From Butcher to Bespoke: Fergus Henderson's Apron Goes a Long Way
Fergus Anderson's nose-to-tail three-piece suit is a portable philosophy.
"Are we all ready for service, chefs?" asked Fergus Henderson, peeking into his kitchen at St. John Bread & Wine. "Are we poised like a puma?" he asked, most likely wearing the pin-stripe suit that was made for him by his previous barman called Angelo, which he calls his "armour".
I'm fascinated by Fergus, from his demeanor, and cooking style, to the stories told by the chefs who've worked at St. John, his first restaurant. Diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease in the late 90s, he pushed boundaries and reintroduced British people to their country's cooking, and his restaurant still stands strong 30 years later. Revered by chefs and diners the world over for pioneering a nose-to-tail approach and a naysayer of haute cuisine, well actually, “A fuck you to all that was haute”. My kind of guy. I’ll give him a point for that alone.
Sticking to the roots by choosing to serve offal is a courageous choice, and it's still echoed throughout England from within the simplistic halls of the restaurant that boasts no art or flowers. St. John is famous for off-cuts such as tripe, bone marrow, tongue, and feet. Tempting all the unusual ways of cooking, what seems like 200-year-old forgotten delights, such as veal tail and pea soup, ox tongue and bread, or crispy lamb brains. St. John has converted chefs into praising its gospel (probably hidden somewhere in their menu) from their chamber of incessant flames and shouts of blasphemy can be heard against streamlining or refinement.
For those reasons, Fergus is a rockstar chef in his own right with a humbling style to match. In an interview with Nathalie Whittle she wrote, “Modern chefs are showy, televisual creatures, adept at Instagram, whereas Henderson admits he is ‘quite shy really. Shyness is underrated.’” He’s different from the tattoo and black tee-shirt type like Anthony Bourdain. Or the more intimidating and intense figure of Marco Pierre White, (who I believe is the concept character for The Bear's Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto) but the loung-in-your-garden-with-a-sun-hat kind of rock star chef. Fergus has a workwear type of style that upgraded to a playful classy suit that remains humble due to its nature and story.
When fellow chefs tell me to be prepared when I watch The Bear, they say the show will provoke anxiety and post-traumatic stress from working in the kitchen. The show depicts a character named Carmy, in a tight white tee shirt, tatted up, one of them being a globe in a Pyrex, and a classic navy apron. Despite the internet’s fascination with this look, the show’s concept praises ambitions and the work ethic of top-level gastronomy.
The restaurant industry is filled with sexual harassment, abuse, layers of narcissism, and much more, The Bear shows us the fictitious possibility of caring. A world where chefs care for each other and their well-being. It portrays the toxic nature of kitchen life and replaces it with positive and equitable working conditions.
Whereas in reality, this is rare, for example, the world-famous restaurant Noma shut down because fine dining is ‘unsustainable’ but in truth, it was a debacle of a small battalion of unpaid “stagiaires”. Yet most chefs who’ve worked with Fergus at St. John praised the working conditions, the respect, and the life lessons. As Lee Tiernan, who worked for 10 years under Fergus, said, “It sounds so damn corny, but when I think of St. John, I think of peace, love, and positivity”. This is the unique work environment The Bear strives to be.
The kitchen workwear is extremely personal. Chefs take pride in their “whites”, I still have my chef jackets folded neatly in my closet, along with my aprons, and when I have an occasion to cook for an event, I wear them with pride and joy. I also still have my gingham chef pants from 2017! Even though they started to wear a small hole on the left thigh, I considered stitching it up because I wouldn’t dare throw it away. So, to find a way to upcycle and update them for another purpose is quite, well, nose-to-tail.
That's why I think Fergus Henderson’s suit is creatively sublime. A chef should know how to use the whole animal, as he does, instead of only the expensive cuts. He learned that lesson so well it bleeds into other areas of his life, such as his style. His suit is a metaphor for his restaurant or the concept of The Bear. It’s taking the ordinary or mundane and yanking it into the extraordinary and learning from the journey, and it’s all done with English grace. A suit that allows him to retreat from the kitchen with a touching ode to his past, easily found by caressing a fabric that has followed him throughout his career. Through and through he stands by his morals of nose-to-tail and proves it with his three-piece suit. A wearable kitchen philosophy — I can only imagine what else he can do with food.
Veal tongue-ly yours,
The Greasy Pen.