Wylie Dufresne

Chef/owner, wd-50, New York

For years, the older chefs said, “Do it this way,” and I said, “Why?” And they said, “Because I said so.” So I cooked the food that way every night, and then I asked again, “Why?” And they said, “Because it’s always been done that way.” I don’t remember what I made—it was in the pan, on the plate, and then it was gone. Food expires. It is consumed, it withers, it disappears. My contribution isn’t just the food I cook, it is the conversation that starts once the plates are cleared. There should be questions and thoughts and ideas. There should be a memory.

You’ve had eggs benedict a hundred times, the one with the English muffin and the Canadian bacon and the poached egg and the hollandaise sauce. But now you’re eating it and the hollandaise is shaped like a cube; it’s been breaded with the crumbs of the English muffin and deep fried. And the egg is a bright tube of yolk with the texture of fudge, and the bacon is a paper-thin chip. Close your eyes, and you’re eating eggs benedict, the one you know. Open them, and you start asking questions (how did he do that?), and thinking (what makes the yolk taste like that?) and planning (maybe I can make a better egg tomorrow). We push the limits in the kitchen—we innovate and experiment—because that is the only way we can learn more about what we cook and eat. I want people to like their meal, but I also want them to say, “It made me think.” That is progress.

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