Food Memoir

A taste of discover

                  Freshman year of college was a time of a lot of firsts: first late-night study cramming, first homesick experience, and for my roommate George and I, our first experience with a fine dining restaurant. As two freshmen culinary students who barely knew much about the culinary world, we were incredibly eager to get a taste of what it was like at the higher levels. We were incredibly curious and eager to learn all about it. In Providence, it is known that one of the best restaurants in the area is Persimmon. Persimmon is a modern American cuisine restaurant ran by Chef Champe Speidel. We were told that it was the place we should go if we wanted our socks knocked off. We decided that we would splurge one Thursday night and go and try Persimmon after some time contemplating it. Both of us were wide-eyed eighteen-year-olds who were accustomed to dorm food and take out. We thought fancy meant adding guacamole onto our burrito bowls for an extra charge. However, Persimmon promised something entirely new – a glimpse into a world we had never tasted or seen before.

                  Walking into Persimmon felt like stepping into an alternate reality. The room was warm and intimate with some lighting that reflected off pristine white plates on every table. The scent was intoxicating. The first thing we noticed when we walked in was how good it smelled. It was a mix of caramelized food, fresh herbs, and butter. We turned to each other at the same time and both shared the same facial reaction. We both looked excited and in disbelief that we were really there.

                  The menu was another mind-blowing experience for us. Featuring worlds like confit, emulsion, and jus, they taunted us with their mystery. As we read through the menu, we would have to google a word to figure out what the dish was. He didn’t recognize half of it but ordered blindly and trusted our server who said he would lead us in the right direction. From the very first bite, we were speechless. Our server started off our meal with two opening bites. A fresh cheese stuffed squash blossom in a tempura batter and cod fish fritters with a simple horseradish cream sauce. We were blown away at how something so simple can look and taste so elegant. Each dish felt like a masterpiece which we were able to enjoy with our eyes before our taste buds had a party. Throughout this meal we peppered our server with endless questions about the food. “How was this prepared?” “What is in this magical sauce?” “How is this puree so smooth?” Patient and amused, he would dart back to the kitchen multiple times to fetch the answers from the chefs. He found it quite amusing how curious and fascinated we were by the food.

                  While every single thing we ate that night made us question our own cooking skills, there was one dish that topped them all. To this day, we still call it “The Dish.”  It looked shockingly simple for how good it tasted. It was their chicken course. A simple roasted piece of chicken with blanched baby vegetables and a light jus as the sauce. It was carmelized and seasoned so perfectly that we couldn’t stop marveling at how extraordinary it tasted. I vividly remember George putting down his for mid-bite, staring at me and saying, “This pisses me off how good it is.”  We both were at a loss for words. Our server saw our mind blown reactions and came to check up on us. He had pre-emtivly learned exactly how that dish was made and beat us to asking that question. Listening to him tell us about how this dish was prepared felt like we were getting the secrets to the world.

                  That meal planted a seed in both of us that night. By the time we left, stuffed and inspired, we weren’t just awed by the food. We wanted to understand it, recreate it, and live it again. Later that same week, we borrowed a friend's kitchen to start experimenting with our knowledge from that meal. We scoured YouTube for cooking techniques and read through famous cookbooks to gain knowledge. George had become obsessed with making the perfect vegetables and I focused on mastering a silky burre blanc, which is a French butter sauce. Even now, years later, that dinner at Persimmon remains a cornerstone in our friendship and our culinary journey. To this day, we are still roommates and continue to evolve our culinary knowledge together every day. Whenever we cook together, we bring up “The Dish,” laughing at how a humble vegetable and simple chicken taught us so much about food, creativity, and life in general. Nowadays, we both can easily recreate those dishes, but nothing will ever match that feeling of experiencing it for the first time.

                  That night, we walked into Persimmon as clueless college kids. We left with something much greater; a new passion, an appreciation for the artistry of food, and the realization that even the simplest things can become extraordinary with the right care and technique. Food is more than sustenance. It is a story, a memory, an experience, and for some, even a turning point.