Theresa Murphy profile

I've been cooking all my life, starting at home, where I mustered up dinners for four hungry brothers. I worked in and managed restaurant dining rooms for over twenty years, lingering in many a kitchen, observing many a chef—in San Francisco: La Mediterranée, Carta, the Flying Saucer, South Park Café, Bistro Clovis... When I first came to France, in 1980, I discovered a culinary culture that celebrated fresh, seasonal produce, regional artisanal products, amazing breads, incredible cheeses, and wines that bring such harmony to a meal... What inspiration! My head and taste buds were swirling!

Back in my early twenties I became enamored with vegetables, their noble simplicity, the stunning array of color, texture, flavor and aroma they offer. All rhyming with the seasons, freshly harvested, exhaling the earth. They became and have remained the artist’s palette of my cooking. When I began to travel in Italy, I made yet another discovery: that of Italian cuisine. Ah! Who but the Italians know how to give to vegetables, beans, grains, fresh herbs such a marvelously central place in the dishes that comprise their meals. Such ingenious, inventive culinary spirit! I've never stopped researching and discovering the vast richness of their cuisine—from Sardinia to Bolzano, la cucina povera to Harry's Bar.

In 1996, I set down roots in Paris to pursue my photography, making my bread and butter as a translator in the worlds of film and literature. Morning excursions to the organic open-air markets are a ritual from which I return laden with an array of seasonal, local produce waiting to be celebrated in the dishes I create and enthusiastically share with family and friends.

In 2001 and 2002, I had the pleasure of working in the kitchen of l’Osteria, a small Italian restaurant in the Marais district of Paris, whose Venetian owner and chef, Toni Vianello, generously imparted to me his passion for food and a wealth of culinary knowledge. More specifically, he taught me the mysteries of risotto, which has since become my passion. A dish that so artfully offers itself to the splendor of vegetables. I also spent two privileged weeks in the kitchens of l'Arpège, Alain Passard’s three-star restaurant in Paris‘ 7th arrondissement, where I observed the chef at work meticulously applying his unique alchemy to vegetables.

I love to wake up in the morning and head off to the open-air markets when I'm having friends for dinner. As I walk among the stands gorging with fresh, colorful produce, I draw inspiration for the dishes I'll prepare. On a warm September morning, for example, plump eggplant and Smyrna figs suddenly seem to speak to me in a chorus... and that evening I'm serving up a roasted eggplant risotto topped with baked Smyrna figs, a drizzle of their syrupy juice and a sprinkle of roasted walnuts. More often than not the meals I conjure up for friends are new attempts at pairing the season’s flavors, textures, colors harmoniously, sometimes with surprising results I record them each in a notebook (if I don't, I often forget what I tossed and stirred together) and next time around I work on what needs adjusting to make the dish sing.

As I shell peas, cut open squash, seed tomatoes, peel artichokes, shuck corn, slice fennel, rinse leeks... I'm always thinking of how to combine and prepare them in the simplest way, remaining as true to their original nature as possible. Coaxing out their subtle savor with a bit of shallot or garlic, a pinch of lemon zest, a splash of white wine, a sprinkle of fresh thyme, a drizzle of honey. Perhaps in a certain sense I tend to undress vegetables as opposed to dressing them up. I use eggs and cream sparingly, butter when I can't do without it; parmesan, pecorino, goat cheese— from organic farms whose animals are humanely raised and handled—with a generous hand, and extra-virgin olive oil... Everywhere. Beans of every sort: borlotti, cannellini, fava, flageolet, northern white, black, red... Rice, polenta, quinoa, green lentils, chickpeas; pumpkin seeds, sunflower and poppy; walnuts, pine, hazelnuts... They’re all faithful companions. As for the sea, I leave the sea and its inhabitants alone. It's over-burdened; they’re over-fished.

Cooking food, sharing it with others is a marvelous celebration of life: the subtle seasonal harmony of color, texture savor echoing a harmony of existence. It’s also a gentle ritual honoring the interconnectedness of life: in exchange for the bountiful gifts we receive from the Earth (not to forget the toiling hands of those who thoughtfully work the land) we heighten our awareness and offer a multitude of simple, reciprocal gestures to balance our place in nature When I sit down to a meal I’ve prepared knowing that care was taken, concern and respect were shown to earth and animal, the celebration takes on a depth, a connectedness that is itself nourishing—deeply so. I feel a humbler sense of place in the mystery that is life.

And now I'd love to share with you what I have discovered and learned across the years, and teach you dishes that could grace your table and delight your family and friends.