by David Price, Kitchen Manager, St. Luke’s Kitchen
Last year at The Nashville Food Project holiday gift exchange among staff, I opened my gift with caution. I wanted to prepare myself to be excited about something that a co-worker who barely knew me bought for me. I am ridiculously hard to shop for, and you can ask my partner Keeli about it sometime. I opened the box with cautious optimism and there it was— a chef’s coat.
To give you some context, I would never buy such a thing for myself, because it says that I have arrived in a way that I had not yet. When you have been a professional cook for two years and crank out steamed veggies and casseroles on the regular, it is an overstatement to call yourself a chef especially when you have only been the head of a kitchen for a few short months.
From the moment I decided to leave my previous career of seventeen years and started cooking at the Food Project, I wanted to be a chef. A part of me always felt that the people who referred to themselves as “chefs” and not “cooks” were trying to prove something they didn’t yet believe about themselves. Still, a piece of me wanted that external validation for something I’d never believe on my own. On the night of that holiday party, I was validated (though I still refer to myself as a cook). It wasn’t the simple fact that someone bought me a chef’s coat. It was who did it. It was my TNFP boss whom I deeply respect.
I have eaten some very amazing food in my lifetime, but Bianca Morton (TNFP Chef Director) made me the best food I have ever put in my mouth from trimmings off of a pork loin that were destined for the trash. She did it on the fly and with zero doubt. It came from a confidence of knowing exactly what she wanted her guests to eat and how she was going to get it done. It changed my perspective. I could cook like that one day if I really drove myself and never forgot to be creative and take risks. She will probably just tell you that she was hungry, but the reality is that creativity is based in what we want and what we have simultaneously. It’s the restriction that gives us our direction to flesh out a dream. That is the purest form of the art.
When she gave me that coat, what that moment did for me was give me the “ok” to do and be creative. She gave me heart and strength and a courage to believe that I was able to be what that coat would say I already was. That was a beautiful moment and the next time I stepped back in the kitchen I got my ass kicked to the point I wanted to give up. That was an equally beautiful day in hindsight because I realized that you never arrive. You just keep learning and trying and getting the hell kicked out of you. I just can’t help myself. I love that. I want to win just enough to keep me from giving up when I just can’t get on the plate what I had in my head.
David working alongside Top Chef-alum Arnold Myint at a TNFP Simmer event.
We, especially in this kitchen, are living in some uniquely bittersweet times. Everything seems to cut both ways. We have received some incredible donations of products lately that inspire me yet also sadden me in ways that I can’t really ever put words to. Some of it is from restaurant closures in the wake of COVID-19 pandemic, meaning much of it is food that we would never be able to serve on our own budget. Yet I know that every steak, shrimp, or salmon that we have the privilege to cook is a brutal reminder that it was someone else’s job to cook that thing. You just can’t help but wonder where they are and if they are okay. The thing that I love about kitchen work is that it is communal, so I’m always hoping the best for every person crazy enough to live this life. This creates conflict inside my heart when I cook their food. This is one of the countless ways that my world has changed.
Meals by David and his team made with donated ingredients.
Today, we are constantly reimagining things we thought of as constants. In a million years I could have never imagined a world without the tremendous volunteer support we receive in the kitchen. I could never have imagined creating meals that were not regulated by certain guidelines for federal reimbursement. These days the meals come with fewer restrictions but they also come at a great cost. It becomes a very real challenge to enjoy the privilege that symbolizes the loss of another person’s livelihood. I’ve always hated the saying, “There is no such thing as a free lunch,” because most people use it to justify societal oppression, but I am uniquely aware that everything comes with a price tag these days. All too often it’s rarely the price you want to pay and more often than not it’s the person who least deserves it who foots the bill.
My deepest hope in all of this is that I can honor the people who paid the price for my new creative outlet, to serve others with that sacrifice, and in some Karmic way I can make the best of what’s shared with us to do good in this world. I deeply, and to the point of tears, believe that all ships rise in the tide together. I believe that all people deserve to eat amazing food and to share it together even if you don’t conventionally have access to it. So, I dedicate myself to becoming as good as the best chef turning out food in this city, country and world. I dedicate myself so that I can give delicious food to the people I serve. That is my small place in the universe and it’s the only place I want to live. I have a long way to go, and so much to learn— but that coat said I could do it.
TNFP staff at the holiday party.