Five years ago, after I miraculously whipped together a batch of chocolate chip cookies from scratch, my brother turned to me with a melted chocolate chip latched to his tooth and said, “Gracie, you should be a chef.” Fast forward five years, and I have prepared countless omelets, slow roasted chickens, fumbled my way through dark chocolate cake recipes, and, of course made chocolate chip cookies. Simply put, I love to cook and eat. If you are a fine food and culinary aficionado like me, Boston’s Via Matta embodies the Mecca of authentic Italian cuisine. I have always wondered what goes on outside the accommodated world of the restaurant patron. On a sunny Saturday morning, I found myself in the presence of Via Matta’s own Chef de Cuisine, Adam Halberg, who graciously and articulately answered my burning—at times, bizarre—questions.
I have dined at Via Matta a number of times for dinner with my Aunt Patricia. We would sit and laugh, pleasing our pallets with food so delectable that having leftovers didn’t even cross our minds. The ambiance of the restaurant lures me back each time: the dim lighting, the satisfied “Mmm’s” of customers, and the scent of fresh rosemary and espresso that fills your nostrils as you gaze at the well-mannered and poised employees. Via Matta endows its customers with a unique dining experience; all aspects of the restaurant, from the remarkable food to the impeccable service and finely pressed table cloths, are handled with love amidst the upscale and modern ambiance. While dining on grilled pear and fennel salad or a traditional pasta Bolognese, you can’t help but expect “Mama” to come wandering up from the kitchen, wearing her finest pearls and cashmere cardigan, to ensure that you are enjoying your food.
When I arrive at the restaurant, my mind fluttering with excitement, Adam Halberg opens the door wearing his chef’s attire, his eyes laden with slight fatigue as he presents me with a kind warm smile. Walking into the restaurant, sans my aunt and a buzzing dinner crowed, I feel pleasantly surprised to find it just the way I left it at my last meal about a month ago. The same large rectangular room, the comforting rosemary aroma, the tables all poised serenely while draped with fine white linens, and the deep mahogany hardwood floors remain exactly as I left them. Adam leads me to a small table in the bar. “Can I get you anything? Tea perhaps, or a cup of coffee?” he asks me politely. “Water would be great,” I answer timidly. I sip on my iced water as Adam returns carrying a small cup of coffee and then proceeds to take the seat across from me. I feel anxious to discover everything I possibly can about this man and his profession—“the life” I so jokingly refer to it as. Like most individuals who are successful and passionate in their field of expertise, Adam’s interest in food began at a young age. “How did you end up in ‘the life,’” I ask him as my fingertips rest earnestly on the keys of my laptop. “When I was six or seven I went to my first kind of fancy restaurant” he replies. “I ordered escargot [and] I liked them. I grew up in South Florida where they have these things called apple snails, so the next day I collected all of the snails in a frisbee and asked my mom to cook them.” Quite a fairy tale beginning, if you ask me. Yet, like most of us, knowing what we want to do at the age of six seems quite unrealistic. “When I was little, I didn’t think I was going to work in restaurants,” he explains. “I said, ‘no I am going to go to college to write,’ [so] I got a liberal arts degree and got out of school and didn’t know what to do.” I speak for many others when I say I am thankful that Adam turned to cooking. Trained at culinary school at the Art Institute of Atlanta, Adam has tried his hand at everything from improvisational theater to marketing.
Having such a well- rounded history of experiences, I wonder if it is important for a chef to draw knowledge and understanding from outside the kitchen in order to be successful in the kitchen. “I don’t think you have to, but for me it’s healthier,” Adam responds sensibly. “There are some people that lock themselves inside of a room for months at a time to write. But it is important to engage in the world—and yeah, I have a thousand different interests. Having outside influences is good. A balance is good.” Well stated.
Yearning to learn more about the life of a Chef de Cuisine, I simply ask Adam, “what is a typical day like for you?” He looks out of the window for a minute, squints his eyes in thought, and strokes his well-manicured facial hair—like a character from a Charles Dickens novel. “It involves a lot of coffee,” he admits wittily. “I am fortunate to have two fantastic sous chefs—so one of them opens and one closes. [I begin my day by] reviewing with the opening sous chef hat are the big projects for the day. What are the specials and additions for the night and, depending on how busy lunch, is I will work on them with cooking during lunch. During lunch we prep for dinner—the middle part of the day from when they [the chefs] come in, to about 4:30, is concentrated on preparing everything for dinner.” I then learn a vastly important aspect in the success of a restaurant involves communication. If this chain of communication becomes weak in any area, the restaurant as a whole will suffer. At this moment, a couple arrives at the large glass double doors of the restaurant. They peer in eagerly and narrow their eyes, trying to obtain a better look inside. “We are not open for lunch,” Adam says with a hint of laughter and relief. We quickly turn back to the interview.
