Late August is the time for late-night campfires, for marshmallows threaded on to sharpened sticks and held over glowing embers, and for stories told while the marshmallows blister and bubble.
So gather around, children, ‘cause I’ve got a story to tell about how a cookbook appeared on the bookstore shelf with my name on the cover.
The story begins more than two years ago, when I sat down with chef Andrea Froncillo to discuss ideas for a cookbook. I should have known that we would generat far more ideas than we could fit into one book; not only is Andrea a partner in several restaurants in the Bay Area, but he also comes from a rich tradition of Southern Italian cooking, and he loves to cook for his friends and family.
I filled up a notebook with ideas from our meeting, and then set out to turn one of them into a book proposal. I’ve always liked writing proposals; they’re full of forward-looking statements about how this book or business or concept will be the Most! Amazing! Ever! They’re just as exhilarating to write as to read. They’re the written equivalent of movie trailers; aren’t all movies riveting in tantalizing 30-second snippets?
When I had completed the proposal, I sent a slew of letters to literary agencies from Los Angeles to New York. We scheduled phone meetings, and chattered on about our Big Idea. Before long, we signed with a prominent New York agency.
Then came the bomb: our agents were of the opinion that our first joint cookbook should have a recognizable name attached to it. Since Andrea was the executive chef of The Stinking Rose Restaurant, a name carried on the lips of people far and wide, they wanted us to write the Stinking Rose Restaurant Cookbook before we wrote anything else.
And so I re-wrote the proposal, and sent if off to my agent to shop it around to publishing houses. Imagine my surprise when the best offer came from Ten Speed Press, right here in my own backyard!
We drove out to Ten Speed one morning for a meeting with the editorial team. We met founder Phil Wood, who had published the original Stinking Rose Cookbook in 1995. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt and sandals. “Let’s do this!” he grinned.
At the outset, it seemed like a simple enough task; we would take the existing recipes from the current menu, add a few favorites from the archives, and send it off to be magically turned into a cookbook. Easy!
Ah, but there was one little snag: all of the recipes were all formulated for restaurant use. We doubted that many people would want to make 40-Clove Garlic Chicken for 50, and so we had to re-create each recipe for the home cook, with a target serving size of 4 to 6.
For several months, I chased after Andrea, trying to pin him down long enough to get the recipes out of him. It wasn’t an easy task; not only is his schedule packed with restaurant duties, but he also travels a lot, which makes him something of a moving target. I would often come home from a two–hour meeting with pages of hastily scribbled notes and sit at my desk with my head in my hands, trying to decipher my own cryptic handwriting.
When the first draft was finally complete, I shipped it off to our
editor, Meghan Keefe, an incredibly smart and talented woman whose help
was invaluable.
There was just one problem: I wasn’t having fun.
Over the months, I had gotten the sense that this wasn’t a project that anyone was going to crow about. It didn’t fit into the “right” category. In this glorious age of sustainable, farm-fresh, organic, gluten-soy-peanut-free food, the Stinking Rose recipes are downright retro. The restaurant is largely regarded by locals as a North Beach tourist destination.
Theirs is a menu of garlic cloves swimming in olive oil, pasta slicked with butter and cheese, and pork chops crowned with slices of sweetly spiced apples. It is not heirloom squash or microgreens or fiddlehead ferns tossed with morels.
It is big, lusty, boisterous food.
At times, I felt like I had to apologize for my involvement in the project. “Well…” I would say, sheepishly, “It’s just The Stinking Rose, but…”
So it wasn’t the Gary Danko Cookbook. It wasn’t the Gordon Ramsay Visits A California Farm and Makes Dinner In the Field Cookbook. Alas.
But it would take me a little while to have fun with it, and stop apologizing.
