The man who made Gordon Ramsay cry

Marco Pierre White, the original bad-boy chef, talks about taking over "Hell's Kitchen" from his rival, his scorn for molecular gastronomy and kitchen rage.

By Alex Koppelman

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May 22, 2007 | Marco Pierre White, Britain's original celebrity chef, is a big guy and knows how to be intimidating when he needs to be. When you meet him -- even if he seems to have mellowed into a genuinely friendly, charming man and happens to be nursing a hangover after a night out in New York with pals Anthony Bourdain and Mario Batali -- it's impossible to forget that his fame is due, at least in part, to his temper. White is the same chef, after all, who once published a picture of his former mentee, but now bitter rival, Gordon Ramsay, crying in a corner after a particularly bad night in the kitchen, and routinely let problem diners know that they were no longer welcome by having his waiters simply clear their table, down to the tablecloth.

But while his irascible antics may have tabloid appeal, White's food deserves to be famous, too. In 1995, he became the first British chef, and the youngest, to win the highest rating -- three stars -- from the prestigious Michelin guide. In his new memoir, "The Devil in the Kitchen: Sex, Pain, Madness and the Making of a Great Chef," White traces both his rise from apprentice to rock star chef and his surprising decision to walk away from it all, leaving the kitchen and his Michelin stars. Now, instead, White runs his restaurant empire from outside the kitchen, and he is slated to be the next host of the British version of the restaurant reality show "Hell's Kitchen," which Ramsay used to helm.

Over breakfast at his hotel (and if you've ever wondered what a former three-star chef with a hangover eats for breakfast, it's granola with plenty of milk and some yogurt on the side), White spoke with Salon about why he gave up the award he devoted a good part of his life to winning, his opinion of the American food scene and why sometimes in a kitchen you just have to shout.

Why'd you write this book?

I think if you've been given a talent, you should show it off, if you've been given opportunity, create opportunity, and if you've been given a story, share your story. I think you have a moral duty to do that. And you know, I've had many chefs come up to me, young boys, and say, "Marco, I love your book," and that's good. But don't do what I did, chase something for 17 years I never wanted. It's a long journey, chasing something until you achieve it and actually you never wanted it. It's a very long journey.

What do you mean, never wanted it?

When I won my three stars, I realized that I'd worked for something all my life that I'd never wanted. I never questioned why, why was I chasing three stars. I never asked myself that question, because I thought it would give me happiness.

Why'd you leave the kitchen?

I'd done my bit; there was no point. I had three options, that's what I thought. My first option was to continue working six days a week, long hours -- I leave home in the morning, my children are sleeping, I kiss them goodbye. I go home at night, my children are sleeping, I kiss them goodnight. And I just thought, "This is not a life. I don't want to do this anymore, I'm not happy doing it."

My second option was to live a lie: Pretend I'm behind the stove when I'm not behind the stove. Question everything I've ever worked for in my life, question my integrity.

My third option was to pluck up the courage to give back the stars, and accept that I'm going to be unemployed. And that's what I did.

I thought it was interesting, reading the book, that you just gave back your Michelin stars. How exactly does one give back Michelin stars?

I made a phone call at the end of September, before the guide went to print, and I said, "I'd like to be withdrawn from your guide, because on the 23rd of December, 1999, I will retire from the kitchen."

So they pulled your restaurant from the guide?

No, what they did was, the restaurant, the Oak Room, which continued to be a restaurant without me, just went in as an address. The listing just says "The Oak Room, blah, blah, blah" -- that's it. And Marco's gone.

What do you think of all the other famous chefs out there who have left the stove but still "headline" their restaurants?

To charge high prices and not be behind your stove, it's against all my beliefs. Remember, my average dinner bill was $600. Eight years ago. That's a big bill. And a lot of people who came to my restaurant weren't necessarily rich people. It was a special occasion. Can you imagine: You take your wife out to my restaurant for dinner, and I'm not behind the stove. You find out I'm in America -- how would you feel when you've just done $1,200 for dinner? It's a sour taste, isn't it?

Does the quality suffer?

It can't be the same, can it?

You were out with Mario Batali the other night -- he's not really behind his stove. Is that something you've discussed with him?

Mario's not a three-star chef. Mario's told the world what he's doing; he doesn't hide it. Mario's out front, isn't he? What I'm saying is a lot of them hide it; they pretend they're in their kitchen when they're not. I'm talking from a European point of view -- I can't speak for New York chefs, really. I just think when you've got three stars, it's an issue of principle. Your name is above the door, you've got to be there. But that's me. We're all different.

What do you think of the American food scene right now?

I think America is very exciting. I've never seen anyone who obsesses about produce more than the Americans. Their love for produce is extraordinary. And that's where it all begins. Mother Nature is the true artist. Even when I was in Seattle, walking the markets there, just the pride with which people present their food, just the way they stack it and present it and show it off, it's fantastic. I think America, the future of America, is fantastic.

It's interesting, what you're saying about the produce. Because it seems like when I go to France, even in the lowliest shop or restaurant, everything is good, but here you have to seek it out.

Well, [the French] take it for granted because it's all around them. It doesn't ignite their imagination. In America, the produce ignites the imagination. I'm sure when you go to France, it fucking blows your brains. They're not sitting on their laurels, the French. They're just so fucking good at what they do -- it's like a three-star restaurant, it doesn't have to change. Working in a restaurant which wins three stars is exciting, [but so is moving] from one, two and three. And it's like America in the world of gastronomy is somewhere that's just won its second Michelin star or its first Michelin star. They're fighting, they want to improve.

The hunger of your chefs, your young boys, is extraordinary. I was at a book signing the other night, and I see these young chefs with pale faces, looking anemic. When I shake their hands I can feel their calluses. You can see they're tired. You don't really see that in England anymore. It's a different world. They give themselves, those young boys. I didn't have to ask them if they were chefs, I could just see it. Just look at the eyes, just look at the lines in their faces. It's a cook's life. And the Americans are living that gastronomic dream at this point in time. Americans, I've always said, they sit in your restaurant, and they want to talk. They're inquisitive. They're not just there for dinner, they're buying into the whole dream. Over the years I've cooked for many, many Americans, and their thirst for knowledge, their thirst to understand, to meet you, is enormous.

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