A Glimpse into the James Beard Awards

Here’s a glimpse into my first experience of the Dionysian and self-flattering extravaganza known as the James Beard Awards.
And I was only at the poor cousin of the James Beard Awards, the Sunday evening Book and Journalism awards, not the celebrity-dripping Chef and Restaurant awards. But even the poor cousin was too rich for practical Midwestern farm folks.

But who can resist excess now and then? And who can resist the pulsing metropolis that is New York City? Although I lived there for most of the 1990s, this early May visit was the most wonderful 5 days I’d ever spent – partially thanks to the unseasonable warmth and sun; partly thanks to the occasion that brought me there, an invitation to the 20^th annual James Beard Awards as a finalist in the literature category for The Seasons on Henry’s Farm – and partially, maybe mostly, because of my age. I felt a certain anxious urgency as I turned 50 . . . life was thinning out . . . and so I wrote the book. But 50 comes, and goes, and 51, and soon 52, and life thickens out again, and seems full and right and I could relax into it in a way I never had before.

I invited Henry and Hiroko to come to the Awards ceremony, but, as Henry said, “May is a busy time.” And so I successfully prevailed upon my mom and dad, little sister Jill, and partner Joel to share the festivities with me.

The day began (where else?) at the Union Square Green Market. There we met up with John Gorzinsky, who Henry apprenticed with up in the Catskills just after he came back from Japan and before he moved back to Illinois to start Henry’s Farm. Though it had been about 18 years since we met, he was instantly recognizable – the only difference being a longer, grayer beard. After the market ended, John and Sue invited my Mom and Dad to have a drink at a nearby Irish pub, which had a lovely Irish music session up front.

The next day dawned with perfect blue sky and sun and we lazed it away at the 11th St. Café in the West Village, while Mom and Dad and Jill took Metro North up to New Haven to visit Teresa’s daughter Marina, who just graduated from Yale.

The photo is of Mom and Dad and Marina in front of the Forestry School where Aldo Leopold went. (Our Dad is the proud possessor of the lecture notes that his colleague Omar Rilett took when he studied under Leopold.)

That evening we got to the event space early, as a warm wind rose and the air began to smell of a change in the weather. The bar-tenders were still setting up when we entered, making their outrageous creations: a cucumber mint creole from Pegu Club mixologist Audrey Saunders, and a smoky black currant drink and a chamomile one – whose names I’ll have to look up.

We took sips of each while sitting on the sidelines, watching the guests enter. Here’s a picture of Marcus Samuelson and his date.

Soon the room was packed and so loud you couldn’t even talk, so we snuck in early and sat down to the five-pieces-of-stemware dinner.

What can I say? Yes, it was a beautiful meal, beautifully presented, but my family is a hard crowd to please . . . e.g. we started with a gorgeous little trio of 2 spears of green and one of white asparagus, tied with some sort of delicate seaweed string, on a bed of tarragon cream. But without the tarragon cream, the asparagus was tasteless.

Of course everyone else at the table was raving while we were mumbling, “Henry’s asparagus is a lot better” . . . .or “Dad’s beef short ribs are a lot better” .. . or . . .well, you get the idea. A little bit of chauvinism, yes, a little bit of southern Italian cosa nostra, yes . . . but in fact the food we get here, straight from Henry's fields, is better than anything in any restaurant, tarragon cream or no.

Co-hosts Andrew Zimmern, host of Bizarre Foods on The Travel Channel, and Kelly Choi, host of Top Chef Masters, emceed the 3.5-hour affair with smarmy show-biz banter. I must confess that my heart beat faster as the professional announcer intoned, “The finalists for the 2010 James Beard Award in Writing and Literature are . . .” and my book cover went up on the big screens around the room.

Luckily I didn’t have to go up to the podium that night because Save the Deli won . . . and because it wouldn’t have been right for one person to do so when the book, like Henry’s Farm itself, was a joint effort, and should have at least half a dozen authors listed. It would not be nearly what it is without the content and editorial help of my mom and dad, Henry and Hiroko, and my nieces Zoe and Gabby -- and Belgian chocolate from my little sister Jill. (Here we are toasting each other.) Thanks to all of them, and all of you, I left the event a winner.