Barbarian at the Plate

A maverick on the Russian dining scene with a mouth to match his talent, ANATOLY KOMM gives christina ko a lesson in the art of cuisine

ANATOLY KOMM IS MANY things, but reticent is not among them. His Russian accent is thicker than honey, though not quite as sweet, and while it’s difficult occasionally to understand the actual words he’s saying, it’s not hard to decipher his meaning. His is a speech that conveys both authority and dogmatism in equal measure, often without you knowing what he’s saying at all.

Although, if you don’t listen carefully enough, you could be missing out on such notable quotables as this: “[Russians] prefer to eat shit. They don’t care about food, you know? It doesn’t matter what [they] put in [their] stomachs – shit or chocolate – because it’s all the same,” he famously uttered in an interview with Swallow magazine, which has thereafter been excerpted for nearly every write-up about the chef.

He’s no less outspoken when he lands in town for a pop-up at Amber at The Landmark Mandarin Oriental, Hong Kong, where for three nights he regales local foodies with dishes from his scientifically fantastic interpretations of Russian staple cuisine, taken from the menu at his restaurant, Varvary (meaning Barbarians). And that choice of term – “foodies” – is a strategic one, because Komm is about to explain the difference between gourmet and gourmand.

“To be a gourmet and to be a gourmand is a big difference, because to like to eat a lot and to like to see and taste is a big difference,” he says. “In order to be a gourmet, in my opinion, the first condition is that people have to like art. Unfortunately, in many countries around the world, the people who like and understand art are just a very small part of the population, because it’s much easier to understand Lady Gaga than Shostakovich, more easy to read comics than Tolstoy or Dostoevsky.”

It might appear that Komm isn’t merely the enfant terrible of Russian gastronomy; he’s also something of a snob. Does the Hong Kong diner fare better in his estimation? Well, he’s not using four-letter words to describe their eating habits, at the very least. “The first step is just to explain to Hong Kong people that Russian cuisine is not vodka and caviar. For the first step, it is quite enough.”

In his mind, however, it seems he isn’t so much being purposely contrarian as he is an ambassador for experimental cuisine. “Five years ago, a lot of chefs already made ‘art’, but they were afraid to talk about it. It was like a small girl that kept saying, ‘No, no, it’s just food.’ I told them, stop! Stop! Why are you doing this? You make art, so say it to us: ‘I make art!’ Why do you have the head of a small girl? Because if you do not respect your job, then no one will ever respect your job.”

The backlash against the molecular movement only proves him right. Few chefs are willing to admit that what they do falls into that category, and from that has sprung terminology like “progressive”, “techno-emotional” and everything but the M word. Komm isn’t humble about what he does, he isn’t in denial, and he isn’t shy about what else he thinks it takes to make a great chef.

Self-respect is one thing, and that comes from within, but the other necessary ingredient – and this one might be considered more unusual – is higher education. Komm is a university graduate with a degree in geophysics, who ran his own fashion and computer businesses before using the money he earned from those enterprises to open his own restaurant. He learned to cook not from culinary school, but from his grandmother in his youth, and then later, by paying great chefs to take him into their kitchens.

“Look at all the best chefs: Massimo Bottura, he went to university, he is [qualified as a] lawyer. Thomas Keller, he is from university. [Heston] Blumenthal, he went to university,” he says (in fact he didn’t). Komm’s knowledge of science has clearly been influential in his deconstructionist attitude towards cuisine – not, as expected, quite all foams and blobs and experiments, but rather sophisticated interplays between hot and cold, solid and liquid. A typical borscht is plated with minced veal, foie gras, frozen sour cream and a side of cold Russian vodka – it looks nothing like the traditional incarnation until hot beetroot stock is poured to melt and meld the ingredients. Even in his hometown, Komm says, the diners experience that Eureka moment: “Before [they eat], they see the plates and say, ‘Chef, what is this Russian cuisine?’ Then they begin to try, and they say ‘Chef, excuse me, actually this is Russian cuisine, but we have never seen it before, ever in our lives, that Russian cuisine can be like this.’ ”

Despite his love for science, and the admission that he often consults doctors in his quest to create dishes, Komm still considers his cuisine as art, and himself the artist. “[Inspiration] comes very suddenly, out of nowhere. Sometimes in an aircraft, sometimes when I’m listening to music, sometimes in my dreams. I can’t explain, you know. Are all of us able to be like Tchaikovsky? I don’t know. Or Picasso? Who knows?”

He will make one concession, though – art, whether his or in another format, is an indulgence, and not one that’s for the every day. “Of course, you cannot listen to classical music in your car, because it’s dangerous. When it’s art, when it’s real art, it takes your soul. You wouldn’t go to the conservatory every day. A restaurant like Amber, or a restaurant like Varvary, you have to go maybe four times a year, maximum.”

And the rest of the time? “Actually, for breakfast, I have a coffee and a low-fat yogurt, nothing more. The day before yesterday, we went to the seafood market to eat. I want to see the cuisine of the average person, a simple one, in order to compare it to haute cuisine. Yesterday, I booked a table at Amber. It was amazing, of course. And then today, I did not have breakfast – I can explain why, because I didn’t want to crash the memory of yesterday’s dinner, I want to continue my amazing memory.”

With that utterance, Komm reminds us that behind the bravado and opinions, there still lies a starving artist – the kind of chef who’d rather suffer than settle for shit and chocolate. And expects only the same of his guests.