The Fellowship of the Range

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

He’s peppy and upbeat as he wanders off, already mentally halfway to wherever they’ve decided to meet this time, his “brothers from another mother,” whose careers crossed paths with his way back when and became lifelong friendships.

Weeks later, the plans get cancelled.

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

“We’ll try again next year.” He always says, a little too quickly, the disappointment obvious.

And I feel for him.

I may be his wife, but there’s a part of his life that will only be fully understood by the men who lived it with him: his chef brethren.  The ones who know what it’s like to work shoulder to shoulder in the heat, the manic energy, the constant calls flying between chef to brigade for hours.

Regular readers know I often write about the stories and lessons we take away from pop culture, but culture isn’t just what we watch, but also what we eat.

Over the next few months, I’ll be sharing some of those stories of the wild early years of Washington’s restaurant scene.

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

My husband, of course, refuses to be the subject of any of this.

“Write their stories now,” he said of his friends. “Write mine when I’m dead.”

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

But what I will say is that those men know the version of ‘Chef Jim’ that I just see glimpses of: the intense young chef who could command a brigade with a look, demanded excellence, and pushed people hard because he believed they were capable of more than they thought.

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

By age 22, he was already the 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 back then, he’d tell them he was 26. He thought people might take him a little more seriously that way.

He’d eventually be named Washington, D.C.'s Chef of the Year and inducted into The Grand Master Chefs of America, while the 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 help raise his children and be more than just his family’s financier.

Jim still credits much of his success to his mentor, Chef Bernard Binon, a classically trained French chef who taught him what real kitchen leadership looked like.

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.

Joe Castro was one of those brothers, and one who is sadly 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 Jim first met.

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

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

Jim says Joe loved the way she rolled her puff pastry, and so, men being men, they extended the legs of their reach-in fridge, making it taller 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.

Dean Corbett first met Jim 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 his incredible cooking and contributions to the community.

During Derby season one year, Jim 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 Jim took me to Corbett’s on a snowy Valentine’s night. The place was packed, but Dean generously made room for us anyway and stopped by the table to catch up.

I remember him asking if I liked scallops. I admitted that I actually hated them.

“That’s ‘cause you haven’t had mine yet.” He stated before walking off and disappearing through the swinging doors. A little while later, he returned with what turned into a sort of ‘chef’s choice mystery dinner’ he’d made just for us.

In true fashion, he never charged a dime.

Those scallops were the best I've ever had.

It was also the last time we ever saw him.

Anoosh Shariat was another chef Jim came to know through those charity events at the Brown, and one who is deeply missed.

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 kindness.

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

Love just…radiated out of that man.  

He had a motto printed on his chef’s jacket (and his cookbook) that summed him up perfectly:

Eat Well. Love Life.

So why write about all of this now?

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

But the recent 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 leading to another, and so on.

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

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 Jim. When Jim first met him, Fredy wasn’t even on the line yet – he was washing dishes.

But one day, Jim 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 watch.

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

Later, when Jim 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, Jim 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 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 cook wanders 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 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 (hence the conversation).

But Jim 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.

When Jim eventually moved to the Embassy Row Hotel, Tom went right along with him.

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.

During dinner, Dominick came to the table, casually opening a vintage bottle of Rothschild.

“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.

Jim, Tom, and their friend Domnick toasted a 30-year friendship that night and promised to get together with the others more often.

And then there’s Robert Wiedmaiier, 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. It was one of those long, unforgettable dinners where you eventually have to stop counting courses and surrender to the experience.

I remember sitting there thinking I might actually explode, as it was my first encounter with real fine dining.  

Like the others, Robert never charged a dime that night.

And that’s the thing about this circle of chefs. When I talk about things like a vintage Rothschild or dinners like that one, it’s not meant to be a flex.

Truth be told, I felt so much like a complete 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 definitely see it from there.

Early in our relationship, Jim took me places most of my family would have considered downright highfalutin. I remember sitting there convinced someone like me didn’t belong in places like that, wondering when he’d realize it too.

But he never seemed to think it was an issue.

Because 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.

And that’s really my point: generosity, not extravagance. These guys always take care of each other like that.

To Jim, though, Robert’s still one of his brothers. I was thrilled (and a little intimidated, to be honest) when Robert graciously agreed to sit down for an interview about those early years, and I’m hoping to have a similar conversation with the others as well.

Friendships that stand the test of time like that deserve to be acknowledged and celebrated. And those stories will be coming in future pieces.

As of this writing, the next planned reunion is still on. I’m hoping this modest little piece (and maybe a few extra eyes on it) might give these guys the nudge they need to finally see it through.

Because time has already taken too many seats away from their table (how’s that for poetic?)

I’m hoping one night soon to open a text to see a group photo from wherever they end up: a bunch of crazy chefs, raising a toast with whatever beverage they find appropriate, to a friendship that’s managed to last for decades.  

Not everyone gets a brotherhood like that. Though judging by these guys’ schedules, it might actually be harder than crossing Mordor.

Heather Papovich is the voice behind Unfinished Business, a weekly essay series where real life meets pop culture, and how to get through both without (mostly) losing it.