© Henry Dombey/FACECOLLECTIVE

By now, you’ve no doubt heard that last week was my final hoorah as a contestant on Top Chef. C’est la vie.

For the most part, I feel good about my run–I made it to the final eight and I cooked some good food. Restaurant wars, the most anticipated episode of the season, was also a unique departure as a milestone in its own right, and a tough challenge. I’m glad that I made it this far and got to participate in this tradition with such a strong team. Coming off of the win on the quick fire the blue team was confident, focused and excited to be working together.

Perhaps this over-confidence was to blame for the missteps that followed. Right off the bat, we decided to skip a dessert, and in hindsight this was a mistake. A dessert course would have likely been an easier thing for Kevin to finish and/or plate, on top of the main course he was already handling…it turns into a game of What If fairly quickly. But I volunteered to tackle Front of House, and the team rallied behind that delegation, which left Mike Isabella to the first two courses, Jennifer Carroll on the second course and Kevin to prepare my lamb main course, in addition to his own pork dish. We had no trouble procuring all the items on our shopping list under budget and besides the minor drama with Robin over our “stealing” their idea to serve Pellegrino, we were in good shape at the end of the first day. Or at least we thought we were.

I finished the prep for my dish early on the day of the challenge, and turned to my colleagues to see if they needed help. Jennifer had said she had a lot left to do, but it wasn’t til I went to help that I understood how far behind she really was. Her mussels and clams still needed cleaning, the fish cut, the consommé finished. The status of the kitchen made it even more difficult for me to get out of the kitchen and into the dining room, which was my assigned post. By the time I was changed, the servers were already waiting for me and I had scarcely time to catch their names, introduce the chefs and go through the menu before I had to just put them to work. When Tom stopped by to check in, I assured him I trusted Kevin to execute my lamb and that I would be checking plates as they left the kitchen.

But once guests were arriving, time seemed to be moving at a clip and the diners arrived just as we were finishing a tasting with the servers. Although the kitchen wasn’t ready, I had to start seating tables. I visited the first round of diners and got some helpful feedback on the plates: namely, the pork loin was over cured and too salty and the fish course had just taken too long to arrive. I relayed the information to my colleagues in the kitchen, which should be useful for an experienced chef but that night seemed to only rattle their nerves. When the judges arrived hot on the tails of our first seating, we still hadn’t ironed the kinks out. I welcomed them to the Mission and then had to run off to deal with other issues; it was at that point, a matter of triage.

Which is why I didn’t linger over any one table, including the judges. A huge mistake, of course. In retrospect, one of many. From the start, we should have elected a leader. No matter how much respect you have for one another, someone should have been in charge. Also, two courses per chef was totally unrealistic. I let Kevin have final say on my lamb, another error in judgment. And personally, I lost sight of the fact that a dining experience is made up of two significant elements: food and service. I didn’t have enough experience in the latter to overcome the shortfalls of the former, and in the end, both suffered. By the end, I didn’t want to chat with the judges over their meal, I wanted the night to be over. We all left feeling defeated and it was a pretty bad night all around.

I’m not sure I was the weakest part of that team, or that I deserved to go home. But it was sort of a matter of time for me. Top chef gave me the opportunity to work shoulder to shoulder with really talented chefs, cooking for some of the best chefs in the world. I forged friendships and had unbelievable experiences in the kitchen, which taught me a lot about myself, my style and my thoughts on food in general. I was exposed to different techniques and approaches to cooking that were entirely new to me.

So what’s next for this Top Chef ex pat? I intend to continue pouring my heart and soul into my business, Left Coast Catering and to continue working to position it as one of the Bay Area’s top catering companies. More specifically, I’m planning some private dinners at Coffee Bar here in San Francisco on November 7th and November 10th, which will feature a three course menu. I’m also looking forward to working with the kids at the KIPP school in the kitchen and the classroom, exploring where our food comes from and the best ways to cook it.

So Top Chef may be over for me, but I feel like I’m just getting started.

© Henry Dombey/FACECOLLECTIVE

Hi there. Just wanted to stop in for a second to let you know I’m on the road this week. I realize it is quite the week. So check back Tuesday for the recap of this week’s events on the show and a full update.

© Henry Dombey/FACECOLLECTIVE

When Padma first announced that we were having a dinner party that night in our very own house, I was so excited. I love dinner parties. I love attending dinner parties and I love throwing dinner parties.

I realized quickly upon arrival back at the house that we were not guests at the dinner party, of course, but I was just as happy to be cooking. Especially for an all-start line up of chefs, including the likes of Tom Douglas, Nancy Silverton, Tyler Florence, Govind Armstrong and Takashi Yagihashi? I was stoked about this challenge from the start.

I felt lucky to draw Tyler Florence’s knife and to be paired with Brian. When we opened the refrigerator to find a tub full of California staples, I was entirely at ease; I felt right at home cooking in our cozy kitchen with familiar ingredients to boot.