On any given day, Adam will contact the owners of the restaurant; he will make sales calls to their food purveyors in and out of the state to figure out what foods he needs for the next few days. He discusses with the servers the menu for the night, filling them in on details such as what foods they only have in limited quantities and the specials for the evening. As the dinner services looms closer, Adam and his colleagues conduct a service meeting, which they refer to as “education time for the day.” At this meeting, Adam and others discuss what they are making, the history of certain dishes, who has made reservations, and any other details pertaining to their customers. When the dinner service begins, Adam can be found in the kitchen expediting. “This means I stand in front of all the cooks,” he explains. “I play air traffic controller. I make sure everybody knows what they are cooking, how fast they are cooking, and it is my job exclusively through the tone of my voice to make sure they produce the food to you. All the food comes to me before it leaves the kitchen to make sure it is correct.” Listening to Adam proceed down this laundry list of duties fascinates me. He appears so composed, so temperate and articulate with his words—I wonder how he maintains this assurance working under such pressure. This thought leads me to my next question: the stereotypical notion that chefs have temperamental and high strung personalities. Upon posing this question, Adam turns to his maître d' Nick, and asks jokingly, “Are chefs temperamental and high strung?” “Yes,” Nick answers without hesitation, and we all share in a good laugh. “I have worked with chefs that spend their entire time yelling, screaming, and throwing things,” Adam admits. “As a chef, you create a dish and then other people make it. No one is ever going to cook a dish the same way I would, and for a lot of people that is very frustrating.”
Well informed on the technical aspects of a restaurant, I eagerly want to learn more about Adam and get inside his head. “What elements of your everyday life inspire your dishes?” I ask him, a grin on my face as I await his answer. His momentary pauses have left me with edge-of-my-seat anticipation as I wait for his thoughtful and clever answers. “That’s interesting,” he says with a smile, as he gazes off in the distance for a minute. “I believe that anybody who is an artist works better in the company of others. Writers are better writers if they go to the opera, and opera singers are better singers if they go to the museum. Absolutely anything can inspire. For me, the history of it [food], and the culture of it is fascinating.” I have never encountered anyone so passionate and well-informed about food. As if this question sparked a flame within him, Adam takes me on a historic journey through Italy, dictating to me while my eyes widen and mouth waters. He vividly describes the history of one of the restaurants signature pasta dishes, the Pappardelle with rabbit, chestnuts, dates, and olives. “When you take the history of a dish like that, think about how important it is to get it right when you are making it,” he says with fervor. Wanting to acquire even more information nesting inside his brain, I ask, while slightly giggling, “do you think we will ever find life on other planets? And if they come to earth, what will you cook for them?” His answer made we want to invite him over to hang out with my friends and watch Family Guy because of his cleverness and ingenuity. “There is no doubt that we will have life on another planet,” he replies. “Statistically, it makes sense. Two answers, one—I have to understand them first, you have to know your audience, figure out what I think they would enjoy. Two—people on this planet eat all sorts of crazy different things. My bet, ET likes Italian.” If he thought my questions could not get any goofier, I surprise him with my inquiry of his participation in a cooking competition, such as Iron Chef America. His even more eccentric reply: “Here is a competition that needs to happen: a cook-off between people who cook real food—straight up lasagna, rich soups, and French dishes like mussels and French fries—but done perfectly! Versus people that are in this molecular gastronomy right now. People who are making smoked fish cotton candy, people who stick things on a skewer so it looks cool. That is the iron chef competition we need to have—real food versus the shenanigans.” I ask Adam if I could be the judge, and he says yes. Good answer, Adam.
Ending this cherished and laugh-ridden interview, I close my laptop and shake his hand goodbye with a strong sense of satisfaction. Not only did I learn more about an extremely intelligent and eloquent man whose passion exudes in every dish he prepares, I also caught a glimpse of the culinary world that so fascinates me. Before departing, Adam gave me an intimate tour of the kitchen and the inner workings of the restaurant. I walked through the maze of steel clad gas stoves and nudged my head into a small room filled with the sweet aroma of fresh vegetables and salted meats. Attempting to picture myself dressed in the white chefs’ uniform, my heart fluttering and body warming with excitement, I thought about my brothers comment, “Gracie, you should be a chef.” Much like Adam as an undergraduate student at a liberal arts school, the phrase “to be a chef” will run rampantly through my head for years to come. Before I made my final departure, I decided that my interview with Adam would not be complete without the cliché question of any person–to-person interview, “any advice?” Adam replies with a comforting smile, “Advice? Eat all the time, figure out what you like, be honest with yourself, think about it. Make it a process. Cook, experiment, figure it out. The best way you can respect your art or your craft is to spend time with it.”
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