Story by Sabine Modder        Photography by Pedro Isztin

 

Like many people, I harbour a certain image of the urban celebrity chef: a creature prone to temper tantrums and given to extreme arrogance, fuelled by book deals and media overexposure, talking fast and moving even faster. So when Stephen Vardy—Ottawa’s culinary champion du jour—takes measured strides towards me to begin our interview, I assume he is primed for another hit of caffeine. But his beverage of choice turns out to be apple juice.

 

Professional, with a cool exterior, Stephen Vardy walks tall and speaks quietly. It’s an

efficient way to be for a chef, he says. “Slow is smooth, smooth is fast,” he tells me—before revealing that a bad sunburn has in fact slowed him more than usual.

In these first few moments, Vardy has poked gaping holes in my celebrity-chef image.

At 29 years of age, he has made it farther than most chefs ever will. Currently “Chef of the Year” in Ottawa’s Epicurean Awards, Vardy is executive chef at the Whalesbone Oyster Bar. Previously he helped to put Beckta on the culinary map and had a brief stint at Par-Fyum in Hull, to name just a few of the ships he has steered. 
 

The Whalesbone is a narrow space that could be easily overlooked in a decidedly less foodie part of town (Bank Street at Gladstone) but the place has lured patrons with its oyster bar, wonderfully relaxed atmosphere, and of course Vardy’s stellar reputation. Word-of-mouth promotion has turned the 38-seat restaurant into a local culinary landmark, but there’s no evidence that it has gone to Vardy’s head. He was genuinely surprised, for instance, when he won the Epicurean award.

“It was weird. I felt stupid,” he says, noting that most of the other nominees were former bosses and mentors of his—and all of them were older than he. On awards night, Vardy was the only nominee not ready with whites and knives (the winning chef was meant to cook a dish on the spot) and he had to scramble out of his plaid shirt and jeans.

Whether it be awards nights or menu planning, Vardy takes a measured, individual approach. He says his profession combines science, craft, and art, all in equal measure. “The science is in knowing how things will go together, the craft is in building them up, and the art is needed for plating.”

 

Vardy does not look at trends when planning a menu. Instead he considers what he would like to eat and what is available from regional and local food suppliers. “We’re surrounded by some of the best produce in the world,” he says, pleased that using regional and seasonal foods is no longer considered merely fashionable.

“[Buying local] won’t go away now. It’s the way it should be. Alice Waters started doing it in the 70s in California—we caught on in Ottawa 30 years later. We’re slow.”

The scientific and ethical aspects of the chef profession arose during Vardy’s recent visit to Les Elevages Périgord in St-Louis-de-Gonzague in Montérégie, Quebec where he received a hands-on education in the production of foie gras. By the end of the day, Vardy had slaughtered three ducks and learned a thing or two about the controversial farming methods used to create this delicacy.

“The term should be changed from ‘force fed’ to ‘controlled diet,’” said Vardy, explaining that in its 38-day lifecycle a farmed duck will be on a controlled diet for 13 days, when it is manually fed corn twice a day.

Vardy feels that chefs who jump on the anti-foie gras bandwagon are being a bit hypocritical and misguided. Farmed animals will always be replenished, he argues, whereas seafood, for instance, might not. “Why not ban lobster?” he asks rhetorically.

Salty sailor tattoos
Stephen Vardy has the soul of his seafaring ancestors and he pays homage to this past with the vintage 1950s tattoos that cover both of his arms. “Cooks tend to be more free-spirited,” he says. “Tattoos show people you’re not going to be told what to do in life.”

Vardy started collecting the body art when he was 16; now there are so many it is difficult to know where to look first. “They’re all traditional sailors’ tattoos,” he explains, pointing to one that depicts a vessel called the Cape Royal, drawing attention away from the nearby pin-up girls and hula dancers.
 

“That was my grandfather’s boat. He was lost at sea with his crew of 10 in 1977 and all that was recovered was a broomstick.”

It may appear that Vardy wears his womanizing on his sleeves of ink, but he laughs at the idea and explains the names of the women on his right arm. “Linda is my mom’s name and once I got this down she was okay with the tattoos. The other two names are my nieces.” Then he proffers the left arm for balance, where three letters spell out DAD. The overall effect is clear: if anything important to Stephen Vardy, it is his family.

Much to his regret, Vardy was born in Edmonton. He would dearly love to be in possession of a Newfoundland birth certificate, something held by almost everyone in his extended family, 150 members strong. Only his Edmonton-born brother is in the same landlocked boat.

They say there are two types of Newfoundlander: those who go away and those who long to go home. Ottawa diners had better eat Vardy’s creations while they can because his Newfoundlander’s heart will likely lead him to a cabin on the rock sooner than we would like. There is a restlessness about Steve Vardy. When he accomplishes what he has set out to do, he moves on.

Though he is still quite young for the chef profession, Vardy sees himself taking a couple of years off from the kitchen to study, travel and eat, in an educational retreat of his own making. Yet it is unlikely that Vardy will stray too far from his chosen path. He has a gift for food and he knows that he is here to use it.

“I started in the kitchen. I will die in the kitchen,” he says, sounding somewhat like a crusty old sailor.

Despite a couple of offers that would have put him on television, Vardy shuns the trappings of the celebrity chef.  He acknowledges that television has helped popularize cooking and helped cooks earn a better living, but Vardy rankles at how the kitchen and the lifestyle have been glamourized—because the reality is quite different. Vardy has no time to eat out or live the high life and his idea of the perfect day off (he gets maybe three per month) is hanging out with friends by the water, eating and having a few beers.

“If you’re hard-working, you don’t have time to be on television. You have to work between 70 and 100 hours a week to be good. Your social life can only be between midnight and 8 a.m.

Most chefs are overworked, overweight and underpaid.

It’s not healthy, it’s not air-conditioned and it’s not beautiful.”

On top of his disdain for the TV chef mythology, Vardy also dislikes TV as a whole.

“I will not have a television show,” he states unequivocally. “Throw away your television.”

When the man gets going on the topic, his values pour out. “The Sopranos shouldn’t even be on television. That’s crazy! HBO has really desensitized people. When I was watching TV in the 80s I used to watch The Cosby Show. That’s a good television show, you know? Every show was family values. Every show, no matter how funny Bill got or where the show went halfway through, by the end of every show there was a point to it.”

In the same way, everything Steve Vardy does has a point to it. He may be the living antithesis of the vain celebrity chef and this discovery has left me slightly amazed. Towards the end of our interview I blurt out, “You’re a really nice guy,” the disbelief evident in my voice.

 

Vardy gives me a wry grin, shaking his head. “You haven’t been in my kitchen.”

 

 

Sabine Modder is editor of Art MocoLoco , a blog devoted to contemporary art.