Dinner parties marry cooking and eating so beautifully, diners and chefs are often intermingling to create a real communality in the food, which is served with equal parts ceremony and humility. A great dinner party is marked by an interesting blend of people, after all, as much as the quality of the food on the table. It often inspires good conversation, new ideas and collaboration, for this reason, as naturally as it does full bellies and satisfying groans.

This June, a small farm in Casper, CA slaughtered 50 or so of their lambs. I drove up there to pick one up and brought it back to hang for a few days in my walk in refrigerator and then broke the whole thing down with my good friend and long time Left Coast Catering chef, Paul Tang. It felt truly momentous, butchering that lamb. So I decided to host a party to celebrate, with several lamb-centric courses and a smattering of my own all-star line up: Dan Ripley of Dan Ripley Catering; Jonathan Beile and Jennifer Spiegel of Fork and Spoon Productions; Yasha and Carrie Aginski, film producers; Edie Lerman & Kevin McCullough, top California cannabis defense attorneys; Paul Tang; my right hand lady and friend, Miss Marianne Jackson; and finally but not least, the love of my life, manager, PR agent and photographer of Face Collective, Henry Dombey. We ate lamb tartar, herb rolled leg of lamb, chard ravioli with lamb sugo and roasted rack of lamb with plenty of wine. And we ate until we were so full and so happy, the laughter in the room reached a volume that made speaking difficult. That night was for me, what life is all about–community, friends and great food.

© Henry Dombey/FACECOLLECTIVE

I launched my private dining venue, 2150, in February with this kind of dining in mind: an intimate setting where guests and cooks could interact and share a common experience. A restaurant doesn’t always allow for the sharing of moments, and in fact seems hardened fast against them–consuming the life of its chef with hard work and discouraging her socialization with friends and family, let alone diners. But in a dining room, there’s more gray area between cooking and eating and I wanted to foster that kind of hospitality. The dinner party I threw to celebrate the opening of 2150 was where Marcia Gagliardi first encouraged me to go to the casting call for Top Chef in the first place. You could by now guess that I have a real affinity for dinner parties. The course of one’s life can change over a well stocked dining table.

The night we cooked for the Macy’s Council, I believe I caught a glimpse of the more human side of our judges. They were relaxed, enjoying one another’s company, engaging in forthright conversation and appreciating the food, even some of the less successful dishes. Of course they were also taking notes for their inevitable critique, but none of the dishes on that table were so bad as to taint the mood of that crowd. You could tell because they were actually enjoying themselves.

We had our own dinner party that night after we finished cooking made of wine, cheese, salumi and conviviality. Amidst the stress of this show, it’s nice to be able to put egos aside and come together once again, as we should, in the food.

© Henry Dombey/FACECOLLECTIVE

I’ve never done deconstructed food. It doesn’t really interest me. It seems over-thought, with little consideration for pleasure or sustainability–an intellectual style of cooking that lacks character or soul. I understand that to deconstruct is to break down, to dismantle, but I can’t figure why you’d take something apart if it isn’t broken in the first place.

If you asked me, I’d tell you I can cook pretty much anything…so long as my heart is in it. Maybe that’s where this week’s task challenged me: present a classic dish, deconstructed in a new way. In my case, fish and chips. It seemed contradictory, to ask us to be creative, but classic, constructing in deconstructing.

I devoured the best fish and chips I ever had with a friend late at night alongside a cold beer, after working a long shift. I remember it feeling so well-deserved. Fish and chips should always be eaten that way, late at night in a hungry fever, out of a plastic red basket. Doing a deconstructed version not only seems silly, it’s just not food I’d want to eat. It doesn’t hit the spot without the context.

Fish and chips is a traditionally British preparation where the fish is fried in a batter, served with a large pile of fries (“chips”), malt vinegar and lemon. Such simple flavors are hard to deconstruct beyond their already essential components, so I turned to the traditional condiments for inspiration, which as an American, includes tartar sauce and ketchup. In my brainstorming phase, I had no idea we’d be judged by Toby Young, the very British food critic, and he very well could have torn me apart for including the ketchup and tartar elements on my plate. But lucky for me, he noted that Brits also love the sweetness of ketchup and the mayonnaise based tartar sauce with their fish. A small relief!

So in addition to the fish and the potato, I included in my deconstrctionist’s pallette: oil, beer batter, malt vinegar, sugar, tomato, vinegar, mayonnaise (egg + oil), pickles, capers, parsley and lemon. And I had a bit of experience to guide me in selecting the fish, which is always to smell fish before purchasing. Matine had just been eliminated for bad fish, cod specifically, and since my dish traditionally uses cod as well, I inspected the available cod thoroughly with my nose.. It smelled off, and I immediately suspected it to be the same fish that sent Matine packing. Thinking on my feet, I opted for the halibut instead.

