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Zupon said that in his own restaurant travels, he pursues an array
of flavors rather than a single, hefty entrée. "No
matter how good the food is, your palate gets tired after several
bites of the same thing. I prefer small portions. I want people
to have a clear memory of everything they ate, rather than the
dull sensation of having just eaten a half-pound of meat."
Zupon is no food snob. The night before our meal he'd hunkered
down at Chapel Hill's Allen and Sons, acclaimed for its authentic
hickory-smoked, slow-cooked barbecue. (Okay, so he was reviewing
it for The Chronicle, but still, it was his idea, and he liked
everything he ate.) Yet the young boy who talked his parents into
getting cable television solely in order to watch the Food Network
has grown into a young man who spent hundreds of dollars to fly
to Chicago with his girlfriend for one night in order to dine at
chef Grant Achatz's acclaimed Alinea restaurant. (Debuting
this fall in the top spot of Gourmet magazine's "Top
50" American restaurants issue—it's only been
open since May 2005—Alinea offers diners twenty-four-course "tours" for
$175, or a twelve-course tasting menu for $125. An early fall menu
included rabbit prepared with cider, roast garlic, and "smell
of burning leaves.")
Zupon's refined-yet-fearless palate can be traced back to
his childhood. Eschewing Happy Meals for haute cuisine, his parents
always encouraged culinary exploration. His mother, Shizuko Kitagawa,
frequently prepared Zupon's school lunches in the traditional
Japanese obento style, an enticing, elegant way of preparing and
presenting food. Instead of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches,
Zupon's elementary-school fare was more likely to include
delicate, star-shaped omelets and whimsically carved vegetable
pieces. A few years ago, Zupon's parents remodeled the kitchen
in their Basking Ridge, New Jersey, home to accom-modate his culinary
exploits. Some kids beg their parents for Xboxes and automobiles.
Zupon's requited wish? A six-burner Viking gas range.
Jacqueline Marcus, who started dating Zupon when they were sophomores
in high school, recalls the excitement among her Pingry School
classmates when the Asian Culture Club cooked dumplings and eggrolls. "It
was the happiest day at school, and Bryan's [offerings] were
always the best." Marcus, a fledgling sous chef who calls
herself "the woman behind the man behind the knife," says
her own appreciation for food has been influenced by Zupon's
culinary curiosity.
"We used to find recipes on epicurious.com and follow them
exactly," says Marcus, a junior at Brown University. "Then
we went through a period of time where we cooked a lot of duck
and tried different glazes, like blueberry or orange-ginger. It's
only been in the past year that Bryan has really gotten into molecular
gastronomy, and, as his obsession with the science of food grows,
his food just keeps getting better."
Back in Z Kitchen, Zupon disappeared behind the teal curtain that
separated the dining room from the kitchen to put the finishing
touches on our next dish. We began comparing memories of the best
and worst food experiences we'd had growing up. The lows—overcooked,
mushy vegetables, casseroles bound together by cream of mushroom
soup—were remarkable for their gloppy consistency and bland
uniformity. The highs—fresh, perfectly ripe peaches eaten
outside on a summer day, for example—were sublime, multi-sensory
encounters that juxtaposed simplicity (a single fruit) with complexity
(juice and flesh, sweet and tart, a lush bouquet reverberating
throughout the nose, mouth, tongue, and throat). In other words,
the most sensual and satisfying foods provided nourishment for
our souls as well as our bellies. How sad, tragic really, to waste
one's life eating mediocre food for caloric intake alone,
we ventured. To address this dangerous temptation in our own busy
lives, we agreed that frequent return trips to Z Kitchen were in
order.
Next, Zupon brought out the third course, the beef-loin strips
that had been cooked sous vide for about six hours, then pan seared
on the induction cook top to give the beef a thin, dark, savory
crust to offset the pink blush of the meat. We ate slowly, silently,
savoring each tender morsel. Next up was a sophisticated twist
on the tomato-soup-and-grilled-cheese-sandwich combo that has sustained
many a budget-conscious household. Orbs of skinned heirloom tomatoes
with sherry-vinegar syrup were paired with grilled panini thinly
layered with ham and Sottocenere, a hard, cow's-milk cheese
laced with slivers of black truffle. Although Emily Post might
have scolded, we happily sopped up every last drop of the tomato
essence with our crunchy panino crusts.
Pleasantly sated, we watched as Zupon turned his attention to the "champagne
and chocolate" course. Using a CO2 charger, he infused red
and green grapes with carbon dioxide, creating cold, crunchy globes
of effervescent fruit. "I tried this technique once with
cherries in red-wine syrup, and it sprayed all over the place," he
said with a sheepish grin. The grapes were served in small ramekins
set on a plate adorned with a streak of miso-chocolate sauce he'd
painted on with a brush.
We could easily have called it a night—none of us had indulged
in a five-course meal for a long time—but Zupon had one more
dish to present: a blueberry crisp served with vanilla ice cream
and a drizzle of an almost syrup-like corn broth. "Blueberries
and corn are very trendy right now," he informed us. The
result was a curiously elegant matching of flavors evocative of
Fourth of July picnics.
Once Zupon had cleared all the plates and silverware, and refilled
our glasses, we invited him to pull up a chair and join us in conversation.
For the next half hour, we asked an array of food-related questions.
Where does he buy most of his ingredients? Whole Foods and mail
order. Where does he get his ideas? Online discussion groups such
as egullet.com and restaurants run by chefs he admires. Which restaurants
does he like? Locally, he frequents Federal, Nana's, Starlu,
Piedmont, and Bin 54, "because they take the familiar but
aren't afraid to have a little bit of fun and add some creativity
in their food."
On the international landscape, Zupon says he's determined
to secure a reservation at El Bulli, the culinary equivalent of
mecca for hard-core foodies. (Only open six months a year, the
tiny restaurant on Spain's Catalonia coast is run by chef
Ferrán Adrià, who has been called "the Salvador
Dali of the Kitchen" for his mind-blowing hypermodern menu.)
We asked him whether he planned to attend cooking school after
graduating from Duke or go straight into an apprenticeship at an
in-vogue eatery. His answer brought us up short. "I don't
want to be a chef and own my own restaurant," he said. "I'll
either apply to law school or business school. I decided to major
in history and economics, and earn a certificate in Markets and
Management, so I could keep my options open."
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