All Executive Chefs have a responsibility to elevate the credibility of the profession. For me, that mission came unexpectedly through a cookbook project—an initiative I inherited from Corporate Chef Peter Schoch while at the Ritz Carton Company.
Chef Schoch’s vision was to celebrate the company’s culinary legacy in a single book, a tool to highlight its rich history and future destinations. His philosophy resonated with me: “Recipes are just a footprint; only when you cook the dish do you travel the journey.” It was a powerful tagline that captured the spirit of the project.
Cookbooks weren’t new to the company. The Boston property had its own, individual chefs had theirs, and Chef Franz Metner had created Art Culinaire. But these were personal efforts, not a unifying corporate endeavor. Suddenly, I found myself the owner of an unfamiliar project, doubting my ability to manage its complexity.
The Value of Consistency
We’ve all worked in once-great kitchens that no longer meet their previous standards. It’s painful to say, “When I was there, it was different.” Consistency in food quality is a priority in every kitchen, and one antidote to this decline is accurate recipes. Many kitchens rely on a “recipe bible,” passed from place to place. These typically include ingredients and measurements, but the procedures are often left to be learned on-site. Great organizations spend years refining these resources, which brought me to the heart of my cookbook challenge.
Chef Schoch had already captured photographs of the chefs and their dishes, setting the tone for the book. The first big question emerged: “Did we want a coffee-table book or a working cookbook?” The owner’s answer was both. A coffee-table book appeals visually, relying on stunning photography to inspire, while a working cookbook demands trust that the recipes will succeed in any kitchen. To achieve both, we needed to test every recipe—not in a professional kitchen, but in a home-style lab.
The Challenges of Recipe Testing
Testing recipes added a new layer of complexity to an already expensive project. Travel, photography, and now testing stretched the budget. Recipes needed to be written in a consistent format, converting global measures into imperial units for American users.
World-class chefs often work intuitively, blending technique with wisdom, but that doesn’t always translate to written recipes. I was reminded of holiday calls to the chef’s office, where frantic guests asked for help rescuing a failed pie recipe. Sometimes, they simply asked if we had extra pies. Even club members often requested recipes only to call back saying, “Can I just pick up four portions on my way home?”
Testing exposed the gaps in written recipes. Marketing didn’t understand why Michelin-star chefs needed their recipes tested, but we knew the truth: “We can improvise in the kitchen, just never compromise.” Missing steps or ambiguous instructions could erode trust in the brand, especially for home cooks trying the recipes.
The Vision Stalls
As Stephen Covey famously said, “Start with the end in mind.” The book was meant to inspire trust in the brand’s culinary relevance and create lasting memories. Yet, as inconsistencies surfaced, the vision faltered. I started to wonder: “Am I overthinking this? What’s wrong with a poorly written book with great pictures? It’s not my name on it.”
Delays piled up as the budget was strained under global translation challenges and the difficulty of sourcing unique ingredients. What was initially planned as a two-month testing process stretched into two years. The project became an expensive, unfinished vision gathering dust in someone’s file cabinet.
Lessons Learned
While the cookbook never materialized, the experience reinforced my responsibility as a chef. Protecting the chefs under my leadership—and the trust of those who rely on our recipes—was paramount. A poorly executed cookbook could have damaged the Ritz-Carlton’s culinary reputation.
Today, as a recruiter, I often gift cookbooks to the chefs I place. These are handpicked from my 40-year personal library, including books passed down by my mentors with notes like “I pass this on.” These cherished volumes, once tools of my professional growth, now serve as resources for the next generation of chefs. Knowing that many cooks can’t afford such books on their salaries makes this gesture even more meaningful.
A Legacy of Growth
What we leave behind will always face scrutiny, but leaving something behind is the true measure of growth. Perhaps someday, the Ritz-Carlton cookbook will be revived, championed by someone with a new vision. For now, the lessons I learned about trust, consistency, and leadership remain my contribution to the profession.
