchard in Southern California and flown into town on American Airlines' 5:30 a.m. flight. First class. The taste and flavor of a dish were once as far as the patron's interest went; now, in a reverberation of a trend already transforming the new restaurants of Europe, the spotlight is falling on components, their origins, and their peculiar qualities.

Chefs attribute the shift in emphasis to greater sophistication and rising demands for quality. But others attribute the infatuation with ingredients not just to a mounting culinary sophistication, but to a growing worry over the integrity of the food supply in an age of genetically modified organisms and unprecedented scourges like the Mad Cow scare in Europe.

Whatever the cause, the ingredients-as-star phenomenon is already rewriting the menus of high-end restaurants -- literally -- in bellwether cities like New York, Los Angeles, Chicago, and Seattle. And the ripples are already shaping the bills of fare of mass-market chains. T.G.I. Friday's, for instance, has switched to the exclusive use of "natural" Angus beef for its hamburgers. Two of McDonald's new expansion vehicles are similarly spotlighting the wholesomeness of the foodstuffs in their signature quickservice items.

But the implications extend beyond what's on the menu, to how selections are sold, or even how chefs are restructuring their workload to spend more time on procurement. The mandate to focus on ingredients can also cause myriad operational hassles, from increased costs to added staff training.

Yet chefs are eagerly falling in step with the trend, welcoming the convergence of art and commerce. When guests are told that the wild striped bass was caught in mountain streams in Virginia or the morels were plucked from the forests of Oregon, the payback can be more than just a strong marketing pitch and a higher price. Moonen, for one, shrugs his shoulders over going so far as ordering a whole cargo container just to get the handful of peaches he wants. Securing just the right ingredient, he says, "makes it all worth it."

David Rosengarten, the restaurant consultant and Food Channel star, dubs the ingredient-centric movement "Alice Waters Take Two," referring to the legendary founder of Chez Panisse in Berkeley, CA. Waters has built her reputation on simple, wholesome, seasonal cooking by developing relationships with local farmers, ranchers, and artisan producers -- and mentioning them by name on her menu. Thirty years later, she finds herself a role model for a clutch of young, adventurous chefs.

Alan Kantor, chef-owner of the MacCallum House Restaurant in Mendocino, CA, purchases everything from salad greens, to apples, pistachios, grains, cheeses, shellfish, salmon caviar, and game from local producers. He's so intent on marketing the fact that he commissioned a cartographer to make a hand- colored "purveyor map," which hangs prominently in the restaurant's entrance space. "This is one more way I can educate diners about where the food on their plates comes from and give my purveyors the limelight they deserve," he says. Being able to identify the growers and trace the route the duck and berries take from farm to restaurant, Kantor says, makes customers more excited to try the pan-seared duck breast with Mendocino wild blackberry-pinot noir sauce and other specialties.

The House Restaurant in Los Angeles is situated close to a bustling farmers' market, and executive chef-partner Scooter Kanfer and her two sous chefs make several runs a week to pick up produce. "It's important for me to develop relationships with the farmers and teach my cooks to nurture and respect quality products," Kanfer says. And she conveys the same message to her customers, through statements written on the menu that support sustainable agriculture and small producers. "Diners are much more aware and savvy than they were five years ago," she says, "and they are willing to pay more for quality." That's why the House doesn't hesitate to hunt down and fly in prime ingredients not available locally.

And that's easier to do today than ever before. "The availability of and access to quality ingredients has grown tremendously in the past few years," Rosengarten says, making it possible for restaurants in Chicago, Boston, Atlanta, and more remote areas to source the best and highlight it on the menu.

Tom Colicchio, executive chef-partner at New York City's Gramercy Tavern, launched his latest venture, Craft, with just that mission in mind. Instead of organizing the menu under the broad categories of appetizers, entrees, salads, and desserts, he lists dishes according to their primary ingredient (Mushrooms, Potatoes, Grains & Beans, Meat, etc.) and cooking method (Cured/Marinated, Braised, Roasted, etc.). It's then up to diners to "craft" their own meals from top quality ingredients, simply prepared.

"Our menu is a reaction to today's confused cuisine," says Marco Canora, Craft's executive chef and the man behind the stove. "Flavors have gotten so mixed up on the plate, people can't enjoy the purity of any one thing. We give guests a sense of what a product should really taste like, and they love it." They also love the freedom to eat what they want, Canora says. "There's no snooty chef saying 'this sauce or vegetable must go with this entree.' But since I don't offer composed plates with lots of garnishes, every ingredient has to be 100%," he says.

