T
he alumni base of the
University of Michigan
is a common selling
point, in both quantity (over
540,000 currently) and quality.
We’d like to
think that the
University is
both nature
and nurture
— that we
attract the
very best
and then
launch them
into fame
and fortune.
Every wide-
eyed freshman is told that
if he studies enough, he can
become the next Arthur Miller,
the next Larry Page, the next
Gerald Ford. Included among
our esteemed alumni are sev-
eral renowned chefs. Gabrielle
Hamilton, award-winning chef
at Prune in New York City,
received an MFA in creative
writing from the University.
Stephanie Izard, winner of Sea-
son Four of “Top Chef,” was an
undergraduate here. It’s harder
to pin down the University’s
influence on a chef. We don’t
have a culinary school beyond
work-study jobs in the dining
hall. Chefs are often of a more
bohemian temperament, one
not predisposed to college.
Which begs the question — if
one wants to be a chef, why
would you come here?
If you’re Chef Tony Maws,
James Beard Award-winning
chef of Craigie on Main in
Cambridge, Mass., it’s because
you’re 18 years old, and you
don’t know that you want to be
a chef or even know that you can
be one.
“I don’t think as an 18-year-
old, I was really mature enough,
or put together enough, to have
those thoughts,” he told me over
the phone. “(Going to college)
was what I was supposed to do.”
When
I
first
found
out
Maws had graduated from the
University, I was surprised, to
say the least. I grew up around
Boston, and Maws was often a
source for anything especially
“cheffy.” When I wanted to learn
how to fillet a fish, I watched
his videos on youtube. When I
turned 14 and wanted a roasted
pig’s head instead of a cake,
Craigie on Main was the place to
go. In short, Maws did not seem
like a guy who took a circuitous
route towards becoming a chef.
Maws was born in Boston
and grew up in Newton, Mass.,
in a solidly middle-class family.
When he was a kid, his parents
decided to renovate their house,
and were left without a kitchen
for more than a month. They’d
often trek to Chinatown for
dinner, which had an in-your-
face cuisine that appealed to
their young son.
“I grew up seeing all the
animals hanging in the window,
eating
funky
parts,
seeing
food differently than a lot of
Americans probably were in the
’70s,” Maws said.
Starting in seventh grade,
Maws attended an elite prep
school, Belmont Hill, throwing
himself into academics and
sports. But with nothing to
do one summer on Martha’s
Vineyard, where his family had
a house, he decided to get a job.
He approached the job process
like only a 15-year-old prep
school kid would: writing up a
resumé and diligently sending it
out to restaurants on the Island.
Looking back, Maws proudly
laughed.
“I got a call about three
minutes later, saying ‘You sent
us a resumé for a dishwasher
job? You’re hired.’”
Maws spent the next few
summers washing dishes and
helping prep ingredients at the
Beach Plum Inn. He’d never
been happier.
“It really embodied a lot of
what I liked and it was a culture I
thrived in — loud, fast, physical,
it was almost like playing in a
hockey game,” he said.
From his dishwashing sta-
tion, he would often peer into
the kitchen, admiring the hus-
tle of the line cooks. They were
usually college students, and,
funnily enough, one summer
they were a group of fraternity
brothers from the University of
Michigan.
“My
freshman
year
at
Michigan, I ran into a bunch of
them on the street — they must
have been fifth-year seniors —
and they were like ‘Wait, you’re
that kid!’” he said.
When he graduated from high
school, Maws still loved working
in kitchens, but didn’t think of it
as anything more than a hobby.
“At
that
time,
I
wasn’t
thinking, ‘Oh, I’m gonna be a
chef,’” he said. “There wasn’t
any food TV, and (becoming
a chef) wasn’t something that
people like me would do.”
So
Maws
zeroed
in
on
Michigan for college. Several
members of his family had
attended the University, and the
charisma of the line cooks had
made an impression. After one
visit, he made the decision.
“I got to Michigan and I was
like, ‘Holy shit! This is college,’”
he said.
Like so many freshman, his
first year was, in his own words,
“a wash.” The kitchen hadn’t
prepared him for the shock of
400-person classes, of teachers
who didn’t take attendance or
check his homework, of some
new party to go to every night.
Stuck on North Campus, he was
so miserable that he would pack
a bag every Friday afternoon
and crash with friends who
lived in Mary Markley Hall for
the weekend.
And, like so many students,
things got better after that. He
joined a frat. He took enough
psychology classes to make
a major of it. He wrote short
stories and poetry. And, at night,
he worked at the now-defunct
Quality Bar on Main Street, just
to be in the kitchen again.
