About 30 years ago, before the Chef’s Garden was even a concept, I was approached at a farmer’s market near Cleveland by a chef named Iris Bailin. She had recently returned home from Europe, classically trained in the high arts of French cuisine, searching for the same ingredients that were easy to find overseas. After taking a look at our offerings from the farm, she asked if we could sell her the blossoms that grew on our squash. I was a bit puzzled by the request. The squash my family cultivated had grown on our farm in the sandy loam off the Ohio shores of Lake Erie. Squash loves the rich soil and the micro-climate around the lake, so we start growing it early in the Spring and it grows late into Summer. It’s vibrant yellow and strong bodied, with a fresh, nut-like flavor and firm texture.
So we had this beautiful squash to offer Iris, but she wanted the yellow blossoms? The things we threw away?
When I went to my Dad to tell him, he had a good laugh about it. He said, “Why would anyone want the flowers? She’s crazy, nobody eats those!” Dad’s answer was no.
I took my Dad’s answer back to Iris, but I also snuck a few of the flowers to her as well, just to see what she would do. She was floored! She started making such a ruckus about the flavor and quality of the blossoms that other farmers at the market started to head towards our truck to see where all the noise was coming from. Upset that I had only brought a few flowers with me, she still offered to buy what I had, and for 50 cents apiece! Now it was my turn to be floored. This was a new territory for us. A chef was going to buy these flowers from us at a great price and then cook with them? And she wanted more? I couldn’t wait to share the news with my family, and honestly, I couldn’t wait to see what other things Iris might ask us for.
My Dad shared in my enthusiasm. Not too long before the chance meeting with Iris, our family farm had been wiped out by a strong hailstorm. Crippled by the incredibly high interest rates of the time, my family had to stand and watch as our farm was pulled apart piece by piece and auctioned off to our competitors. I can still recall clearly the auctioneer selling my mother’s car and watching it drive off. Eventually our house was auctioned. My family had to start over from scratch.
We held a meeting around a card table. There was a debate on whether we would continue to sell our vegetables at the farmer’s markets or go with my Dad’s new plan: To grow our vegetables specifically for chefs and to answer the call for products they couldn’t find anywhere else.
The vote went around the table, with everyone voting to continue selling at farmer’s markets. Selling to chefs seemed like a risk. When the vote got to my Dad, he paused for a second, silent. There was a spark in his eye, and you could see the wheels turning behind it. He raised his hand and brought it down onto the table hard, glasses spilling and forks defying gravity for an instant. “NO,” he roared, “we are going to sell vegetables to chef’s and give them whatever they want! My vote trumps all of yours, so get out there and find more chefs!”
So we did. The next years of my life I went from kitchen door to kitchen door, from restaurant to restaurant, from chef to chef. I used to carry an old slide projector with me with pictures of the things we were growing on the farm, and project them on the walls of the kitchens. It wasn’t easy work, but chefs eventually caught on. First one, then another, and another. My Dad’s gamble and my family’s tenacity started to pay off.
The Chef’s Garden was born, and it had started from a simple blossom and a great idea.
The “Iris and the Squash Blossom” story is one we tell on the farm all the time, and almost everyone who visits us hears about it. We still grow squash blossoms, too, the most delicious and golden blossoms anywhere.
But the truth is, we still have a hard time throwing anything away around here. We never know who’s treasure it might be or who it is going to inspire…