According to the Harvard Business Review, Baby Boomers are often regarded as a highly self-focused generation. Their professional accomplishments have enabled many individuals from this demographic to secure positions on club boards. Personal ambitions and preferences may sometimes influence the strategic direction of their clubs in unintended ways. As a member of this generation myself, I acknowledge my own preferences, but I strive not to prioritize individual needs above collective interests.
Growing up, I remember sitting at the family dinner table each evening at 5:30, eating whatever was served—whether it was something I particularly wanted or not. This raises an important question: Is hospitality about preparing dishes that please everyone, or is it about presenting one’s culinary creations with style and intention? This question can challenge even the most accomplished chef.
Why can diners not simply appreciate excellence for what it is, setting aside personal preferences? I see a version of this even at my own table during holiday dinners. Our family prepares several classic dishes, and we hope everyone can enjoy what is served. In addition to family, we often open our home to guests and strangers, which makes the process even more complex. When I served as an Executive Chef, I constantly worried about preferences. In a more private setting, cooking has become an expression of the heart rather than a response to expectations. That philosophy has allowed me to prepare some of my most satisfying meals.
Eating has become one of America’s most popular pastimes, yet the experience has also become increasingly restrictive and rule-bound. Even at club wine dinners, carefully designed menus are often deconstructed according to individual preferences. Members sometimes shift their attention away from the camaraderie of the evening and toward their own dietary requests.
In earlier years, when a member told me a dish was the best they had ever tasted, I would jokingly ask whether they had ever dined with their mother. The fondest memories of family meals were rarely about the pot roast itself; they were about gathering with parents and siblings. As parents of adult children, many of us would give anything to relive those moments. Members often speak in similar terms when reminiscing about past Executive Chefs.
Individual preferences can gradually diminish a chef’s creative freedom, though not their responsibility to perform their role. As professionals, chefs do not cook solely for personal satisfaction. Becoming an Executive Chef requires dedication that goes beyond one’s own culinary preferences. The goal becomes consistency and excellence, with satisfaction often coming from watching others enjoy the results of your work.
Over time, I came to understand the powerful role that dopamine and serotonin play in this process. Cooking for others and witnessing their enjoyment creates a sense of fulfillment that few professions can replicate.
When Executive Chef candidates appear before a panel interview, each committee member may arrive with a specific dietary preference: keto, paleo, vegetarian, gluten-free, lactose intolerant, or newer trends such as orthorexia—the obsessive focus on eating only foods perceived as “clean” or “healthy.” This creates a minefield of expectations and questions. How does a candidate provide the right answer when a few individuals are effectively making decisions for the entire membership?
Many committee members fondly remember the era of power breakfasts and white tablecloth dining. Their memories often influence decisions about dining spaces and menus, even when those memories do not fully reflect current dining habits.
Great chefs often say that creativity thrives within constraints such as seasonality. Yet developing a menu amid numerous and sometimes conflicting member requirements can create discouraging complexity. Even traditional dishes may need modification due to concerns about starches, animal stocks, sodium levels, or fat content. Chefs may struggle to honor the techniques of their mentors when certain ingredients become controversial or restricted. At the same time, an intense feedback environment can overwhelm chefs attempting to introduce innovative ingredients through daily specials or curated wine dinners.
Over time, this feedback—especially when shaped by the most critical voices—can gradually institutionalize the club chef. Job security begins to take priority, and creativity slips lower on the agenda because of perceived risks. As these dynamics evolve, the General Manager may face increasing pressure as members begin comparing the club’s cuisine with that of local restaurants. A small but vocal group of enthusiastic diners often initiates calls for change.
By the time a search committee begins its work, the common refrain becomes: “We have to get this right.” During the search process, culinary cultural surveys often reveal surprisingly blunt comments from members who otherwise profess great loyalty to their club and its staff. General Managers are sometimes surprised to see how the same individuals who praise the club can be highly critical of its culinary program.
If a club truly wants creativity, it must accept that creativity—like art—will not always produce universal agreement or approval. Selfish criticism rarely motivates a chef to innovate. Trust, empathy, and kindness do.
Members who express appreciation and encouragement give staff hope and energy to move forward, to experiment with the next special, or to design a memorable multi-course wine dinner.
Another approach may be to place greater confidence in the General Manager. Members can rely on their leader to advocate on behalf of the membership and select the right Executive Chef for the club. In some cases, restraint may also be helpful. As the old saying goes, too many cooks can spoil the soup.