After graduation, his friends
went off to New York and
Chicago to work at banks and
attend law and medical school.
Maws loaded up his car and
drove to Montana.
He worked at a lodge for a
while, moved to Utah to ski bum,
packed up again and traveled
through Europe. He even had a
desk job at a magazine in New
York City. This vagabond period
wasn’t exactly Maws living
out some latent Jack Kerouac
fantasy.
“I wasn’t trying to be aimless,
in an irresponsible way,” he
said. “I just didn’t know what I
wanted to do, and it really began
to eat at me.”
Maws ended up back in
Martha’s Vineyard, this time
waiting tables. He got friendly
with the restaurant’s owner,
who pulled him aside one day
for a verbal slap across the face.
He said, “Wait a minute.
You’ve worked in kitchens all
these years. You love food.
You’re always hanging around
in the kitchen. Why aren’t you
doing this?”
Looking
back,
Maws
considers this the turning point.
“It
was
as
if
I
needed
permission from someone to do
this job I liked,” he said.
He traveled again, to Boston,
San
Francisco
and
France,
cooking six days a week, coming
in on his days off, forgoing
culinary school for countless
questions
asked
and
hours
worked. In 2003, he opened the
Craigie Street Bistro, which
moved to its present location
in 2008. In 2011, he won the
James Beard Award for Best
Chef — Northeast. He’s now
married and has a young son,
and still cooks most nights at
the restaurant.
So, all in all, was that
psychology degree worth it?
“I went to prep school, and I
was supposed to go to college, so
I did,” Maws said. “And I’m glad
I did. I thought Ann Arbor was
fantastic, and I’m glad I have the
education.”
The
psychology
education
specifically, he’s not sure —
most of his leadership ability
has come from experience, not
reading Freud. But just to go
to college, to have four years to
grow up and learn what he liked
and didn’t like ... yeah, that was
worth it.
Buonomo is still waiting
for that pig head. To send
him that pig head, e-mail
gbuonomo@umich.edu.
FOOD COLUMN
Chef Tony Maws reflects on time at U
SINGLE REVIEW
You know that electronic
song that you, your friends
and everyone here at The
Daily likes
that goes
“Thump
Thump
Thump
Thump” then
ends? Let’s
agree, cut
that shit out
for a sec and talk about some-
thing with enough acoustic
nourishment to hold you from
your 9 a.m. ’til the smells,
lights and chatter fade out
of MoJo. Nicolas Jaar, the
exemplar of electronico-com-
positional mastery, outdoes
himself on this one.
“Fight” is a well-thought-
out meditation on a simple
five-chord structure that
develops through recapitu-
lations of groove, feel and
sonic exaction. Far and away
the most incredible aspect
of “Fight” is Jaar’s virtuosic
synth design. The sounds and
textures he crafts throughout
the piece are percussively
dense, yet symphonically
clear. The affected reverb
that trails behind is exact
enough to prevent a muddled
crash while clear enough, to
promote harmonic mingling
and a wee tingle in me knick-
ers. This track is gorgeous
through and through.
-DANIEL SAFFRON
R&S RECORDS
A+
Fight
Nicolas Jaar
R&S Records
TRAILER REVIEW
The first shot is of an idyllic,
modern home secluded in the
Austrian countryside, which
clearly means
someone’s
going to die.
I don’t think
there’s ever
been a film
with an idyllic,
secluded home
that made me
think, “This looks like a feel good
story. No one could possibly die
in this.”
“Goodnight Mommy” looks ter-
rifying, astonishingly terrifying,
the kind of horror film that seeps
under the skin and claws its way
around so you can feel the hairs
standing on your arms, the tight-
ening of your stomach. Though
the trailer provides a couple
jump scares, the focus looks to
be of a psychological terror, one
that will stain your mind with
grotesque images like a pierc-
ing bloodshot eye or the rapid
frame movement of a woman
writhing, seemingly possessed,
in the wilderness. And it keeps
its secrets guarded closely to its
chest, leaving so many questions:
Why did this mother receive
facial reconstruction surgery? Is
she even these kids’ mother? Are
these kids the spawn of Satan?
And where did they find so many
cockroaches?
So many questions, so many
thrills, outrageous fun.
-JAMIE BIRCOLL
RADIUS
A
Goodnight
Mommy
RADiUS
GIANCARLO
BUONOMO
If one wants to
be a chef, why
would you come
here?
“... loud, fast,
physical, it was
like playing in a
hockey game.”
“... seeing food
differently than a
lot of Americans
were in the ’70s.”
4B — Thursday, October 15, 2015
the b-side
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com