The Liturgy of the Kitchen: Thank you, Chef 

About a month ago I stepped out of the Mount Olivet Conference & Retreat Center kitchen for the last time, turning in my apron and keys after I received a work opportunity that was causing me to relocate. As I started driving down the gravel path, even the farm cows looked at me differently, like they knew I wouldn’t be coming back the next day. My tires kicked up little dust devils and the sun cast its final glow onto the amber fields, and there was a sudden pang in my heart, thinking about all the meals and wonderful people I had the pleasure of coming across while I was at the Conference & Retreat Center. And the further I got, the more my mind started rolling all of the images, scents, and sounds of the life I had in that kitchen.  

I thought about how I got there in the first place… 

For me, food has always been an integral part of my being. It was what brought my family together at the end of a long day, with the wafting aromas that woke me up on Christmas mornings. It was about keeping my grandmother close, and making her Bohemian coffee cake and moussaka from her handwritten recipes on crumpled paper. It was seeing art in the spirals of cardamom baked in dough and ground walnuts delicately tucked into a kolache. Growing up, food was about sitting down at our round, rickety table and re-centering ourselves over my mother’s spaghetti that had been simmering on the stove for hours. I associated food with creating a world that was void of school anxiety, track and field stats, a dad who was always at work, or the depression I was suffering from. At the end of the day for a good hour, food gave us all a seat in the same place, and everything was going to be okay. Worrying wasn’t allowed at dinnertime. 

Coming to Mount Olivet, I wanted to recreate those feelings of peace and pause by serving the guests colorful plates of nutritious food. Trying to maintain the traditions I grew up with, I thought of each plate as a blank slate, a transcendent journey of what my mother fed me, and what her mother fed her. So much about food is expression through our roots, deep love, and the traditions that have been kneaded and rolled out through time. Cooking at the Conference & Retreat Center carried a certain nobility, knowing those meals would be etched into the guests’ overall experience of their time away. I’d imagine my spatulas and whisks as magical wands, responsible for creating something that would elevate people above the minutia of their everyday lives. As chefs, we have the opportunity and power to control that tiny bit of time and space a guest has within our walls to provide them with a nourishing experience that promotes charm, storytelling, and those unexpected connections.  

Now, not all the creations I made there turned out the way I had envisioned, but I tirelessly fought to keep improving, taking notes, and asking questions. Hell, you are going to have to crack a few eggs to make a good omelet. In fact, I came into that kitchen feeling a bit broken myself, but when I was given the chance to grow and hone my craft on that culinary team, I didn’t run with the baton lightly. Just as I would once obsess over achieving the highest honors on the track, I had become addicted to searching for that missing ingredient, seeking the acceptance and the subtle nod someone makes once they have tasted something that defies their expectations.  

Some of the best moments I have had as a professional cook were at Mount Olivet Conference & Retreat Center. Emerging from the battle stations of the kitchen and waltzing into the dining room at Mother’s Day brunch, pure joy came streaming over me as I witnessed families savor the food that the crew and I had spent hours forming backstage. I felt that same gratification again when leading a cooking class for a group of four friends who had all met as flight attendants years ago. Nothing brought me greater pleasure than serving a group of girlfriends a meal without being 30,000 feet up in turbulent air, where they could celebrate their reunion over the menu I designed of pork tenderloin with rhubarb compote atop a bacon-leek puree. Hospitality runs on that attention to detail, how the kindness and care we give to others lives on, far past the time of service. 

And reciprocally, all of that time and labor spent in the kitchen undoubtedly gave something back to me. As I drove further into the night, memories began playing as if they were on a turntable, recalling all the unanticipated friendships I had made there. I shed a smile, recollecting how I was welcomed into a kitchen managed by two male chefs, both with far more experience than I had. Chef Jon LeBlanc believed in me, teaching me how to choose the right knife, make an authentic risotto, and the importance of esteeming one’s background through food. I also learned many new kitchen tricks under Brad Hinz’s wing, and we catered one of the first weddings the Conference & Retreat Center had hosted in years. Kitchen staff Bob Fransen and Angie Donahue were incredible team members, always dedicated to maintaining a tradition of excellence and bringing so much light and wisdom into the room. Facilities staff Andrew Ruona and Meghan van Deusen had a way of checking into the kitchen at all the right times, slipping in through the back door, and jumping in whenever they could. 

The beautiful thing about our facility and our team was that the liturgy of the kitchen always remained the same—we cooked the same for everyone, always delivering the best product we could. Everyone was welcome to the table we tended for. And in the long run, I ultimately hope the guests could feel that inclusivity, along with the passion that was so strongly battered and beat into all of it.  

In that final commute home, as I was approaching city lights and the prairie was no longer in sight, I was reassured that nothing that happened in the kitchen was left in the dust. It was all around me, right under my nose, in my notebook full of tested recipes; experiences I was humbled to treasure and carry whenever I’d find more eggs in the coop, or wherever the path took me next. 

Katie Meyer is the former Director of Culinary Services at Mount Olivet Conference & Retreat Center as well as a creative writer. She currently works as a cook in Door County.