I wanted to oil poach the fish instead of frying it, as a twist on the original, and intended to make round chips of potato with parsley pressed between them for the more traditional fries. I planned to do a sabayon with malt powder, crispy bits of beer batter and a string of the remaining ingredients from the ketchup and the relish: sugar and vinegar poached cherry tomatoes, pickled zucchini, a lemon confit and fried capers. It was a fine plan.

I blame a bad quickfire and the potatoes, the chips, of the fish and chips, for my breakdown that day. The chips were an absolute disaster, either soggy or burned to a crisp. And this was without a doubt, my least favorite day in Vegas. I don’t know if it was the lack of sleep, the stress, the feeling of missing my life or the fact that I was being asked to deconstruct my food, but I felt like it was me who was getting deconstructed. I was done. Done with the show, done with the challlenges, done with the people. I wanted to pack up and go back to San Francisco where I loved to cook for people who love to eat my food.

When I entered the kitchen the day of the elimination challenge, Mike Isabella and Mike Voltaggio were plating their food. I watched as Mike Voltaggio carefully placed that Caesar salad on his plate–truly an inspired dish. I will be the first to say, he is a truly talented inventor in the kitchen and was clearly the most comfortable with the deconstruction challenge. Isabella, on the other hand, was still struggling to understand Eggs Florentine. Before I could think too much about any of it, I started to heat the oil for my poach.

Very quickly, the oil was too hot and I had to wait for it to cool down enough to poach, which never actually happened. With ten minutes remaining, I cautiously lowered the fish into the oil. It cooked in a matter of minutes and was very overcooked. Laying out all the ingredients beside the two chips per plate and the overcooked fish, I knew I was in trouble but I placed each part carefully on the plate and lined up every component in a dotted straight line. Effectively, this erased any lingering cohesion among them and that’s how they headed out to the dining room. Looking back, I don’t know why I plated like that. I would never put ingredients meant to be eaten together, so far apart.

This challenge pushed me outside my comfort zone in such a way that I lost sight of myself in that food. I lost my direction, I lost my sensibility, and I ended up breaking my own rules to comply with the rules of the game. I escaped elimination, but left judges’ table feeling broken down, knowing I needed to regain my perspective on food and sense of myself if I had any hopes of sticking around that kitchen.

And I happen to make a great fish and chips. The kind you eat with beer.

I quickly realized that we were actually cooking for the judges, not the service men and women. Turns out this was a team competition, whatever that means, not a team-building exercise, and even though we did well as a team, one soldier–or, chef, got left behind anyway.

Before seeing any of the products we’d be working with, the group decided that the Preeti and I would prepare a cold salad of some sort to round out the rest of the menu on what would likely be another blistering Las Vegas day. Upon arrival in the base’s kitchen, however, we found the quality of ingredients to be very low. A tricky hurdle to jump, when you’ve planned to make a cold salad. Although pasta salad seemed like a good choice initially, the pasta itself was so generic that it lost its shape and looked more like wrinkled rectangles than bow ties in our finished dish.

We were competing for Top Chef and had just made shapeless pasta salad. I was embarrassed. And Preeti was a total team player through all of this. As I was growing increasingly doubtful, she pointed out how well-suited our dish was for the time of day, location and weather. We could be thankful for at least one thing: at least we weren’t serving hot bowls of clam chowder in that heat.

Ultimately, we served happy guests, too. One woman even asked to take leftover pasta salad back to her bunker. But despite this warm reception on the buffet line, Preeti and I were fairly ready for what came next; we were both called to judge’s table in the bottom three. On the one hand, we got feedback on our food, which never happens when you coast through in the middle. On the other hand, it was brutal for both of us. The judges asked us over and over, “Who decided to make the pasta salad?” They became infuriated because they wanted someone to point the finger. We had agreed before deliberation that we would stick together, no matter what, and claim equal responsibility, and this became increasingly difficult when the judges threatened to send us both home. But we stood our ground, still feeling strongly united. I would have been okay going home for that pasta salad, because it was half my dish and I’m more concerned with maintaining some integrity, than with winning this thing, no holds barred. I’d just served 300 soldiers a well rounded meal, after all, which is no small feat. I had plenty to be proud of.

My first experience in the bottom three reminds me of the story of Edmund Hillary and the sherpa, Tenzing Norgay, the first men to climb Everest. Though they were asked who reached the summit first, neither would say who was first because of how intrinsically collaborative the act of climbing is. The matter of who reached the top first is an irrelevant detail as both men relied equally upon one another for the duration of the climb.

Preeti and I didn’t climb Everest, but this elimination challenge felt similarly cooperative. Neither contributed more or less because neither of us could have individually prepared that pasta salad for 300 people in the alotted four hours. It was absolutely a joint effort. And I’ll have you know, we’ve discussed the potential for a pasta salad cookbook.