Culinary

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 Carlton 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.

Club + Resort Chef – December 2024

Lawrence T. McFadden, CMC, ECM is a food and beverage training consultant and search executive with KOPPLIN KUEBLER & WALLACE, a consulting firm providing executive search, strategic planning and data analysis services to the private club and hospitality industries.

What if you were an Executive Chef who always got the job? Some chefs don’t even go through interviews—they are handed opportunities by mentors or admiring employers. However, when it comes to private clubs, the process can look very different. Often, it’s the second or third round of interviews that secures the offer.

After a lengthy round of interviews, I was once asked by a selection committee who I would hire. I turned their question back to them: “How much risk is the club willing to take?” There is no perfect candidate—no five-star product rating. The real question is, “How patient is the membership?” Trust in a new chef takes time to develop.

Underlying this process is an unspoken fear of change. Members often express concerns, saying, “We need to get this chef selection right.” This statement reflects the anxiety of how other members will react. Without consistent survey metrics to rely on, clubs often grapple with the question, “What is right?” Preferences and opinions are subjective; trends and measurable improvements provide the true answers. For a new chef, trust must be earned one meal and one member at a time.

Building Trust in the New Chef

How long will members support their new Executive Chef as they settle in? This timeline often depends on the state of the current food program, the expectations of the membership, and how the selection committee was assembled. Committees typically look for consistency first, with innovation and creativity as close seconds. But innovation is hard to define. A chef needs trust to inspire creativity, and gaining that trust requires time and patience.

In 1992, the U.S. Culinary Olympic Team introduced a minor league system. If a National Team chef struggled, a regional chef could be moved up. This change introduced a sense of insecurity among team members, which led to hyper-preparedness. However, this also stifled creativity and innovation. Similarly, new club chefs often face immense pressure to meet the varying demands of members while navigating the uncertainty of their approval.

Some clubs address this transition with a “members morning stage,” positioning the incoming chef as a continuation of the retiring chef’s legacy rather than an agent of drastic change. Food is an emotional experience, and with the previous chef gone, even familiar dishes can feel different. It often takes up to two years for members to build trust and confidence in the new chef’s culinary consistency. Moving too quickly with innovation can make a chef seem disrespectful to traditions, while moving too slowly may lead to frustration that “nothing has changed.”

Minimizing Risk in the Selection Process

To mitigate risk, clubs often turn to recruiters to identify candidates with culinary expertise, experience, and strong interpersonal skills. The interview process is designed to assess both technical ability and cultural fit. Committees ultimately rely on their instincts about which candidate feels right for the club’s atmosphere and brand identity. This feeling of trust is critical—not just for the committee but also for the perception that other members will support the selection.

Committees are typically composed of individuals with diverse backgrounds, spanning industries, ages, ethnicities, and experiences. Some may come from the restaurant profession, while others are self-professed “foodies.” A great description of a foodie once noted that they “think about dining from the neck up, while most people think from the neck down.” True foodies approach food as an exploration driven by research and passion for the art of dining. This perspective is valuable, but it doesn’t guarantee an understanding of what works best for a private club environment.

Food as Emotion and Culture

Dining has reached a cultural peak. Celebrities like Gordon Ramsay have brought chefs into the limelight, and dining out is at an all-time high. High-net-worth individuals now eat more than 70% of their meals outside the home, and younger generations dine out even more frequently. Meanwhile, home kitchens have become status symbols rather than functional spaces, showcasing a love for food more than its preparation.

Private clubs see their Executive Chef as another kind of trophy—a symbol of excellence and a cornerstone of the member experience. As recruiters, my partner and I often hear the phrase, “We need to get this right,” when it comes to Executive Chef searches. The pressure on these committees is enormous. Some members even quit during the process, walk out of interviews, or threaten to abandon the tasting phase entirely. Food evokes powerful emotions, often tied to childhood memories that shape our preferences and dislikes. These deep-seated opinions can complicate the decision-making process, especially when selecting a chef to lead the culinary program.

The Reality of Trust

Trust is a complex and gradual process. A well-known framework on trust suggests that among five people, one will trust you immediately, one never will, and three can be influenced. This mirrors the dynamics of political voting metrics and underscores the reality that no Executive Chef will ever be perfect for everyone.

The club’s leadership must ultimately trust the chosen candidate, recognizing that success lies in providing the new chef with the time and support needed to thrive. While no chef is flawless, the best ones inspire confidence through their commitment to the craft, their ability to connect with members, and their vision for the culinary program.

In the end, trust in a new Executive Chef is built one plate at a time.

Club + Resort Chef – January 2025

Lawrence T. McFadden, CMC, ECM is a food and beverage training consultant and search executive with KOPPLIN KUEBLER & WALLACE, a consulting firm providing executive search, strategic planning and data analysis services to the private club and hospitality industries.

