Quote Of The Day By Chef Gabrielle Hamilton: 'It's A Blow To Have To Admit To Yourself That You Are Not Quite...'

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Good food, like much of good art, exists on the fringes. That is (or was) until Gabrielle Hamilton stepped into the picture. The chef took New York City's restaurant game by storm in the 2010s, breaking rules and revolutionizing elevated dining concepts — as well as the types of stories those restaurants could tell, and the types of customers who could fill their tables. 

At the same time, it would not be incorrect to call Gabrielle Hamilton a chef's chef. She has won four James Beard Awards, including Best Chef New York City in 2011. She's had the logo for NYC's Temple Bar tattooed on her arm since the '90s. But Hamilton is perhaps best known as the chef/owner of Prune bistro in the East Village, which opened in 1999. Cramped yet vivacious, Prune was known for creative, inventive dishes, such as chicken wings and Manila clams braised in sherry with leeks. A night at Prune meant candlelit tables, jelly jars filled with wine, and ripe cheese at the end of the meal.

Her lauded eatery, which was popular among novice foodies and seasoned industry professionals alike, shuttered during the pandemic in 2020. However, before opening Prune, Hamilton's own food journey followed a decades-long trek through a kaleidoscope of kitchens around the globe, beginning in rural Pennsylvania and ending at the top of the New York culinary world. Chefs who trained in her kitchen went on to open their own restaurants and lead their own teams — a legacy which sheds an especially profound light on today's quote of the day.

"It's a blow to have to admit to yourself that you are not quite cut out for something that matters so much to you. More than a blow — it's a knockout. I had to lie down on the floor of my apartment for a very long time letting that one sink in. Did I have something more to offer, any other talent than a strong work ethic? Did I have something in me other than dishwasher? As it turns out, I did not."

This quote comes from page 108 of Hamilton's seminal, subversive memoir "Blood, Bones & Butter: The Inadvertent Education of a Reluctant Chef." This celebrated chef is also an esteemed writer (and cookbook author). Her New York Times' bestselling memoir has been translated into at least six languages and won her a James Beard Award for Writing and Literature in 2012. Fellow quotable NYC chef Anthony Bourdain lauded the book as "Magnificent. Simply the best memoir by a chef ever. Ever," even accompanying Hamilton at readings on her 2011 book release tour. 

It's perhaps ironic, then, that this reflection comes from a time during Hamilton's youth when, unfulfilled by the trappings of academia, she decided to redirect from her college life studying writing, and return to hands-on work in the kitchen. This pivotal moment of self-analysis, listening to the voice of her true passion, largely incited the trajectory of her illustrious culinary career to come. For Hamilton, a die-hard dedication to top-notch craft and the value of hard work is something of a guiding dogma. In 2020, Hamilton herself worked Prune's final dinner shift, alongside her wife Ashley (who worked the grill station, bartended, and expedited), the general manager, and one line cook who manned all 10 burners. 

No matter the specific industry in which you work, life is hardly long enough to get good at one thing, let alone several. Much of Hamilton's career (in the kitchen and on the page alike) has dealt with that intersection of art and nose-to-the-grindstone hard work — how they overlap to create a rare and possibly electrifying organism. While it can be discouraging to discover you may not be as skilled in a particular arena as you'd hoped, the knowledge you pick up along the way just might play a major role in your next chapter. 

Befitting the historical legacy of Prune's gallery-dotted East Village locale, Hamilton's career has focused on making good food and good art more accessible to (surprise) the actual artists working behind the scenes. The chef was just 12 years old when she first entered the culinary industry as a dishwasher, and as she honed her craft over the years, Hamilton's friend group has always consisted of low-paid, industrious creatives with good taste — a circle which began in her childhood home. 

In her memoir, Hamilton credits her father, an artist, with teaching her how to imbue any trade or task with an element of romance and beauty. She says it was from him that she learned the art of throwing a memorable dinner party — and, as epicures lucky enough to have dined at Prune will attest, its 14 jammed-together tables captured the experience of a charming, intimate dinner party night after night. No matter what road folks are on, the trek will be more rewarding (and likely a lot more fun) if they walk it with hard work, an eye for romance, and an occasional dose of realism. 

"I meant to create a restaurant that would serve as delicious and interesting food as the serious restaurants elsewhere in the city but in a setting that would welcome, and not intimidate, my ragtag friends and my neighbors — all the East Village painters and poets, the butches and the queens, the saxophone player on the sixth floor of my tenement building, the performance artists doing their brave naked work up the street at P.S. 122. I wanted a place you could go after work or on your day off if you had only a line cook's paycheck but also a line cook's palate." — from a 2020 article published in The New York Times 

"My father has said a hundred times, and I have paid attention, that it's stupid to let money be the reason you don't do something." — from "Blood, Bones & Butter," pp. 30

"I'll admit that I don't ever think about the bill until I've had poor value for the amount of money I've spent." — from a 2018 interview with the James Beard Foundation

"[I]t was from [Hamilton's father] — with his cool, long sideburns and aviator sunglasses, his packet of unfiltered Camels, and box of watercolor paints (and artist's paycheck) — from him we learned how to create beauty where none exists, how to be generous beyond our means, how to change a small corner of the world just by making a little dinner for a few friends." — from "Blood, Bones & Butter," pp. 10