There’s a question that stirs my curiosity:
How do we become who we are?
I love talking with people and finding the quiet threads that weave a life:
What shaped you?
What called you forward?
Why this path, this craft, this expression in the world?
And it fascinates me: Why food?
Why does it resonate so deeply for some of us that we build our lives around it?
In my own cooking life, I stand on the shoulders of giants.
When I think about who is great to me in the food world, I can easily rattle off the names of chefs and writers I've admired since the very start of my cooking life. Their accomplishments are etched into public memory, celebrated, and rightly so. My cookbook library is a living tribute to them — Alice Waters, Jacques Pépin, Julia Child, Paula Wolfert, Jean-Georges Vongerichten, Daniel Boulud, Pierre Herme, Marcella Hazan... and so many, many more who have shaped not just kitchens, but aspiring cooks and culture.
But heroism in the kitchen isn’t just found in Michelin stars or TV shows.
I’ve spent a lifetime in kitchens, and what has stayed with me most isn’t just the recipes—it’s the people. The cooks I stood beside, day after day, who showed me that heroism doesn’t always wear a chef’s coat with medals. Sometimes it wears an apron stained with quiet pride.
So many of them weren’t chasing Michelin stars or magazine spreads. For some, it was the simple, soul-deep desire to execute a single menu item perfectly that kept them coming back. To slice the onions just right. To season with instinct. That was purpose. That was their offering.
I marveled constantly at the talent around me—not just in show stopping moments, but in the everyday stuff: the staff meal made from scraps that somehow felt like home, the jokes flying across the line even when the orders were backed up and we were running on fumes. I loved the camaraderie—the humor, the devotion to the work—even the tensions and the drama, the petty oven wars, the flaring tempers that came and went-because behind it all was a kind of quiet, everyday brilliance.
Kitchen heroes are everywhere.
And in this series, I want to shine a light on them — their journeys, their boldness, and their quiet magic.
Welcome to Part One
of my conversation with the remarkable Diane Forley—my friend and longtime colleague. Today, we journey through her early influences, kitchen training working under great chefs, one of her groundbreaking businesses, a cookbook, and the family and stories that shaped it all.
Once described as the spiritual descendant of Alice Waters, Diane brought a reverent, poetic understanding of the botanical world into the dishes she created at her two starred New York City restaurant, Verbena. Herbs, flowers, roots, and leaves didn’t just flavor her food—they guided it.
What stays with me isn’t just her story, but the throughline of her insatiable curiosity and an unshakable desire to be a really good cook. I love that—because those weren’t strategies, they were and are her values.
Part Two lands Tuesday, where we talk more about her philosophy and her latest venture and on Friday, I'll share one of her signature recipes from her beloved restaurant, Verbena. You’ll want to be at the table for this.
What unfolded between us was more than an interview—it was a window into the mind of a great cook, who’s built a life not for the spotlight, but from passion, intention, and a deep purpose. I can’t wait for you to hear a bit of her story.
I invite you to pull up a chair and meet someone truly marvelous.
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