How can a perceived compliment in my thirties feel so wrong today? Why does the confidence found in today’s wisdom seem so elusive in my earlier years?

The perfectionist is never satisfied. The perfectionist never says, “This is pretty good, I think I’ll just keep going.” To the perfectionist, there is always room for improvement. The perfectionist calls this humility, but it is egotism. It is pride that drives the desire to write a perfect script, paint a flawless painting, or perform an impeccable monologue. Perfectionism is not a quest for the best; it is a pursuit of the worst in ourselves—the part that whispers that nothing we do will ever be good enough. It demands we try again. But no, we should not.

My perceived perfectionism was a lifestyle woven into every fiber of my being, slowly, secretly, and without notice. It robbed me of the ability to enjoy the abstract beauty of imperfection, haunting my mind with the belief that “better” was just around the corner—or hidden beneath a veiled plate. Perfectionism kills our dreams and the simple joy of being good enough. It agitates, both mentally and physically, with an incessant need to achieve more.

So how does perfectionism feel so generous in its pursuit yet create a selfish shell of one’s leadership?

My perfectionism couldn’t be turned off with a simple, overbearing self-acknowledgment. Countless managers summoned me to reality with warnings: “You must change, Chef, or we don’t need you.” These confrontations often went unnoticed by me, manifesting instead as a ticking stopwatch—measuring fleeting moments of nonexistent satisfaction.

Could it have been humility or fear that kept me from enjoying the present? How can anyone be content when their brain is trained to identify weaknesses, both in themselves and others?

I didn’t see myself as a perfectionist. It was a label given by others. When your mind is laser-focused on constant improvement, you rarely question its perceptions. This mindset was fueled by fear, anxiety, resentment, and shame. These overwhelming emotions crushed any opportunity for self-reflection, replaced by the ever-present mantra of “What’s next?”

It was 2 p.m. on a Mother’s Day, deep into the second phase of a grand buffet serving 1,200 guests, when I sent an email to the Director of Food and Beverage and the Executive Chef, listing eighty mistakes I had observed. It spanned four pages—not personal, but it might as well have been. My assistant finally broke his professional silence and said, “Enough.” Later, in a quiet but pointed manner, he added, “Can’t we just enjoy the process of getting better?”

That moment was a low point in my leadership journey, defining just how much I had yet to learn about guiding others.

For most of my life, I couldn’t sleep. The silence of the night roared with the noise of my perceived mistakes. I couldn’t rest in hotels or resorts where I worked, often driving home deep into the night, consumed by anxiety. Once home, I would pour my thoughts into long, winding emails—4 a.m. downloads sent to unsuspecting inboxes. Not mean, most of the time, but inconsiderate nonetheless. These emails reflected all the things I felt hadn’t been accomplished or needed improvement.

I also pushed my frustrations onto my lieutenants, often asking, “Where is the creativity? Why do I have to do all the thinking?” One brave sous chef once replied, “Chef, if you don’t stop doing all the thinking, creativity will never happen.”

Fair enough—but I believed my ideas were clearer, deeper, and mistake-free. Or so I thought.

There were moments when I glimpsed how my behavior impacted others. Once, as I rounded the corner of the pantry, I overheard someone joke, “I bet Chef folds his underwear perfectly in his top drawer.” It was a moment of clarity: the speed at which I moved left no room for others’ opinions to matter.

My worst habit was failing to acknowledge my team in even the simplest of ways. I never said goodnight. My fear of not being in the kitchen long enough manifested as the “Irish goodbye”—slipping out the side door late at night. One sous chef eventually said, “Chef, we deserve better than this.”

Even significant accomplishments, like completing the Certified Master Chef exam, felt hollow. Driving home, my mind replayed a slideshow of perceived mistakes. I focused on pastry, which had scored lower than expected, despite being the area I had practiced most. My drive for perfection left me blind to the significance of what I had achieved.

So how does any of this matter if we don’t learn from it? I can’t fully tell that story—others must secure the relevance of my journey in their own words. Today, my colleagues marvel that these stories are even part of my past, given our current relationships. Some chefs have shared that I judged them harshly in a previous life. My response is always the same: “How did that go for you?”

Club + Resort Chef – December 2024

Lawrence T. McFadden, CMC, ECM is a food and beverage training consultant and search executive with KOPPLIN KUEBLER & WALLACE, a consulting firm providing executive search, strategic planning and data analysis services to the private club and hospitality industries.

During his interview, the candidate said he could “hear” cooking mistakes in his kitchen. This comment took me back to Chef Prudhomme’s observation: “You can see flavor first.” He described changes in color, smells, and even the visual evaporation of steps that build flavor. Chef elaborated, “Too often, cooks don’t take the time to fully develop the flavors nature provides. They rush through the process, missing the depth that comes with patience and proper technique.”

