While dining at Atlas in Fayetteville, I asked Chef Elliot a simple question. “How often does someone invite you over for dinner?” His answer caught me a little off guard. “Never,” he said, except for the occasional backyard cookout.
The response didn’t really surprise me. Most people are intimidated by the thought of cooking for a professional chef. They assume every bite will be judged, every seasoning scrutinized, every dish silently compared to something better. In a way, they’re right. Chefs notice things the rest of us don’t. Years of training make it impossible not to appreciate technique, presentation, and flavor.
But they’re also wrong.
More than anyone, chefs understand the effort that goes into preparing a meal. They know the planning, the work, and the care behind every plate. When someone else is doing the cooking, they have the rare opportunity to simply relax, enjoy the company, and be taken care of for a change. Hospitality means as much to them as the food itself.
I’ve experienced a bit of that myself. Thanks to Cook Savor Celebrate, people sometimes hesitate to invite me to dinner because they fear judgement. The invitations are few and far between, but when they do come, I’ve found that the menu matters far less than the warmth of the welcome. A gracious host and good conversation will always outweigh a perfectly executed recipe.
Of course, when I don’t feel like cooking, I happily head to one of my favorite restaurants. But Chef Elliot’s comment stayed with me long after that evening at Atlas. It prompted a question that seemed almost too obvious not to ask.
“If I hosted a dinner just for some of my favorite chefs… would you come?”
His answer was immediate.
“Absolutely.”
That single word transformed an idle conversation into an ambitious idea, and with it, the Chef Summit was born.
The Plan
I should probably confess that my motivation for hosting the Chef Summit wasn’t entirely altruistic. Sure, I wanted to thank these incredibly talented chefs for the memorable meals and genuine hospitality they have shown me, but I also had a more ambitious—and admittedly selfish—goal. I wanted to build a culinary bridge between my hometown of Fort Smith and the thriving food scene in Northwest Arkansas.
Around the table that evening were Chef Elliott Hunt of Atlas, Chef Olena Katrich of Prima Italia, Chef Joshua Torres and Bar Master Thomas Dahlem from Stonehouse, Chef Tommy Lawyer of BluPoint, accompanied by his fiancée Saycia, Mikey Chronister of the Secret Spoon Society and Sommelier Mark Burnett. It was a remarkable collection of culinary talent representing different styles, backgrounds, and perspectives.
My hope was that by bringing everyone together in a relaxed, informal setting, they could leave their restaurants behind for one evening. Instead of worrying about service or staffing, they could swap stories, laugh about the inevitable disasters every chef experiences. They could discuss the challenges facing the industry, and perhaps even discover an idea or technique from someone else at the table that would find its way onto one of their own menus.
I had one final objective.
Several dishes I planned to serve were candidates for an upcoming dinner I was preparing for the Arkansas Chapter of the International Wine & Food Society. Who better to serve as a focus group than a table full of accomplished chefs? I wasn’t looking for compliments—I wanted honest criticism and the kind of constructive feedback only professionals could provide.
That requirement shaped perhaps the most important part of the evening’s strategy.
Every course needed to be something unfamiliar—dishes they had neither prepared, nor hopefully even tasted before. There was a practical reason for that. If they had no point of comparison from their own kitchens, perhaps they would judge the food on its own merits rather than against a version they had perfected themselves.
With the guest list finalized and the objectives clearly in mind, all that remained was the most important decision of all – the menu.
The Chef Summit Menu
The festivities began with a toast of Kentucky Champagne. Before anyone winces—and you know who you are, John Trickett—I’m not referring to a sparkling wine masquerading as the French original. This was the genuine Kentucky version, a glass of pure unadulterated bourbon, affectionately known by generations of Kentuckians as “Kentucky Champagne.”
I was born and raised in Louisville, where bourbon is simply part of the culture. It carries extra meaning for me because a distant cousin, Marjorie Mattingly Samuels was a founder of Maker’s Mark Distillery. Bourbon has always been woven into my family’s story and Kentucky’s heritage, so there really wasn’t a more appropriate way to welcome my guests. With Kentucky running through my veins—and a little bourbon history running through my family—there was never any question what we’d be toasting with that evening.
Appetizers
The first of seven courses is Bluegrass Benedictine – Two Ways. This is a treat found only in Louisville, or at my home. Dating from 1935, it is a cucumber flavored cream cheese spread created by Jenny Benedict for her Kentucky Derby catering business. Enjoyed on bread as a canape or with chips as a dip it is as addictive as anything you can imagine. I’m proud to say it was a hit and can occasionally be found now on a local menu. This was served with a Lucien Albrecht Cremant d’Alsace Brut which was a perfect sip with this bite from Kentucky.
