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| The Clandestine Chef Cooking for the CIA, Fred DeFilippo Enjoys A Free Hand -- But He Needs An Escort By Emily Kaiser Fred DeFilippo was about to quit the cooking profession altogether when he got the call. After years of working in hotels and restaurants around upstate New York, the chef was tired of the long hours. He had heard of "fantasy 9-to-5 jobs" -- corporate work in which chefs got paid handsomely to cook lunch for top executives. He consulted his alma mater, the Culinary Institute of America in Hyde Park, N.Y. -- known in culinary circles as "the CIA" -- about such a position. Alumni office staff members thought DeFilippo would be perfect for a corporate job in Northern Virginia. They just didn't say which corporation. He offered to drive down for an interview. Not so fast, he was told. He'd need clearance. He wouldn't have to cook for his potential new bosses, but he would be subject to extensive reference checks. Only after he got the job did he learn his title. He was the new chef of the "other CIA" -- the Central Intelligence Agency in Langley. "It was a big surprise," DeFilippo says. "This place has history. To come here, to see the emblem, the monuments: It was exciting." Tucked away along the marble halls of federal buildings such as the State Department, the Federal Reserve and the National Security Agency are the private dining rooms of the government elite. They serve only the lucky and the powerful few. Amid the passageways at the George Bush Center for Intelligence at Langley are three small dining rooms, all with abbreviations. Agency Dining Room (ADR) 1 serves about 90 people a day. ADR 2 is a conference room that seats around 50. And the Director's Dining Room (DDR) is for the DCI -- director of Central Intelligence, Porter J. Goss, -- and his guests. As executive chef, DeFilippo cooks for all three. ADR 2 and DDR are by invitation only. But ADR 1 takes reservations from CIA staffers. In any other setting, it would be a regular cafe: It has tablecloths, wicker chairs, a seasonal menu, a staff of waiters and a view of treetops over the Potomac River. DeFilippo hardly notices. The novelty wore off, he says, about a month after he started. The peculiarities of working for a spy agency have become routine. The only reminder may be his badge, which reads, "Escort Required." Because DeFilippo does not have clearance to handle classified documents, he must be escorted anywhere outside the kitchen. Most government cooks obtained clearance as former military personnel, says Martin Saylor, chef at the new Juniper restaurant in Washington's West End and former chef for the Federal Reserve and Treasury Department. Once inside his work space -- which is unusual for a restaurant kitchen because open flames are prohibited and the appliances are electric, not gas -- DeFilippo is not required to follow additional security procedures. He says there are no modern equivalents of courtiers who tasted the king's food for poison. DeFilippo orders his ingredients from regular restaurant suppliers. To deliver to the CIA, food-supply trucks must be driven by U.S. citizens with Social Security numbers, so their backgrounds can be checked. Trucks may pass through an X-ray building and may be sniffed by the canine unit. DeFilippo has no idea, and he isn't all that interested. What still gets him excited is the quality of the job itself. "I feel like a kid who's been given the keys to the candy store," he grins. DeFilippo, 33, was born in Highland Falls, N.Y., into a large Italian family, and most of his relatives owned restaurants. His father was a tailor at nearby West Point. His father made his own wine, hunted and fished, and grew vegetables in the garden. But he was opposed to owning a restaurant. It was too hard. "And he's right," DeFilippo laughs. He has the dark circles under his eyes that mark his profession, even though he has been keeping relatively cushy CIA hours for a year. Whereas the typical chef works long into the night, especially on weekends, DeFilippo works from 5 a.m. to 3 p.m., Monday through Friday. For his first year on the job, he had to start his commute early to get to work on time -- arriving at 4:45 a.m. to allow himself time to be escorted to his post by 5 a.m. Because he had never visited the area before he was hired, he rented an apartment in Leesburg, thinking it was close to Langley. He moved to Alexandria last month. He is single and says having evenings and weekends free is a rare privilege. "A chef's dream, in every way," he says. "The best thing to ever happen to my life." DeFilippo also loves his relatively free rein over the menu -- six entrees on a recent day. He is required to change it every week and to make everything fresh every day. If he serves lasagna, he hand-rolls the noodles in the morning. "You can't cheat," he says. "If it's cantaloupe sorbet, it has to be made of cantaloupe. Quality . . . is an important part of the prestige of the executive dining room." This emphasis means DeFilippo gets a generous food budget. He knows not to put foie gras or caviar on the menu every day, but he uses all of the fresh tomatoes and ripe fruit he needs -- ingredients that were off-limits to him at other jobs because their processed versions were cheaper. For his entrees, he draws inspiration from his Italian roots but serves dishes from all over the world. The most popular of his CIA entrees is veal with peaches and figs. He also gets ideas from his three line cooks. If the CIA director is entertaining guests, DeFilippo is not told who they are or where they are from, but he might get a list of dietary restrictions -- no pork or alcohol, for example. The grams of fat in each dish are listed on the menu, but that doesn't hamper him. "I am of the school: if it's good, eat it," he says. And while most restaurants have a high staff turnover, DeFilippo's three crew members have the same clearance he does, so they're not likely to leave. Besides, they get along well. "A chef is only as good as his cooks, and these guys can fill any blank for me," he says. So how's he doing? Well, that may a secret. Goss once came back to praise him after a meal -- DeFilippo is not allowed to say what was served -- and that was a big deal. But for the most part, he can't really say. "No news is good news around here. I look for empty plates, happy faces. You know, most of the time, the people working here, for them, the food is secondary." Veal, CIA Style 2 servings 2 large fresh peaches, peeled, quartered and pitted (may substitute frozen sliced peaches, thawed, drained and patted completely dry) In a small bowl, combine the peaches and 2 tablespoons of the port. Set aside for 1 hour. Place the flour on a shallow plate and season with salt and pepper to taste. Lightly dust each veal scaloppine with flour on each side. In a medium skillet over medium-high heat, heat 1 tablespoon of oil. Add the veal and cook, turning once, until browned on each side. Transfer to a plate. Carefully wipe out the skillet, return to medium to medium-high heat and heat the remaining 1 tablespoon of oil. Add the garlic, shallot, ham and sage leaves and cook, stirring occasionally, until the ham is crisped, about 2 minutes. Reduce the heat to medium-low, add the peaches and the port they marinated in, along with the remaining 8 tablespoons port and the broth to the skillet and cook, stirring frequently and scraping the bottom of the skillet for 2 minutes, until the sauce is reduced to about 3/4 cup. Add the veal, plus figs if using, and stir just until combined. Remove from the heat, add the butter, a few pieces at a time, and tilt the skillet until the butter is incorporated into the sauce. Place 2 pieces of veal on each plate, and spoon the sauce and fruit over the top. If desired, top with cheese. |
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© 2001 - 2008 Emily Kaiser |
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