July 25, 2007
'IT'S SHAKESPEAREAN'
Flavor readers may remember a story I did a few months back about Chicago chef Grant Achatz, one of the most acclaimed culinary practitioners of a movement known as molecular gastronomy. His restaurant, Alinea, has been ranked as the best in the nation.
Chicago media are reporting that Achatz at age 33 has an advanced form of oral cancer.
On Monday, Achatz announced that he has been diagnosed with Stage 4 squamous cell carcinoma of the mouth.The cancer, which doctors believe has spread to Achatz's lymph nodes, is life-threatening. The lesions are on the chef's tongue.
If chemotherapy is successful, there remains a possibility that Achatz will lose all sense of taste.
"It's Shakespearean," said Nick Kokonas, Achatz's friend and co-owner of Alinea. "This is like a painter whose eyes are taken from him, a pianist who has his fingers cut off."
An optimistic-sounding Achatz doesn't quite see it that way.
"People confuse the role of the chef," he said. "A lot of what I do is conceptualize. I'm not the guy who cooks everything every night; it's impossible. I've got a really strong team (at Alinea), and their response has been amazingly positive. They're going to rally around this."
Achatz burst on the dining scene in 2001, when, after four years working under Thomas Keller at the acclaimed French Laundry in Yountville, Calif., he was hired as executive chef at Trio in Evanston. Not only did Achatz maintain the restaurant's four-star status, but a year later he made Food & Wine magazine's list of Best New Chefs in America. In 2003, he was named the Rising Star Chef of the year by the James Beard Foundation.
Alinea, the restaurant opened with Kokonas in 2005, quickly received worldwide attention and acclaim, along with four-star reviews from the Chicago Tribune and Chicago Magazine. Restaurant patrons were awed by Achatz's innovative style, which challenged people's notions of food and flavor. An early dish, called "PB&J," presented a single peeled grape, covered in peanut butter and wrapped in thin-toasted brioche -- a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich compressed into a single bite.
He presented a dish of ham and peas on a pillow filled with lavender-scented air, which wafted out from the weight of the plate. Trio fans clamored for his miniature ravioli squares filled with liquid truffle, which burst in the mouth on the first bite.
"I'm not dwelling on the possibility that I'll never be able to taste again," Achatz said. "Beethoven composed one of his greatest symphonies when he was deaf."
I cannot begin to describe how devastated I am by this news.
There have been only a few times when I realized I've been in the presence of true, genuine greatness. Eating at Alinea in April, meeting Achatz and interviewing him for almost 90 minutes changed my perspective on the world and radically redefined for me what food can accomplish from an emotional standpoint. No exaggeration.