Other high-end New York chefs are also structuring their menus with an ingredients-first approach. At DB Bistro Moderne, the newest addition to Daniel Boulud's fine-dining empire, the categories are similar but the language is the chef's native French -- Asperge, Champignon, Homard, Volaille, Legumes, etc. Didier Virot, a disciple of Jean-Georges Vongerichten, offers a three-course prix-fixe dinner ($49) at his recently opened Virot, headlining the key ingredient in each dish in big, boldface type. A diner might start with Green and White Asparagus, choose Squab as an entree, and finish off with Hazelnut Souffle. "It's very straightforward," explains Virot. "If you like lobster, you order it."

Creative procurement is a large part of what makes these menus even possible. "These days, 50% of a chef's job is sourcing ingredients," says Ann Quatrano, executive chef-owner of both Bacchanalia and Floataway Cafe in Atlanta. To purchase top quality, she started sourcing immediately, developing solid, working relationships with producers from all over the country.

Different restaurants get creative in different ways. As Janos Wilder, chef-owner of Janos and J-Bar in Tucson, AZ, tells it, "I advertised for gardeners before I advertised for staff when I opened my restaurant in 1983." Janos now has dozens of growers harvesting squash, chilies, tomatoes, beans, and more for his Southwestern-style ingredient-focused menu. In addition, he participates in Native Seeds/SEARCH -- a nonprofit group that cultivates heirloom seeds in an effort to conserve the native American crops. "I really like to inform my cooking with local ingredients," Janos says. "These vegetables add depth and perspective as well as flavor to my menu."



Flavor aside, these days chefs have another big motivation to talk up ingredients to their customers -- the customers' fear of the ingredients themselves. "People not only want to know where their food is coming from, they want to know it's safe," says Rosengarten. "By telling diners 'here's a piece of veal that was raised conscientiously by a reputable rancher,' you're also reassuring them subliminally that it's very safe." As a frequent traveler to Europe, where Mad Cow and Foot and Mouth hysteria is high, he reports that some operators there not only provide detailed stories about ingredient sources, they actually hang pictures of the farmers in the restaurant.

How is this playing out on our shores? Although fear of food has not reached the same fever pitch here, "safety awareness is extremely high among Americans today," reports Alison Brushaber, a foodservice industry consultant with the Dallas-based company, Chef Consortium. Restaurants at every level -- from McDonald's and Jack in the Box to Bacchanalia and Oceana -- see it as a concern among their customers, especially when headlines about tainted food supplies appear in the media.

Louis Lanza, executive chef-partner of Josie's, a health-conscious fine-dining concept in New York, finds that his business skyrockets anytime there's a scare. "We're especially careful about letting customers know where all our protein and produce is coming from, so people know they're getting safe, clean, high-quality food here," he says. This fall, he'll open Better Burgers -- a quickservice eatery offering patties made from free-range turkey and chicken, tuna, and veggies, with the point of origin of all the ingredients indicated on the menu. "Quality is my first priority, then price. People will pay more for quality," says Lanza.

Tony Lagana, president of the product development consulting firm Culinary Systems, agrees, and he sees many more casual chains running promotions that push quality first and foremost -- a trend that's trickling down fast from the fine-dining segment.

"Focusing on the source or uniqueness of an ingredient is another way to differentiate your menu from the competition's," Lagana says. "If there's a perception that something is higher-quality, customers don't seem to mind paying more." Several major players are capitalizing on this thinking: T.G.I. Friday's is heavily touting its recent switch to burgers made of Natural Angus beef from Montana; Red Lobster offers Walleye "from the pristine lakes of northern Canada"; and chalkboards in selected Starbucks stores note that the chain serves hormone-free organic milk.

At the 150-unit Chipotle Grill, McDonald's entrant in the growing fast-casual sector, "food with integrity" has been the motto of founder and CEO Steve Ells from the chain's inception. So when he asked purchasing director Ann Daniels if Chipotle could buy free-range, naturally raised pork for their popular carnitas, she wasn't too surprised. Together, they approached the producer himself, who was a bit surprised -- his company typically supplies upscale restaurants and hadn't sold to a chain before.

This could have been a problem on both sides: Small, high-quality producers aren't traditionally equipped to meet the high-volume demands of a chain. And given Chipotle's modest prices, costs for top-quality pork were an issue too.

To get around the obstacles, the producer expanded his network of 60 hog farmers in and around Iowa to 150 within a year -- growth fueled mostly by Chipotle. And while the chain was buying top-quality pork, it took the less-expensive leg and shoulder cuts, a plan that worked out well. "Their other customers were more interested in the other parts of the pig," Daniels says.

Ells, a Culinary Institute of America graduate, developed a carnitas recipe with the "new" pork, and carnitas fans are not hesitating to fork over $5.50 for an item that used to go for $4.45; sales have more than doubled. "People feel good about ordering something that's better for them," claims Ells. He plans to revamp Chipotle's purchasing ingredient by ingredient, "with the goal of making every menu item better, healthier, and tastier." Produce is on the top of the list, a quest that has already taken him personally through many fields and orchards.

