Photography by Kevin A. Roberts
Jimmy Voss has cooked for 40 years, yet he’s had only two jobs—both of them doozies. He was lucky enough to cook for his favorite band, the Grateful Dead, while it was touring, and he was the head chef at the legendary, now-departed Duff’s for 30-plus years—gigs he managed to work concurrently. The 57-year-old has recently taken on two more jobs: executive chef at Clarksville Station, on Nathalie Pettus’ Overlook Farm, and at Nathalie’s (opening this fall) in the Central West End—a double-time gig that Voss says will be his last. Then, perhaps, he’ll have time to pen that long-awaited cookbook, Cooking for The Dead.
How did you get started in the biz?
A friend of mine who worked at Duff’s created a job for me—unbeknownst to the owners—just because he wanted me to work there. I’d washed dishes for several weekends before [co-owner] Karen Duffy stopped one night and said, “Do you work here?” I shot back, “Yes, I’m your Saturday-night dishwasher.”
Obviously, you stayed.
Every season, it seemed, I was asked to do something else, and my answer was always the same: “I dunno, I’ve never done it before.” But Karen and Dan [Duffy] kept giving me opportunities. Within a year, the lead cook quit, and I assumed that position. Looking back, I think the Duffys saw in me a calm, cool demeanor, and that got me a lot further than cooking skills because at the time I had none.
You can be taught to be cook, but you can’t be taught to keep calm when you’re not.
Correct. So now, the reason I hire and put someone on the line is demeanor first, cooking skills second. I’m more than happy to teach them those. But I’ve seen better chefs than me not able handle the pressure of the line and end up running out the back door. Literally.
Did you havea any mentors at Duff’s?
Duff’s chef Leo Gugliocello inspired me by exposing me to different flavors of the world. I’d heard him on the radio, his other job, where he exposed me to the music of the world. The day I started at Duff’s, I heard someone talking in the back room, recognized his voice, and said, “That’s Leo…from KDNA.” Everybody in there was a mentor because they were all such good people: Marie Vogler, Patrick Norton, Gene Smith, and Ginger Smith Carlson; Eliott Harris of Chop Shop STL started there.They are what built that legendary family atmosphere.
What's one thing you learned about the biz that you never forgot?
Keep it simple. I’d make a very short list each day because I knew that’s all I would realistically get to. Unforeseen things happen every day in that business—“This just broke. That just overflowed. How can we fix this? This guy didn’t show up. That guy just cut off the tip of his finger. So and so’s in jail.” You must allow time for that stuff. It’s endemic.
How do you—or can you—inspire people?
For me, it’s demeanor. My staff knows I’m there to deal with any and all issues—calmly. Chaos escalates outward—if I’m frazzled, the whole place will be. I inspire by putting a lid on stress. You can’t have servers approaching a table emanating a mood of…insanity. It’s like, “I-I-I’m really t-too stressed out to talk to you folks right now.” You do not want that.
How’d you get the job working for the Grateful Dead?
When two of the Dead’s cooks quit one night in 1986, right in the middle of the tour, one of their managers recruited me. He’d been to Duff’s and liked the vibe and the food. I drove immediately to Akron, Ohio, to the Dead’s show with Bob Dylan and Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. Next thing I know, Mickey Hart was asking me if I’d make him a roast beef sandwich, and Phil Lesh wanted cake.
Describe a day in your life back then.
I’d set up my kitchen—my little restaurant—at each stop, a bunch of ice coolers and a stove and convection oven retrofitted for propane. I had to have breakfast ready at 8 a.m., then lunch, then dinner, then break down the kitchen after the show, pack it onto the truck, then move on to the next city and do the same thing again the next day. If it was a three-day run, the middle day was sweet—with no set up and no tear down—and really short…like 12 hours.
How many people did you feed per day, typically?
Forty to 75 people each day, three to four meals a day. Although the band was laid back, the union crew was not and had to be fed at precise times each day. I’m proud to say there was never a fine and never an issue involving all those meals, which was commendable because every day was so random.
How so?
If there were problems, the sound crew might have to work through the night to fix problem or to get the sound exactly right. Many times, that translated to cooking a meal with no advance notice in the middle of the night.
Were the band members finicky eaters?
I started off cooking fancy things, pushing the envelope, trying to impress. Not long after, though, I was told basically, “Jimmy, we’re out on the road a lot. What we need is for you to be Mom and Grandma. ” After that, it was meatloaf, prime rib, mashed potatoes—every day home-cooking.
Served buffet-style?
For the crew, yes, and a hand-printed menu for the band members. Because backstage was chaotic, a lot of time I served the band in a little quarantined corner of the stage, which was more secluded than their dressing rooms. And they could practice if they wanted to, in relative peace and quiet.
You were with them 10 years. They must have liked you.
Looking back, they liked me as much because I didn’t bother them as they did for my food. I was quiet and invisible. I wasn’t in their face, asking questions or for pictures and autographs. I was with them from 1986 to 1995, including their last show at Soldier Field. Jerry [Garcia] passed away two weeks later. Had Jerry not died… I might still be with them.
