Why Home-Style Cooking Will Always Beat Restaurant-Style

A restaurateur makes her case for simplicity, good ingredients, and not overwhelming eaters with fat and salt

I like to say that my success as a professional cook is about putting out home-style food in a restaurant setting. I come from a long line of great home cooks, starting in my memory with my grandmother Dorothy Thorndike Harmon, who came from a long line of extremely self-sufficient Maine Yankees for whom gardening and preserving and raising at least your own chickens was just what you did. Well into his eighties, my grandfather maintained both an ornamental and a vegetable garden, even though he had long outgrown an economic need to raise his own vegetables. He did it out of habit and genuine pleasure in the sense of purpose gardening gave him—and, I hope, genuine pleasure in the seasonal produce he enjoyed on his table.

My favorite memories of eating at my grandparents' table, other than amazing lobster feasts, are of dipping tender, new, bitter romaine leaves from the garden in Heinz distilled white vinegar and then sugar, and the spring asparagus that poked up out of the ground late in May, which we ate simply steamed for breakfast with a pat of melting butter and cracked black pepper. While olive oil and Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese were not things one found in my grandmother's pantry, I would call her very aware of the pleasures of good food on the table. The pantry was filled, up until my grandmother's death, with crab apple jelly from the wild trees on their property and various home-canned pickles and relishes whose recipes had been passed down through the generations, helping to extend the garden bounty well into the winter. A habit that came out of need but was continued out of pleasure.

My mother, dazzled and fascinated with the cuisines of the Mediterranean, began planting a garden almost as soon as the ink was dry on the deed for our tumbledown farmhouse in the mountainous wilds of Tuscany. And while she planted all the great Mediterranean vegetables that grow so well in that climate, she also brought over sweet corn and planted it too. She loved to cook and throw dinner parties, Mediterranean-style: there is always enough for one or 10 more guests, and the midday repast takes place outside and goes on for hours—appetizers, mid-courses, entrees, salads, demijohns of wine. The sun sank low in the sky and the grown-ups slunk off to snooze under the haystack, and we kids ran wild and exhausted ourselves running through the scrub of forest and blackberry bushes and broom that kept trying to take back the land.

It wasn't until I went off to college in cold and gray early 1980s Providence Rhode Island that, somewhat desperate for the flavors I loved and missed, I started trying to cook for myself. It never occurred to me, though, that cooking for myself wasn't the best way to eat good food. Somehow I knew from being part of an unbroken chain of home cooks that this is what you do for yourself.

So while my fellow students lived on Kraft mac and cheese and ramen noodles, I tracked down a sweet little vegetable store miles from my apartment that had magnificent fresh strawberries in the spring and asparagus and arugula and beautiful bunches of basil that perfumed the air. I lugged home five-liter containers of olive oil from Italy to dress my salad with; I scoured the Italian neighborhood of Providence to find decent bread and canned tomatoes and imported pasta. And slowly I taught myself to cook well.

When I started cooking professionally, I threw dinner parties on my days off because that's when I could cook what I wanted to, experiment with the techniques I was learning, and recreate the big convivial meals of my golden Mediterranean childhood. When I became a chef for the first time, I really knew nothing about cooking in a professional setting. I didn't know that soup was something you made and kept simmering on a burner to be shoveled out effortlessly, one scoop into the bowl and there it's gone. I didn't know the menu was supposed to have a chicken, a beef, a pork, and a veal, or that the main course should be a protein, a starch, and a vegetable garnished with a sauce again kept simmering on a burner ready when needed. I didn't know stock was supposed to be made with a mishmash of vegetable trimmings collected in a giant vat lurking in the deepest recesses of the walk-in, slowly rotting over the week.

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Sara Jenkins is based in New York City, where she has developed a reputation as a fine rustic Italian chef. She runs Porchetta, an Italian sandwich shop, and Porsena, a casual restaurant focusing on classic Italian pastas. More

Sara Jenkins is based in New York City, where she has developed a reputation as a fine rustic Italian chef. As Mario Batali put it, "She is one of the few chefs in America who understands Italy and how Italians eat." Sara is also the author, with Mindy Fox, of Olives and Oranges: Recipes and Flavor Secrets from Italy, Spain, Cyprus, and Beyond, released by Houghton Mifflin in September 2008.

The daughter of a foreign correspondent and a food writer, Sara grew up all over the Mediterranean, eating her way through several cultures and learning to cook what appealed to her. She began her professional career in the kitchen with Todd English at Figs in Boston, then went on to work as a chef in Florence and the Tuscan countryside, as well as on the Caribbean island of Nevis, before returning to the U.S.

In New York City, Jenkins became chef at I Coppi, earning that restaurant two stars from The New York Times. After similar turns at Il Buco, Patio Dining, and 50 Carmine, she began work on her own cookbook.

In September 2008 she and her cousin Matthew opened Porchetta, a storefront in the East Village focusing on porchetta, a highly seasoned roast pork common in Italy as street food or festival food sold out of a truck as a sandwich. Porchetta has been wildly successful in New York City, both with gourmands and ordinary folk alike. Porchetta was awarded the top spot in Time Out New York's "100 best things we ate in 2008" and also received a four-star review from New York magazine.

In 2010, Sara Jenkins will open Porsena, a simple and casual restaurant down the street from Porchetta focusing on classic Italian pastas.

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