This philosophy underscores the idea that cooking is as much about observation and intuition as it is about skill. Great chefs learn to listen, look, and feel their way through every step of the process, ensuring that every detail is considered.

Chef was meticulous about his ingredients and the techniques best suited for them. I remember him asking me to heat a sauté pan while he cooked shrimp as a sample in front of our vendor. The seafood was hours old, straight from the water and never refrigerated. Its natural water temperature allowed the shrimp to cook evenly, avoiding overcooked edges as the center warmed. At my first restaurant, we kept trout tanks in the cooler. Trout à la bleu was a specialty because of its unparalleled freshness.

These principles were what Chef preached every day: respect for the ingredient, precision in technique, and the patience to let nature guide the process.

Culinary Discipleship: Who you work with shapes your vision of excellence. Recently, a club interviewed an Executive Chef candidate who had worked for Robuchon, Keller, Ken Oringer, and others. The club worried he wouldn’t be motivated to make a club sandwich or Caesar salad, saying, “We hired a white tablecloth chef once.” Please, committees: quality is quality, regardless of a chef’s restaurant background. Ask a Michelin-star chef about a Caesar salad, and they’ll start with the technique and ingredients. They’ll consider the tear of the lettuce, the viscosity of the dressing, the size of the croutons, and the tanginess of the cheese. Quality is a philosophy, regardless of the dish served.

Vendors: Most great chefs have a “secret vendor list” handed down from their mentors. It may surprise some, but not all vendors sell to all chefs. The best farmers and ranchers respect personal relationships with their ingredients and carefully choose whom they trust. In the late ’90s, Charlie Andrews of Hammock Hollow Farm visited our kitchen. He walked in, inspected how we cared for our raw ingredients, and at the end of his visit, handed me a brown bag of 8-ball squash. “I see you’ll take care of my babies,” he said. “Looking forward to your first order.”

Techniques: Flavor building relies on systems, regardless of cuisine. One of the greatest advancements in recent years has been cooking technology. In a club interview, several candidates noted the installation of combi ovens. Two candidates even shared programming experience from previous roles. Tools like computer-controlled ovens, sous vide, and blast freezers provide failproof consistency. Every club demands consistency, and these technologies safeguard it, even amid staff turnover.

Staff Inspiration: If you don’t dream about food, you won’t understand its potential. Last week, I interviewed a sous chef who had worked under five Executive Chefs for over 18 years. After 20 minutes of conversation, I asked, “When was the last time you dreamed about food?” She paused, startled, and replied, “It’s been years. I’ve been too busy.” This highlights a key loss—great chefs, trained by great mentors, know how to dream. In business terms, it’s like knowing which questions to ask. Without exposure to excellence, it’s hard to imagine what’s possible. Great chefs inspire dreams of flavor through their exposure to world-class organizations and mentors.

Discipline: Culinary is the ultimate team sport, where countless hands touch a dish. A disciplined staff indicates clear standards and shared pride. A team-centric environment fosters focus, confidence, and accountability. Recipes are followed, ingredients are respected, and every dish has a clear vision. The kitchen is a professional space, free from idle chatter, where every movement has purpose. This respect extends to handling ingredients with care, massaging seasoning into proteins, and moving deftly in a sauté pan. Precision and awareness define mastery.

Communication: A quiet kitchen signals strong leadership. Modern kitchens have replaced the loud “Yes, Chef!” with subtle nods or electronic communication. Key sous chefs act as focal points for inspections during final steps. As a young cook in the ’80s, I worked an entire service without speaking a word. Listening was the skill I mastered that summer. In later kitchens, silence during service left room for the sous chef to lead. The system—not the title—drove results.

Trust: Transparency in identifying and addressing flaws is the ultimate reward. Trust is reflected in documented recipes, a cornerstone of every successful kitchen, from Michelin-starred establishments to fast-casual chains. When recipes are embraced in lineups, staff meetings, and digital communication, unity in taste follows. The kitchen operates as a “we,” not an “I,” system.

Environments: Clean kitchens produce clean food. Beyond preventing bacteria, cleanliness supports systematic organization. Cooking is a series of precise actions, first practiced through cleaning responsibilities. Quality lighting is essential—not just for visibility but as a mental motivator for cooks.

Organization: From day one, fragile ingredients begin to deteriorate. Maximizing freshness requires sound systems and experienced hands. Proteins, for instance, should be handled only by trained staff. On the line, seamless movement minimizes unnecessary steps. Each process is deliberate, predictable, and repeatable.

