Creating the Menu – Behind the Scenes with Chef Erin Brindley
Erin in the Nordo kitchen.
Mahria Zook as the Botanist in Spirit Parlour. Photo by Bruce Clayton Tom.
I am a great defender of food gimmicks. Of bells and whistles. They must be delicious, of course, otherwise what’s the point? But watching an audience interact with a bubbling cauldron of liquid nitrogen, or squeal in delight over a thing that looks like a thing but tastes like a different thing, has been a great joy of mine. My background is, after all, in theater more than it is in food. I want it to tell a story and to be a spectacle, like the Nordo performances are.
Spirit Parlour is different. There is magic and spectacle, certainly, but Julia Nardin (and the whole team) has created a quiet world that is more meditative. Hair will stand on end, but the audience isn’t there to be terrified. Rather they are invited to explore this place where the veil is so thin that we are able to interact with the spirits amongst us.
There is a lot of grief in the ghosts of Spirit Parlour. And as I worked on the menu for the Sunday Dinners, my beloved big brother passed away unexpectedly. I was suddenly thrust into the world of grief food.
The “hot dish” phase: A friend shipped me an entire basket of Babkas from a bakery in NYC. Another friend cooked a gorgeous, multicourse Italian meal and left it on my porch. It was so comforting, every bite, but what lingers in my mind is the lemon cake. I’ll never forget that cake. The outpouring of food from people’s hearts were warm spots in those first few dark weeks.
Julia and I had poured over a lot of information about food rituals around the world. The primary theme was comfort and simplicity. And isn’t that what we want to eat as the chill of fall comes upon us?
Erin and her brother Ryan in Las Vegas.
Of course, it wouldn’t truly be a Nordo menu if it ended at comfort food. Diving deeper into thoughts of life, death, life-force, energy disbursement, and all the things those of us without a deep religious tradition must grapple with when we lose someone we love, I was comforted by the idea that nothing really ends. Death feeds life. Ripe grapes rot and we get wine. Fermentation literally transforms dead food into live, bubbly, delicious, nutritious food. Those “live, active cultures” everyone is talking about? That’s essentially rot, folks.
So we’ve woven that throughout this menu, designed to touch that thin line between the ache of death and fizzy, bubbling, beautiful, delicious life. My mom Debbie Brindley, a professional baker and incredible cook, has been right beside me throughout Nordo’s decade-plus of menus. Working with her on this one - as we are both in it as far as the shock of overwhelming grief goes - feels more special than ever. She calls the sourdough starts “the babies.” She feeds them even as she mourns her real baby, grown man that he was.
Together we cultured and churned our own butter, made real buttermilk, fed sourdough starts, made crème fraîche, braised beef in fermented cider, and found every way we could to lace the whole, comforting menu with the tang of loss and renewal.
There are no zingy surprises - just real, beautiful food. And that feels just right for this story.
Savor Erin’s dinner menu on Sunday’s only at Spirit Parlour, playing through November in Nordo’s Culinarium.
By Erin Brindley, Nordo Co-Artistic Director & Executive Chef
Childhood photo of Ryan, Erin and their bulldog Rosie.