Some stories of stewardship begin with the land. This one begins with a dinner, a chuck roast, and a mother who believed she had found the right woman for her son.
Dear Alice Waters,
You recently told me how much joy you find in matchmaking — bringing people together and watching what grows from those connections. We were sitting in your living room, beneath shelves filled with Wendell Berry’s words, talking about the things that have always mattered most: community, love, gathering around a table, and honoring the farmers who make it all possible.
In the spirit of your lifelong love of matchmaking, I wanted to share my own matchmaking story — one that started with a young farmer, a chef, and a chuck roast in the Kentucky countryside.
In the fall of 2007, I was passed the baton to co-chair Slow Food Bluegrass alongside Steve Wilson. It was a fast-track lesson on how to lift an economically fragile organization out of debt and raise money. We grew the board, threw fabulous parties, and went to work. We gathered, gave out garden grants, and celebrated the almighty garlic, which indeed is as good as 10 mothers.Â
In March 2008, I was invited to an event welcoming a famous female chef to the Kentucky countryside surrounded by the local farmers and chefs shaping the culinary landscape of the Bluegrass. The gathering took place in a gracious home in Henry County, with wide porches, old trees, and farmland stretching beyond the windows.
At the time, I was a young farmer, just beginning the journey of bringing cattle back to Foxhollow Farm after generations of the land being leased for conventional agriculture. I was paired with a chef from Sullivan University’s culinary program, and together we shared one of our first grassfed chuck roasts. She prepared it beautifully — rich, deeply flavorful, and carrying the sweetness of the spring clover and diverse pastures those cattle had grazed.
I was stationed in an entryway. People would come up to my booth, and we would have deep, meaningful conversations about farming, flavor, and joy.
I especially enjoyed chatting with Mrs. Sarah Keith. She was a vegetarian, yet was intrigued and impressed by the fact that I was a beef farmer. She seemed delighted that a young woman like me had chosen this path.
In the most genuine way, we talked about Wendell Berry, the importance of farming, and the land. She told me how her husband, Paul, had grown up on a farm and how they had built a life on their own farm in Henry County. She also told me about her son. Well, actually, she had two sons — but she was very specifically talking about her youngest, Benton.
She shared that Benton was single, had grown up on a farm, and knew his way around tractors and implements. He had been a volunteer firefighter since he was 15, started a lawn business at 14, and sold it to start a limo business his junior year of high school.
Then she asked for my number.
I gave her my card — my mobile number typed neatly beneath my name.
Excited by the possibility of being matched with a local suitor, I decided to savor the moment by having my own taste of our chuck roast and wandered over to a silk-scarved woman who was enjoying a bite of salad as if it were something to be treasured.
A nasturtium rested between her fingers as I asked what had drawn her to an evening celebrating farmers and chefs. She smiled and began telling me about the farmers she loved, the ingredients she cherished, and the way food connects us to the land and to one another.
Only then did I realize — she was the guest of honor. She was the famous Alice Waters. She was you.
I did not yet understand the depth of your work or the movement you had helped inspire. But I understood what I felt in that moment: that food could be more than something we grow, cook, or eat. Food could tell the story of the soil, the farmer, and the care that brought it to the plate.
Fast forward the first Friday in May, Oaks Day in Kentucky. I was a few seats away from Benton Keith when I spotted him from afar.
I was immediately taken by his effortless European style. His suit was perfectly tailored, his pocket square a pillow of silk, and his belt and loafers made of fine leather and exquisite craftsmanship.Â
I did not realize at the time who he was, and never got close enough to introduce myself. But on that beautiful Friday, surrounded by sunshine, hats, and running fillies, I knew I loved that man from afar. I carried that feeling with me all weekend.
The following Sunday, I was invited to a cocktail party for a newly formed nonprofit, Bourbon Baroque. As fate would have it, Benton and I had both agreed to serve on the board — despite neither of us knowing much about Baroque music. We were simply there supporting a friend with a wonderfully specific passion.
Date one: I knew.
Date two: I met Mary Berry.
But the true matchmaker of this story was Sarah Keith. She saw what none of us could see yet — the right ingredients were already there. A philosophy and truth you know all too well, too.Â
Thanks, Alice.
