The Fellowship of the Range

“We’ve got a get-together planned this summer,” My husband, The Balkan Storm, says as he pockets his phone.

He’s peppy and upbeat about hanging out soon with his “brothers from another mother,” a group of fellow chefs he started his career with back in the early '80s.

Weeks later, the plans get cancelled. Again.

Someone is short-staffed, or can't get away, or their back is acting up.

“We’ll try again next year.” He says, the disappointment obvious.

And I feel for him; I may be his wife, but there’s a part of him that will only be fully understood by those who've worked shoulder to shoulder in the heat, the manic energy, and the shouts flying between chef and brigade for hours.

A lot of what we see on TikTok and Instagram today started in kitchens like theirs.

The Balkan Storm, of course, refuses to be the subject of any of this: “Write their stories now; you can write mine after I’m dead.”

But it’s my platform, so…we’ll see how that goes.

As a teenager, Chef Storm started in the tiny kitchen of Tippy’s Taco House in Virginia. One day, while stirring lard into a massive pot of pinto beans, he realized food was his calling.

He was right, because at age 22, he was Executive Chef at Le Chardon d’Or in the Morrison House Hotel in Virginia, a AAA Four-Star Restaurant.

Whenever he spoke to the press, he’d lie about his age, claiming he was 26 in the belief he'd be taken more seriously that way.

He was named Washington, D.C.'s Chef of the Year and inducted into The Grand Master Chefs of America while his restaurant appeared again and again on “best of Washington” lists in the Post, Zagat, and Washingtonian.

And he did it all while driving back and forth from D.C. to VA four times a day - battling that legendary traffic during split shifts so he could spend time with his family.

Jim still credits much of his success to his mentor, Chef Bernard Binon; long before that, though, Jim had already been studying leadership from a not-so-unlikely source: television.

Specifically, Captain James T. Kirk.

For a young man trying to find his own way, Kirk’s swagger, decisiveness, and expectation that his crew would rise to any challenge proved to be a surprisingly effective inspiration.

Years later, he actually met William Shatner in person. The encounter did not live up to the legend, but that’s a story for another day.

Never meet your heroes, kids.

Chef Joe Castro was one of Storm's 'brothers', and one who is dearly missed.

Joe spent decades as the chef at Louisville’s legendary Brown Hotel, leading the English Grill after years working his way up through the kitchen at the Embassy Row Hotel (now The Ven), where he and Storm first met.

I remember dining with Joe and his lovely wife Kathleen whenever we’d pass through town. Joe was a quiet guy, and always struck me as someone who was right where he wanted to be.

Joe and Kathleen actually met because of Storm; Kathleen was Storm’s pastry chef at Embassy Row, and Joe was executive sous chef at the time.

Storm says Joe loved the way Kathleen rolled her puff pastry, and so, men being men, they extended the legs of their reach-in fridge so she’d have to stretch even higher every time she grabbed the dough.

And Joe fell in love.

Joe ended up being one of the “core” guys, with more than a few friendships starting because of him.

Chef Dean Corbett first met Storm through Joe.

By then, Dean was already something of a legend, the Golden Toque chef behind Equus and Jacks, and later Corbett’s: An American Place. "Deano" had earned a reputation for both his cuisine and his philanthropy

During Derby season one year, Storm was invited to the Brown as a visiting chef, where he cooked sweetbreads for a charity event with about fifteen other chefs in attendance, including Dean.

I still remember the time Storm took me to Corbett’s on a snowy Valentine’s night. The place was packed, but Dean insisted on making room for us anyway and stopped by the table for soem nice catch-up.

I remember him asking if I liked scallops. I told him I actually hate them.

“That’s ‘cause you haven’t had mine yet.” He assured me before walking off and disappearing through the swinging doors.

I mean, how can you argue with that?

A little while later, he returned with what turned into a sort of ‘chef’s choice mystery dinner’ he’d made just for us, and in true fashion, never charged a dime.

Those scallops were the best I've ever tasted.

It was also the last time I ever saw him.

Chef Anoosh Shariat was another chef Storm came to know through those charity events.

Born in Iran, Anoosh made his way to the U.S. and eventually settled in Louisville, becoming one of the early pioneers of the modern restaurant scene. He built several restaurants, including Anoosh Bistro and Noosh Nosh, while mentoring and turning up again and again for charitable causes.

What people remember most about Anoosh, what I remember most, was his kind nature.

I’ve lost count of how many times Storm and I ate at Anoosh’s, and never once did we manage to leave without him striking up a long, warm conversation, no matter how busy he was, always ending with hugs and promises to meet again soon.

