That’s Freakin’ Tyler Florence
From South Carolina dishwasher to international celebrity chef
The camera loves Tyler Florence. He’s been called boyish. A powerhouse. The sexiest man to ever pick up a chef’s knife (a now famous Katie Couric quote). He’s penned three cookbooks, circled the globe umpteen times, and logged more television hours than just about any of his peers.
He’s the male Rachael Ray. Approachable, down to earth, sweet. And the male Giada DeLaurentiis. Flirtatious, a little naughty. No matter how skeptical you are of his charm, you get the feeling that if he were standing in front of you, he’d have you wrapped around his little finger. And you’d be right.
I’m meeting Florence at an Applebee’s Restaurant in Parker, Colorado. You’ve probably seen the commercials. Maybe you’ve even uttered that dreaded word: sellout. When he signed on in 2006 to develop exclusive menu items for the “largest casual dining concept in the world" — 1,900 franchises in 49 states and 16 countries — there were more than a few rumblings that he’d committed career suicide. But the line out the door begs to differ.
Flat screen TVs circle the room’s perimeter, all flashing the same True Hollywood Story-style video: Tyler Florence, this is your life.
His face is on the menu, on the stacks of cookbooks on the tables, clutched in the hands of his fans — all ages, mostly women — who’ve been waiting over an hour for this moment. And then, there he is, casually dressed in a button-up and V-neck sweater, kissing cheeks, holding babies. When he finally sits down next to me in the booth, he immediately reaches for an onion ring. “What do you think?” he asks.
Even with all the hub-bub, it’s still about the food.
“I wanted to keep it clean, simple, fun,” he says. “People love simple food.”
And then, there he is, casually dressed in a button-up and V-neck sweater, kissing cheeks, holding babies.
This is his mantra, and a prime reason he was selected by Applebee’s. The organization interviewed several celebrity chefs — including Giada — but, in the end, it came down to broad appeal. (Giada would be great for Olive Garden, one Applebee’s exec ventured.) Then there’s that certain dynamic quality. When he’s with you, you have his full attention. There are no sly glances at a Sidekick, not even a cellphone. He’s a nice guy. But it’s also a coping mechanism. Like any celeb these days, he has handlers.
“I live very much in the moment,” he says. “I’ve learned the more you give up, the more you control.”
Entering his 11th year on the air, he continues to shoot episodes of his latest show, Tyler’s Ultimate. You’ll still see him on Food 911, How to Boil Water, and All-American Festivals. He’s also developing a new project with Food Network, working on another book, promoting several product lines, criss-crossing the nation for personal appearances and settling into his new home in the Bay Area, where he lives with his wife and newborn baby. His older son from a previous marriage, Miles, lives in South Carolina. There’s even talk of a West Coast restaurant venture.
“San Francisco has everything,” he says. “It’s like the American Provence. It’s what food culture is all about — organics, diversity.”
We’re approached by a group of waitresses in matching red shirts and black pants, shyly blushing and nudging each other forward, extending menus for him to sign.
“She’s been really nervous to ask you,” one girl says. “It’s her birthday.”
He gives them that coy grin. Seeing their chance, another small group approaches.
“I’m a Florence too,” the man says, prompting Tyler to tell the story of long-lost cousins he recently met in Lodi, California.
A few hours later, I’m staring down at a glass coffee table containing objects recovered from the Battle of Wounded Knee. I’m at a private dinner party being held at the ranch belonging to Steve Grove, one of the first Applebee’s franchise owners, and CEO of AppleGrove Restaurants, which owns and operates 100 Applebee’s in eight states.
Grove is a South Dakotan and an avid collector of Native American and pioneer artifacts. There’s a Lakota headdress, firearms from a Custer battle. By this time, we’ve opened several bottles of Turley Pesenti Vineyard, Paso Robles. The good stuff.
“San Francisco has everything, it’s like the American Provence. It’s what food culture is all about — organics, diversity.”
“Mr. Florence picked this for the entree,” Grove beams. Right on cue, Florence steps up with the last of the appetizers. We’ve already gone through the watermelon gazpacho, wild mushroom arancini, strawberries drizzled with 100-year-old balsamic. This one’s called California Bacon and Eggs: fried quail egg, smoked bacon and celery pesto on a crispy Yukon potato pancake.
“It’s a one-shot deal,” Florence says, motioning with his hand to his mouth. “Put it in all at once. A one-shot deal.”
We do. He waits for the oohs and ahhs.
Everyone is in the kitchen, cameras flashing, people laughing, telling stories. In many ways, it feels like a family gathering. Then another guest turns to me: “I was just standing here, chatting away,” she says, “when I looked over and remembered, that’s freakin’ Tyler Florence!”
The menu includes an array of salads: from burrata peach with prosciutto to bulgar wheat with figs, feta and black olives. The entrees range from grilled quail to beef tenderloin. Florence’s sous chef, a dashing young Kiwi named Anthony Hoy Fong, has been in the kitchen doing the prep work with the help of Grove’s household managers, Georgie and Vicki. One guest tells me that before Tyler arrived, Fong had “all the wives mesmerized.”
But at the moment, all eyes are on Florence.
“I still love beautiful, high-end food,” he says. “I just want to be Jacque Pepin — have a whole world of experiences, write books, make some charcuterie.”
So, why Applebee’s? For one thing, his mother used to work there. Growing up in Charleston, South Carolina, making his way from washing dishes to graduating with honors from Johnson and Wales culinary school, learning from big-wigs like Charlie Palmer in his early career in New York, Florence grew to love both ends of the spectrum. But he does have a pet peeve.
“Molecular gastronomy,” he groans. “People trying to reinvent the wheel before they’ve mastered the wheel. The guys who don’t do it well — it’s embarrassing.”
As we begin to make our way to the tables set in a sunken garden dining area, surrounded on all sides by lush landscape and the wide-open Colorado sky, Steve Grove bounces up to his son Andrew.
“Guess who wants to go on a South Dakota pheasant hunt?” He says, giddily.
Andrew laughs. “We’ll have to see how good a shot he is,” he replies.
This is the appeal. Florence is a real human being. He loves meeting people. He loves conversation. He loves food.
Flashback to earlier in the day: From the 70-year-old woman who had driven an hour to catch a glimpse, to the two guests who burst into tears when he delivered their meals, to the last fan of the afternoon, who did a screeching donut into the parking lot, running up to the door, asking, “Did I miss him? Did I miss Tyler?” Everyone just adores him.
The tables are set. The entrees are arriving and another bottle of Turley is uncorked. Florence is posing for a snapshot, his arm around the owner of the house. A late-arriving guest leans in closer to me.
“Hey, who is that guy with Steve?” she asks.
I chuckle. That’s freakin’ Tyler Florence.
Originally published by DiningOut Magazine