Cooking is a craft built on attention to detail, where every step matters—whether it’s the precise technique used in preparing ingredients, the care in building relationships with vendors, or the leadership that inspires a team. Great chefs understand that patience, discipline, and respect extend far beyond the plate. These values shape the foundation of a successful kitchen.

Excellence isn’t defined by complexity but by the intention and care invested in every dish, every process, and every interaction. By staying rooted in these principles, chefs not only elevate their craft but also inspire their teams and create meaningful dining experiences for those they serve. Through this commitment to quality and integrity, our beloved profession continues to thrive and evolve.

Club + Resort Chef – December 2024

Lawrence T. McFadden, CMC, ECM is a food and beverage training consultant and search executive with KOPPLIN KUEBLER & WALLACE, a consulting firm providing executive search, strategic planning and data analysis services to the private club and hospitality industries.

For me, it never felt like “work” because of my family’s support. Even with long hours and missed family milestones, I saw it as an investment in my future career. Both of my parents had careers they didn’t consider “work” either. A career, to me, is all-consuming—it weaves into every part of your being and keeps you dreaming of its potential. My efforts were aimed at providing educational opportunities and social advantages for my family.

The idea of “work-life balance” can be tricky for chefs, especially when it comes to physical separation from family. I remember the early days in the kitchen—once you stepped through that back door, you were cut off from the outside world. Some of us even slept in the kitchen. Our brigade was like a fraternity, a source of energy and camaraderie. The discipline and military-like structure shaped our character, much like military service has done for generations.

This sense of purpose eased the anxiety that could come from the long hours. Those who struggled with it often lacked a clear culinary direction or passion. Sometimes, when chefs speak about their love for the kitchen, it can come across as selfish. Success in this industry requires intense focus, almost a form of tunnel vision. As Chef Norman Van Aken says, “The industry selects you, not the other way around.”

Most chefs will say, “I wouldn’t be successful without my family,” and what they mean is that mental separation is different from physical absence. Those who find success manage to be present, emotionally and spiritually, for their families when they’re not physically present. Greatness in anything takes time, whether it’s your profession or your family. Life is never perfectly balanced; it’s about compromise.

Today’s youth face the challenge of constant social pressures, feeling the need to balance everything all the time. They miss the bigger picture—life is about prioritizing over time, not achieving balance every day. This pressure to be perfect, especially in time management, can create fear before life teaches patience.

Recently, I interviewed a Michelin-starred chef who was considering a private club job. When we discussed balance, he mentioned wanting to come home at 10 p.m. instead of 1 a.m. Without asking, I might have assumed he wasn’t willing to put in a full day. It reminded me of my first trip to China in the late ‘80s, when I told my wife, “I’ll see you when I return.” With no cell phones, Skype, or Zoom back then, communication was limited to postcards, which often arrived after I had already returned. That was a different kind of loneliness—one born of physical separation and communication challenges.

But you can also feel lonely at home, even when surrounded by family. Balance is a mental choice, a decision to engage and spend quality time with those around you. We all have that choice, but many don’t see it when they head into the kitchen every day. Maybe those who work from home discovered more about balance during the pandemic. Now that I work from home, I miss the energy of my staff, but that’s just another compromise.

One of my favorite quotes is, “Ask a busy person for help—there’s a reason they’re busy.” Being busy comes in phases, and no schedule is ever seamless. True balance comes from how we engage with those around us. Regardless of work schedules, we have the power to make a positive impact. I share this with young professionals, and it’s often a relief for them to hear.

In my first Executive Chef position, I took most Sundays off. I hired an Executive Sous Chef who took over Sundays, and this wasn’t just about family—it was about teaching him to set his own priorities. Leaders must teach their teams the importance of setting priorities because great businesses never slow down.

Later in my career, I worked under a selfish, insecure boss whose demands affected my health. It’s an experience many can relate to. I eventually had to leave that job, but timing those moves carefully builds a better reputation.

When I present to culinary students, I describe my career as a pyramid. At 18, I spent most of my time on the physical demands of the job because that’s all I had to offer. As I gained skills, I shifted from physical to mental work, focusing on delegation, accountability, and leadership. The kitchen is still a physical job, especially during peak seasons, but the thrill of creation and mentorship helps chefs push through.

My career includes 15 years of growth and seven years as an actual Executive Chef. Many students are surprised to hear that. Leadership isn’t about titles—it’s about who you work with and for. Mentorship is where I’ve found the most joy, and I’ve been lucky to be mentored by incredible club members. True professionals don’t have endless time, but they prioritize what’s important to be the most effective.

Club + Resort Chef – October 2024

Lawrence T. McFadden, CMC, ECM is a food and beverage training consultant and search executive with KOPPLIN KUEBLER & WALLACE, a consulting firm providing executive search, strategic planning and data analysis services to the private club and hospitality industries.