The Trouble with Saying Yes

An introduction to The Not So Believable Adventures of a Kosher Chef

I've spent the better part of fifteen years getting myself into situations that could probably have been avoided with a little research and a greater appreciation for the word no.

There have been beautiful villas, spectacular landscapes, extraordinary meals, and people whose stories I couldn't possibly have invented.

There have also been kitchens without ovens, guests with requests that defied both logic and the laws of physics, and a few occasions when I seriously questioned whether I'd chosen the right profession.

Generally around three in the morning.

I started Kosher Culinary Travel in 2011, although calling it a company at the time was being rather generous.

I had recently finished culinary school, had a newborn son, and was trying to figure out how to make a living doing something I loved.

A friend suggested renting a villa in Tuscany, taking people on holiday, and cooking for them.

I thought it sounded marvelous.

I also thought I knew how to cook, which, while technically true, turned out to be only one of the qualifications required for running a culinary holiday.

You also needed to know how to organize accommodations, negotiate with suppliers, arrange transportation, manage people, solve problems, and occasionally explain to an Italian property owner why a group of Jewish guests needed a Torah scroll and a lightbox for inspecting lettuce.

None of this had been covered in culinary school.

Fortunately, I possessed a quality that would prove both professionally useful and personally expensive.

I was very good at saying yes.

"Can you organize a kosher holiday for thirty-four people?"

Of course.

"Can you arrange a private chef in the middle of nowhere?"

Absolutely.

"Can you make fresh ravioli?"

Naturally.

The fact that I'd never actually folded a ravioli was a technical detail best addressed after the workshop had begun.

Over the years, the trips became more ambitious. The kitchens got bigger, the teams grew, and I learned that the difference between a wonderful holiday and a complete disaster often came down to a handful of details nobody thought to ask about until it was too late.

But I also discovered something I hadn't expected.

I loved the people as much as the cooking.

I loved wandering through markets, talking to farmers and shopkeepers, meeting eccentric villa owners, and discovering the histories of places I'd previously known only from photographs.

I loved the strange intimacy of spending a week with people who had come together to enjoy a beautiful place.

And I loved the unpredictable things that happened along the way.

The moments that never appeared in an itinerary.

The characters you couldn't have hired if you'd tried.

The things that went wrong, which, given enough time and a suitable glass of wine, generally became the best stories.

There was a personal life unfolding alongside all of this, of course.

A child growing up. A marriage ending. New beginnings. Some very good years and some considerably less good ones.

I won't pretend that I navigated all of it particularly gracefully.

But this isn't really an autobiography.

It's about the adventures.

About food and travel, and the peculiar business of taking responsibility for other people's happiness in places where you don't always speak the language or understand why the stove has stopped working.

It's about the remarkable people I've met, the things I've learned, and the things I probably should have learned considerably sooner.

Some stories are funny. Others are a little more complicated. Occasionally, they're both.

Most of them have been improved by the passage of time, although the people who were there might remember certain events somewhat differently.

I've changed some names and identifying details, particularly where private individuals are concerned. The stories themselves come from my experiences, and some conversations have been reconstructed from memory.

As for the title, The Not So Believable Adventures of a Kosher Chef, I should probably explain.

The food was always kosher.

The adventures weren't always quite so straightforward.

Welcome to my journal.

I hope you enjoy the stories.

And if you happen to recognize yourself in one of them, please remember that I was probably the one who made the worst decisions.