Operators are using a variety of approaches to get the ingredients message across to customers. Pret a Manger, McDonald's new grab-and-go sandwich concept, is very aggressive in letting customers know that their food is free of all additives and preservatives (the British-based chain's web site recounts how it rebuffed a supplier who promised that its coleslaw would last 16 days). But at Chipotle, nothing about the new pork is mentioned on the menu. Instead, the chain relies on point-of-purchase literature and its employees to hype the flavor and source of the product. It's another idea Ells has borrowed from fine dining, where server education helps move menu items. "Any great news a server can deliver makes a big impression," says Tony Lagana, "but staff should be trained to pick out a few key points regarding the quality or source of an ingredient. Too much information can make guests' eyes glaze over."

In fact, there's a trend away from the lengthy, flowery descriptions of the '90s -- whether they were delivered by a verbose waiter or printed on the menu. At Marche in Eugene, OR, chef-owner Stephanie Kimmel doesn't like "beating people over the head. We print the ingredient source with some of our menu items," she says, "but if every dish included the farmer's name -- especially in the summer -- it would be overkill." At the very bottom of her menu, however, she notes "we are dedicated to using organic, chemical-free and non-genetically modified products," and trains her staff to fill in the blanks.

Virot agrees with this minimalist approach, noting that "an explanation of more than two sentences is too much." Toward that end, he and other restaurateurs are "letting the ingredients speak for themselves," but teaching servers the basics so they can address customers' concerns and questions. "The front of the house has to be totally in tune with the source of an ingredient so they can reassure diners that it's safe and clean as well as delicious," says Victor Gielisse, dean of culinary, baking, and pastry at the CIA.



Server education, overnight freight, artisan producers, specialized farming -- all this focus on ingredient sources can boost a restaurant's image and attract diners. But it's not easy and definitely not cheap.

Proponents of the movement say customers have been okay with paying premium prices for highly specialized or top quality ingredients. But Bob Kinkead, chef-owner of Kinkead's in Washington, D.C., isn't sure it will last. "With the economy in a downturn, people are starting to balk," he says. At his brand-new Colvin Run Tavern in Vienna, VA, Kinkead divides the menu into ingredient categories -- Fish & Seafood, Meat & Birds, Vegetables, Pasta & Grains, etc. -- in an effort to encourage diners to break out of the appetizer/entree/ dessert cycle, but he describes it as "a work in progress. I may have to tweak it to go along with diners' wallets."

Bacchanalia's Quatrano admits that top-notch product did push her food costs up. As a result, she's modified portion sizes a bit. "I don't have a problem giving people a little less of a quality ingredient," she says. (Her customers don't seem to have a problem either, steadily booking tables for Bacchanalia's $58 prix fixe dinners and $35 lunches.)

Meanwhile, Craft's lauded menu ran into problems of its own. Criticized as being too laborious (and too expensive), Colicchio and Canora did a revise. Selections are now indicated as first courses, main courses, and sides, and lengthy explanations from the servers on combining the elements into a meal are no longer mandatory. Items are on the pricey side ($10-$20 for first courses; $22-$35 for mains), but sharing is encouraged. For Craft's clientele of well-heeled diners, freedom, flavor, and a seasonal menu that can change daily outweigh the cost of eating there. Reservations at the restaurant are still hard to get.

Kimmel of Marche admits that it's time-consuming, complicated, and expensive to hunt down quality ingredients. She's able to keep food costs down to 30% because "everything comes from within 100 miles of the restaurant" -- an area with a long growing season, wide open spaces for raising free-range animals, and plenty of woods for foraging wild berries and mushrooms. She also controls costs by simplifying the presentation. "We're not about towers and squiggles on the plate," she says. "The colors of our food are so beautiful, our dishes are practically self-garnishing." When Kimmel does garnish, she splurges on small amounts of luxury ingredients to satisfy customers' expectations.

While this return to simplicity seems to be part of the ingredient-focus story on the fine-dining front, it does bring up the problem of customer expectations. "Can a high-quality veal chop, simply but beautifully prepared, win over diners who think that towers, drizzles, and swirls are what good food is all about?" asks Rosengarten. What's more, Americans equate "fancy" with "expensive," and may not want to pay top dollar for a dish with less frou frou. "It has to be a gradual transition, and you may lose some customers along the way," Rosengarten says.

As for casual-dining chains, Kinkead points out that "the bottom line is everything. Once the marketing value is gone, those operators won't be as interested in buying or bragging about higher-quality ingredients."

Nevertheless, the audience for ingredient-centric cooking seems to be growing, according to foodservice consultant Brushaber. "It's not a hippie or snobby thing anymore," she says. "And it's always been normal for Generation X and Y customers to want to know where their food is coming from."