Trust Fall Knox Unleashes Local Chefs to Pursue Their Passions

In Home Palate by Dennis Perkinsleave a COMMENT

FOOD_0903_TrustFall1This story begins with an invitation to dinner.

It sounds like a simple thing, but something’s afoot. I know this because when I ask where we’re dining, my date-to-be replies, “I don’t know, but I’ll send you the clue when I get it.” This isn’t a mystery game, it’s a serious invitation to a dinner that regularly goes for better than $100 a place.

The clue won’t come until the day of our date and, even then, it will appear in verse and reveal only the time, location, and dress code of the dinner hosted by the curiously named Trust Fall Knox. Fortunately we’re not left wholly to our wits; when it comes, the verse is obscure and written in couplets of irregular meter but it’s accompanied by a map link that leads us to the former home of the First Christian Church on 5th Avenue—today it’s a Dewhirst and Heinz property and, also, our dining room.

Once we arrive at the church, dressed, as requested, in “snappy casual” attire, we are greeted by a gentleman checking names against a register and are waved on to an entry at the rear of the church. We walk through a covered walkway alongside the garth and pass a hymn board that reads, “Cunningham and Mason, Trust and Obey.” This isn’t just the name of the chef and the wine steward and a random musical selection—this is the mantra, the rule, of the evening. By our very presence we agree to eat whatever comes our way—no restrictions of any nature have been considered. Except, perhaps, for cannibalism, anything is fair game. And although I won’t know it until much later, we’ve tacitly agreed to hold Trust Fall faultless, now and forever, for whatever befalls us.

The ritual begins outside in a pleasant, walled part of the grounds facing 5th Avenue. We are offered a preprandial cocktail and an appetizer of an oyster on the half shell topped with what appears to be a cucumber mignonette. There are a number of people gathering, two dozen or so, and many of them are Trust Fall alumni, including my date who greets several of the hosts with hugs. Between the two of us, we know a handful of people, but most of the folks here are strangers.

Soon we’re asked to form a single-file line, ostensibly a procession for dinner as we move through a series of little rooms to the sanctuary of the church. It’s a large, impressive space with a balcony on three sides—it’s easy to imagine there were many impassioned sermons delivered here. One long table (or several placed end to end) is set between the pews and before the steps up to the pulpit. The room is dim, but the lights above are harsh and fully illuminate only the center of the table. Silently, I pray that this space has been deconsecrated.

Aside from the trappings of intrigue and the presence of the sacred table, the feel of the event isn’t much different from a really nice dinner party with folks you don’t know. You’re here with a common aim—to be enthralled by the whims of the chef.

This is the ninth meeting of Trust Fall Knox. It’s a curious type of supper club or underground restaurant that’s fashionable around the country—it has a manifesto, meets in irregular places, and caters to adventurous eaters. A website and social media presence alerts potential diners to the next occurrence and when tickets for the event will go sale. The affair is limited, and tickets sell out within minutes. (The next dinner, by Holly Hambright, is Sept. 25. Info: trustfallknox.com.)

The creation of this particular culinary conclave came by way of both appetite and a sense of adventure. One of the hosts and founders, who asks that his name not be published, made it his habit when dining out to tell the server that he was interested in eating whatever the chef wanted to send to the table—a habit he called “trust fall.” One night, in the presence of whiskey and friends, he whispered his stories of personal attention from chefs and the many good meals that followed; the friends were hooked and became co-conspirators in this ongoing series of gastronomic capers that sometimes features actual capers.

And what’s the identity of this masked man? Sadly, there is no mask, but there are several secret identities. The several folks behind Trust Fall Knox don’t aim to be the stars of the show; they insist that the event is about the food and the chef, not about them. So, no photos, no names, shhhhh. They are content to host and also to serve the food, bus the tables and, one imagines, wash the dishes. This is what they call fun, and they clearly enjoy themselves.

The food tonight is prepared by Joe Cunningham—no one minds telling you his name. He’s a part of the “formerly of Blackberry Farm” brigade. The menu is placed as a part of the table setting, and one returning guest tells me that this one isn’t as adventurous as many have been; still, the six-course menu looks appetizing.

The first course begins, as each course will, with an introduction of the food and the wine that will accompany it; Cunningham and Sean O’Donnell Mason, a local wine rep, make brief remarks after the plates are laid and the glasses filled.

Cunningham’s cooking tonight isn’t daring, and the wine pairings are mostly safe and classic selections. Still, the food is generally excellent, and the only complaints that I have are minor; they include one slightly tortured presentation of foie gras with hard-to-spear, pea-sized pellets of melon, as well as an overly generous application of anchovy butter in a hefty plate smear with the lamb course.

FOOD_0903_TrustFall2What Cunningham’s cooking does show is a mastery of technique and appreciation for classic flavors. Rare beef stands in for veal in an adaptation of a classic Piedmontese dish called vitello tonnato; the tuna sauce is strong, and the dish is no shrinking violet—there’s an onion salad on the plate, too. However, a previous course of heirloom tomato and beet is served with burrata—and it’s light, refreshing, and beautiful. The beets add a bit of earthiness that complements the brightly flavored tomatoes while the burrata, doing what all fresh cheeses do, adds a creamy contrast.

There are enough grace notes to keep the cuisine elevated, but they’re well-chosen additions that demonstrate an understanding of taste. Pickled sea beans bring a lovely texture and light briny element to a richly flavored dish of ivory salmon and porcini. A medallion of foie gras arrives with a sliver of pickled watermelon rind that adds a little crunch and a bright contrast to the fatty liver. Perfectly cooked and tender lamb saddle is flavorful and well complemented by a tiny application of anchovy butter from the overly large smear. (One of my neighbors at our table slathered it on—an unfortunate and very saline moment.)

All in all, the event is nice. It’s full of good food and cheer, and the whole experience is light-hearted; at the end of the day, the mystery is less pretension than good fun. What’s most important about this dinner is that the chefs, who cook for Trust Fall unpaid, are allowed to pursue their passion without many worries about food cost or what will sell or the pedestrian appetite of the average American diner. The free rein to cook for people who love to eat must attract them in the same way that artists of all stripes are attracted to uncensored media. And for eaters, Trust Fall offers a taste of haute cuisine and invigorating cooking that’s still in short supply in these parts.

Dennis Perkins' Home Palate is a tasty exploration of local options for eating out and eating well by way of restaurant reviews, features on fun or unusual foodstuffs, and interviews with local food purveyors and tastemakers. It’s a candid and personal look at what’s right (and sometimes what’s wrong) with eating 
in Knoxville and its environs. He is also the artistic 
director of the Knoxville Children’s Theatre, has directed and performed at the Actor’s Co-op and Black Box Theatre, and is a foodie par excellence.

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