The second course was Veal Meatball Pelmeni, and here I intentionally strayed from my original plan. My goal had been to serve dishes that none of my guests had ever prepared or tasted. This one was different.
I made this rustic Eastern European classic especially for Chef Olena Katrich. Born in Ukraine when it was still part of the U.S.S.R., I hoped the dish would evoke fond memories, even if it wasn’t exactly the way she remembered it. Pelmeni are delicate dumplings filled with seasoned meat(s) and onion, tossed in a spicy butter sauce and finished with a dollop of sour cream.
As soon as the plate landed in front of her, the interrogation began in her genuine Russian accent.
“Did you use a pelmenitsa?” Yes.
“Is that smetana?” No, just good old-fashioned sour cream.
“Where did you taste pelmeni, and where did you find the recipe?”
I admitted that my introduction to the dish came at restaurants in Portland, Oregon and again recently in Juneau, Alaska, before I developed my own version.
Then came the verdict I hoped for.
Olena smiled and said they tasted just as she remembered from her childhood. She especially complimented the dumplings, saying they had exactly the right amount of chew. Coming from someone who grew up with the dish, I couldn’t have asked for higher praise.
Intermezzo
The first is a liquid olive for a nod to molecular gastronomy and homage to Ferran Adria of famed El Bulli and Jose’ Andres of Jaleo where I have enjoyed them many times. It is really fun to feel that green orb burst in your mouth with undeniable flavor.
The olive was quickly followed by Blue Cheese Ice Cream, and the contrast couldn’t have been greater. If the olive challenged expectations, the ice cream shattered them completely. The name alone is enough to make most people stop in their tracks. Ice cream? Blue cheese? Together?
The skepticism disappeared with the first spoonful. Rich and silky with enough sweetness to tame the cheese’s pungency, it transforms blue cheese from something bold and assertive into something elegant and balanced. It’s one of those dishes that sounds improbable until you taste it. Then it becomes unforgettable.
The Main
Suckling Pig Porchetta with domino potatoes, spring greens, avocado salsa, demi-glace and black garlic sauce was the main attraction. The porchetta was rolled around fragrant mushroom duxelles and hot southern breakfast sausage with fresh herbs, spices, and lemon before being roasted to perfection. It emerged from the oven with crackling so crisp you could play it like a bongo drum.
The domino potatoes were carefully sliced, layered, and repeatedly basted with butter as they roasted, creating crisp, golden exteriors that gave way to smooth, creamy centers. Together, the accompaniments balanced the richness of the pork while adding bright, fresh, and savory contrasts to every bite.
Paired with a New Zealand Pinot Noir, the course drew exactly the reaction every cook hopes for—a chorus of appreciative “oohs” and “aahs” from around the table.
Dessert
The evening concluded with Norwegian Success Cake, a fitting finale to the Chef Summit dinner. I learned to prepare this traditional Norwegian dessert while cruising Alaska, where Viking’s Corporate Executive Chef trained me to recreate it at home.
The cake’s light almond base and decadently rich buttercream made for a luxurious ending to the meal. To complement its richness, I paired it with a late-harvest Hungarian Royal Tokaji. Often called the “Wine of Kings and the King of Wines,” its honeyed sweetness and vibrant acidity were the perfect match, providing a golden, elegant finish.
Final Thoughts
After the last course was served, no one seemed eager to leave. The evening had taken on a life of its own. Chef Elliott was spending the night to avoid the long drive back over the Boston Mountains to Fayetteville, so there was no reason to rush. We settled in with a nightcap and continued the conversations that had begun around the dinner table—talking about new friendships, memorable meals, and the unique challenges that come with owning and operating a restaurant.
As I listened to the stories and watched the easy camaraderie that had developed throughout the evening, I realized the Chef Summit had accomplished exactly what I had hoped. It had built a culinary bridge between Fort Smith and Northwest Arkansas. Ideas were exchanged, experiences shared, and perhaps most importantly, friendships were strengthened among chefs who rarely have the opportunity to sit down together simply to enjoy each other’s company.
The evening also accomplished another goal. My panel of test subjects provided invaluable feedback on the dishes for the upcoming International Wine & Food Society dinner. I learned one important lesson in particular. As much as I loved the domino potatoes, there was no realistic way I could prepare them by myself for twenty-five guests. The menu would need a different starch.
In the end, though, the menu wasn’t the night’s greatest success. The true reward was much simpler than that. It was the pleasure of opening my home, sharing good food and good wine, and spending an evening with friends whose passion for hospitality mirrors my own. That’s a recipe worth repeating.
Good article on a very unique dinner.
Thank you. We had a great time!