Love just radiated out of that man.

He had a motto that sums him up perfectly: Eat Well. Love Life.

So why write about all of this now?

Honestly, this thing of canceled plans isn’t new; in hospitality, something always comes up. It just does. It always will.

But the passing of actor Robert Duvall (stay with me, I promise it’ll make sense in a minute) sparked a conversation with The Balkan Storm about those early days. One name leads to another, and so on.

So many ‘brothers and sisters’ come together so organically that I could probably write a hundred stories and still not cover it all.

Chef Fredy Hernandez’s story is one of my favorites. Fredy had come to the U.S. from El Salvador and was working at the Morrison House with Storm. When Storm first met him, Fredy wasn’t even on the line yet – he was washing dishes.

But one day, Storm noticed him carving a large tenderloin of beef. He says he was using the wrong knife, but doing it with such a level of expertise that it made him stop and stare.

Within minutes, Fredy was pulled out of the sink pit and put on the line.

Later, when Storm opened Lucie at Embassy Row, Fredy went with him and spent two years on the poissonier station, turning out signature dishes for Washington’s elite and Hollywood’s royalty.

Over the years, Storm and I spent time with Fredy and his amazing wife, Mary Anne, many times, including several dinner parties at their home in Chicago, where our cooking-allergic daughter even jumped in to help with dessert.

They crashed one of ours once, too, but hey- chefs are chefs, and trust me, nobody gets mad when another pair of hands comes into your kitchen.

We shared one last meal with them a few years ago before they moved out west. Hoping for a visit out there one of these days.

Talking about old friends had us reminiscing about the last time we saw Chef Tom Kee.

Just a couple of years ago, we had dinner at his restaurant, The Rail Stop, one he’d partnered with Robert Duvall to open way back when

But Storm and Tom go way back farther than that. They first met at Le Chardon d’Or, where Tom had come up under Billy McNamee, who himself trained under Yannick Cam.

Tom was in rare form that night, as was his server, Dominick Dermon. Dominick had been a server back in the Le Chardon d’Or days and followed Tom over the years.

They happily sent out one beautiful dish after another:

Chilled potato and chive soup. Fresh spinach salads with tart, creamy goat cheese. Crabcakes. Lobster and scallops in a dreamy beurre blanc.

Along came a buttery-soft tomahawk steak with spinach and potatoes, and finally, a sumptuous crème brûlée.

(I just felt my ass get bigger just from typing all that out. But...worth it.)

Dominick came to the table while we ate, casually opening a vintage bottle of Rothschild as he approached.

“This cost the restaurant six hundred dollars,” he stated, ever so matter-of-factly, as he began pouring. That was Dominick’s way of saying he loved his brothers.

Storm, Tom, and Dominick toasted a 30-year friendship that night.

And then there’s Chef Robert Wiedmaier, still very much in the thick of the hospitality world.

Robert built an extraordinary career and remains one of the standout chefs to emerge from Washington’s restaurant scene. He started at Le Chardon d’Or as the saucier and later honed his craft with Doug MacNeill at the Four Seasons in Georgetown.

I had the chance to experience his cooking many years ago, at his restaurant Brabo in Alexandria. I remember sitting there thinking I might actually explode from so many courses, as it was my first encounter with real fine dining.

Like the others, Robert never charged a dime.

And when I mention things like a vintage Rothschild or free dinners, I promise you I'm bragging - truth be told, I felt so much like a fish out of water in those situations.

I didn’t grow up around fine dining or high-end culture. My family wasn’t exactly poor, but we could see it from there.

Early in our relationship, The Balkan Storm took me places my family would have considered "highfalutin". I remember sitting there, convinced someone like me didn’t belong and wondering when he’d realize it too.

But he never considered it an issue because what I didn't know then was that in his world, cooking is how you show love. Chefs get that better than anyone. They don’t care what you cook for them; it could be a bowl of cereal as long as it’s made with love.

So my point up there is about generosity; these guys take care of each other like that.

To Storm, though, Robert’s still one of his brothers. I was thrilled (and a little intimidated) when Robert graciously agreed to sit down for an interview about those early years.

I’m hoping to have similar conversations with the others, because friendships that stand the test of time like that deserve to be acknowledged and celebrated.

As of this writing, the reunion is still on.

I’m hoping one night soon to get a text and see a group photo: a bunch of crazy chefs, raising a toast with whatever beverage they find appropriate, to a friendship that’s thrived for decades. Not everyone gets that.

Though judging by these guys’ schedules, it might actually be harder to pull off than crossing Mordor.