So were you ever at Duff's when the Dead were touring? You couldn't have been...
Their standard was three one-month tours—spring, summer, and fall—so I was gone for three months at a time. Credit Tim and Karen to let me go for that long, and I have to credit myself for training people to have my back, so I could go do what I loved so much.
And so you crisscrossed the country, cooking for your favorite band.
Actually, I only worked the East Coast. There was a West Coast team as well. I only went as far west as Kansas City.
How do you foster the kind of family atmosphere Karen Duffy did at Duff’s? The new kid on the block had reputedly been there for 28 years.
It must have been that leftover hippie vibe from the '70s. It was just in her DNA to take care of people. A new waitress would start and ask me how long it would take to get the good shifts. I told her it might be awhile.
So what happened to Duff's?
When Duff's began, there weren't many restaurants: We had a big piece of a small pie. As each year passed, the pie got bigger, but our piece got smaller. More restaurants, fewer conventions, a lesser airport, neighborhood shopping eroded by malls... The last few years was a tug of war... Do you recreate yourself or just market what you're doing better? I was on the latter team. As it happened, neither team won. I just wanted to be the little guy that survived, the Left Bank Books of the restaurant business.
How did you and Nathalie Pettus connect?
I'd been laid off at Duff's--business had gotten that bad that they couldn't afford to pay me. Then Nathalie called. I took a look at Overlook Farm—and all that was going on up there—and was blown away.
What was it about Overlook Farm that blew you away?
The vision. The farm has its own Red Wattle pigs and its own grass-fed beef. We get special chicken from the Amish. We grow produce year-round. We have 25 hoop houses: There are the inns, the restaurant, a huge wedding venue. I don't know of anyone anywhere who is doing all those things, especially the way she's doing them. Nathalie is building a family up there.
You're making it sound like Duff's.
It is just like Duff's. Once you experience it, the takeaway is "how could I do anything else? Why would I want to do anything else?" Even if I won the lottery, something tells me I'd stick around. Before this, I'd had two jobs in my life; this gig will be my last and then I'm done.
Who do you cater to in Clarksville?
There's a broad spectrum up there—people from the country and from every size city. My challenge is to create a menu that caters to all of them. In any case, it helps that the distance from farm to table is about 25 yards.
Clarksville seems to flood a lot. How do you battle that?
There's now a berm around the entire restaurant and farm. This year, the restaurant never closed. You just need to come in the back way, over Highway WW. We were open, and we were safe.
Using hoop houses, how many seasons can you grow vegetables up at Overlook?
The answer is almost all the time, but the number of yields changes... It can be two or five or six.
Is the restaurant at Overlook self-sustaining?
Not yet, but the goal is to sustain both it and Nathalie's, and have some extra to sell to others.
Is it a challenge to get St. Louisans to visit Overlook?
Nathalie's will help us do that. The synergy is explained by the maitre d' and by a video looping in the entryway—what produce, what meats, etcetera. Many times, it's something new every day. It's apparent that it's our farm to our table. Customers can see how completely the dots are connected.
Nathalie’s building has been home to several restaurants. Does that bother you?
The building has character. It’s in perfect shape and extremely versatile. And it's near all sorts of event venues. Add in Nathalie's sense of style, and there couldn't be a better place, really.
Are you planning to serve lunch and dinner?
The plan is dinner first, then brunch, lunch, then hopefully breakfast—every day. There aren't many places in that neighborhood to get a high-quality breakfast in a real restaurant during the week.
What "must-haves" are on the menu?
French onion soup, duck gumbo, paté, black bean ravioli, shrimp remoulade, crawfish cakes. I'll be hunted down if those don't stay on the menu.
And what's new on the menu?
Zarzuela des Mariscos, or "little opera of the sea." Call it Spanish bouillabaisse. Penne from Heaven changes depending on what came out of the garden that day. There's pomegranate-glazed lamb served with a no-pasta, eggplant moussaka—perfect for someone who's gluten-free. And a gluten-free crabcake, made with quinoa.
What’s the best part of the restaurant business?
Creating a dish that's a hit.
The worst part?
Creating one that's a flop...especially when you’re convinced that it would be a hit…when only two people end up buying it, and they didn't like it.
Do you have any lemons-to-lemonade stories?
One day, I was given some white beets—a lot of them, way more than I had use for. They became The Great White Borscht, garnished with a red beet and red cabbage slaw. People flipped over my flipped-around version. So as soon as we can, we're planting a hoop house full of white beets.
In general, what's your next challenge?
Learning more about crops, about the farm, about butchery. There are plans to build our own alcohol-fueled distillery and for a hotel on the property...plenty to keep me occupied for a long time. And I love teaching; it's part of my job. I used to call Duff's the "University of Duff's." It's now the "University of Jimmy." There are a million little nuggets of information in my head.
