Eat a Peach

by David Chang

For me, depression manifests itself as an addiction to work. I work hard to control what I can.

In the same breath they would tell me I was getting fat while imploring me to eat more of whatever homemade Korean dish they’d put in front of me.

The inspector opened all our bags and made me pour bleach over everything, regardless of whether it was shelf stable. It felt like he was telling me to shoot my own kids. I called him a “Nazi.”

But that’s not how it works. Momofuku was my identity and it was born of my depression. I couldn’t separate a failure in the kitchen, no matter how small, from a failure of the self.

It fucking hurt, but I started to see the pain as no different from the feeling of soreness you get after working out. It was a good hurt.

Because we were in such tight quarters, when you came to Momofuku, you were eating dinner with me. And nobody wants to eat dinner with a dick.

And so, I choose not to hear compliments or allow myself to bask in positive feedback. Instead, I spend every day imagining the many ways in which the wheels might fall off.

It was such a good dish and I wanted so badly for him to like it. I was upset, not because we’d failed as a kitchen but because of how much his approval meant to me.

your only idea of the Michelin Guide comes from the movie Burnt, here’s a quick primer: it was originally developed as a tool for motorists traveling through the French countryside. (This would be the reason why a tire company is involved with food at all.) The official guidelines describe a one-star restaurant as “high quality cooking, worth a stop.” Two stars is “excellent cooking, worth a detour.” And three is “exceptional cooking, worth a special journey.”