Homemade Peruvian empanadas

Studio Gourmet in San Francisco

Studio Gourmet was another success on Tuesday with Chef Mark Dommen from Michelin-rated One Market Restaurant in downtown San Francisco.  


During an in-depth interview, the Napa-based chef spoke candidly about his life growing up in the rural countryside of northern California and starting his "farm-to-table" mantra early on. From starting out at jobs like dish-washing during school summer breaks and a minimum wage internship at Hubert Keller's Fleur de Lys, Dommen went on to graduate from the California Culinary Academy and has since traveled around the world to cook, including Switzerland, where he owns a dual-citizenship. Now the Executive Chef and Partner at San Francisco's One Market Restaurant with over 20 years of cooking experience, Dommen has mastered contemporary, seasonal and fresh American fare, and stresses the importance of always taking care of his staff. 


On the menu Tuesday night was a deeeelicious bacon-wrapped pork tenderloin stacked on a sautéed apple slice with a dandelion and mustard green persillade, followed by baked (not fried) Dungeness crab cakes. 







Left: Brad Lev, Host and Founder of Studio Gourmet; Right: Chef Mark Dommenfrom One Market Restaurant

For all you foodies out there, here's something you might not know: Dommen was voted one of the "Hottest Chefs in the Bay" by SF Eater. Atta boy, Mark.


For the next Studio Gourmet event, visit http://www.studiogourmetsf.com/.

Walrus the wise.

rnh, 3-13-11

—It’s sort of like a story, isn’t it? Of things coming together and coming undone.

—Shitty story.

—How can you be sure?

—There are other people to take care of that.

—Oh.

—So what now?

—Have we ever known? Does anybody know?

—Probably not.

—We’re mistaking this for something far less (or more) complicated.

—What do you mean?

—You know, love, or whatever.

—Love?

—Yes.

—I didn’t know that was in question.

—Don’t you remember how you were broken?

—How could I forget?

—Those walks. So long and heavy.

—You made me take my shoes off once.

—The night it rained.

—I didn’t understand.

—I know. 

—Maybe if we had a compass…

—That’d be too easy. We should be desperate, raggedy, semi-coherent, wanting…

—Aren’t we?

—This—this intimacy; these fragments with no real organized continuity;this talk of who is going where and why and when and with whom—would never have continued, or, in the very least, started, had you—had we—not been so stubborn. So goddamn stubborn.

—We like it that way.

—I’m dead serious about all this.

—Absolutely.

—Talking about “potential” and “what ifs”—it was all talk and no action.

—Maybe.

—This is not what I envisioned.

—What did you envision?

—I don’t know. This is all far too…predictable. Or I guess maybe unpredictable. The way we are. All of the things we don’t speak about. It’s always the same thing. It’s always the same dead-fucking-end.

—Hah, yeah.

—Trying is out of the question.

—Right.

—And don’t even think about public engagement.

—Definitely not.

—I hate your stupid shoes.

—We used to joke about them.

—That was then.