How a homeless junkie went on to become a famous chef

Written By Unknown on Kamis, 25 September 2014 | 18.18

Before opening acclaimed Manhattan restaurants Recette and the Gander, Jesse Schenker, 31, was a drug addict living on the streets. A winner of the Food Network's "Iron Chef America" in 2011, he has revealed his dark secret in his new memoir, "All or Nothing: One Chef's Appetite for the Extreme," out Tuesday. He tells The Post's Kate Storey exclusively about his addiction and recovery.

Pulling out the tasting spoon from my back pocket, I reach over to sample the rich meaty broth reducing on the stove. The simple movement is burned so clearly into my muscle memory that I momentarily forget where I am.

My mind flashes back to a decade ago, when I kept a spoon in my pocket for an entirely different purpose — cooking drugs in decrepit hotel rooms, surrounded by prostitutes, pills, needles and crack pipes.

I was only 12 years old when I started using drugs. It was 1994 and I was living with my family in suburban Parkland, Fla. That summer, I went to visit my cousin in New York. When his friends started passing around a joint, I didn't think twice about taking a hit.

Before long, I was stealing my parents' booze, skipping class and staying home to watch TV. Even then, my favorite shows, such as "Iron Chef Japan," were always about cooking. It wasn't exactly haute cuisine, but, at the age of 14, I got a job at McDonald's to get cash for my pot habit.

By 10th grade, I had moved to stronger substances. I'd dig through our medicine cabinets in search of NyQuil, Tylenol PM, Robitussin, oxycodone — anything to calm my racing mind.

Jesse Schenker, pictured around 1997-98. As a teen, he already was a fan of shows like "Iron Chef Japan."Photo: Courtesy of Jesse Schenker

Yet, as my drug use grew, so did my love for food. I quit the McDonald's gig for a job as a restaurant dishwasher. I started cooking classes in high school. Aside from getting high, the only time I was truly carefree was in the kitchen.

But the addiction soon overshadowed my culinary interests. By the time I was 17, I could barely function without pills. I dropped out of school and began working at a cafe on Pompano Beach.

One day, sick from the withdrawal and needing to start the whole tortuous process again of getting high, I dropped to my knees and prayed.

I'd been arrested before, but my first serious bust came in 1999 when I was charged with trafficking OxyContin. To avoid prison time, I checked into rehab. But as soon as I was out, I was in search of a bigger and better high. I found it in heroin.

After that, I could barely hold down a job, so I'd steal from whoever was naive enough to get close to me. I'd spend all the money on drugs, hanging out with dealers and hookers and having repeated run-ins with the law.

All the time, I'd plead with my increasingly desperate parents to give me money. But after a number of shameful incidents, including stealing my mom's Rolex to buy crack, they were told to cut me off. With no cash to afford a room in even the seediest motel, I slept on piles of cardboard boxes behind a gas station.

They say you've got to hit rock bottom before you can accept help. I had a whole series of rock bottoms. There was the night I tricked a guy into thinking I'd give him oral sex for $50 before I robbed him. I waited for him to pull down his pants and then ran off with the money. Or the night a fellow addict got struck by a car. We ran off, leaving him lying in the road before the cops showed up. There was a warrant out for my arrest for violating the terms of my probation, and I couldn't get caught.

But following a yearlong binge of drugs and debauchery, my arms full of track marks and oozing abscesses from dirty needles, it finally dawned on me that I was going to die. I felt exhausted and utterly alone. One day, sick from the withdrawal and needing to start the whole tortuous process again of getting high, I dropped to my knees and prayed.

Jesse Schenker is the author of a new memoir, "All or Nothing: One Chef's Appetite for the Extreme," out Tuesday.Photo: Albert Cheung

Then I dialed my parents' house. Mom answered, but when she heard my voice, she hung up. Right away I called back. This time Dad picked up. "Jesse," he said. "I can't help you. Go to the hospital."

I sobbed uncontrollably. I was 21, homeless, broke, sick, wanted by the police and unwanted by my family.

But before I could turn things around, I had to go through one last fall. The next day, I was looking for a hit in a bad part of town and was set upon by a gang of kids. Dripping blood, my clothes ripped and caked with dirt, I was picked up by a cop.

Jesse Schenker (second from left) with his mother Randi, father Scott and sister Joee in Florida in June 2002.Photo: Courtesy of Jesse Schenker

This time, as I sat in the back of the squad car, I gave him my real name. "There's a warrant out for my arrest," I told the officer. I knew I was going to jail. But instead of being scared, I felt peaceful, almost relieved. It was finally over.

I served six months and went through a painful detox. But my love for cooking was reignited when I was assigned kitchen detail.

Leaving jail, I entered a halfway house, reunited with my long-suffering family and got a steady job as a line cook in a restaurant.

Things were finally getting into a healthy routine, so I took a trip to New York with my parents to visit my older sister, Joee. I begged them to take us to Gordon Ramsay's restaurant at the London. After a mind-blowing meal, I asked to speak to the general manager.

"I work at a restaurant in Miami, and I would do anything to work here," I told him.

After he cleaned up, Schenker realized the love of his life, Lindsay, had been there all along. The married couple first met in high school.Photo: Christian Johnston

At the airport, I got a call on my cell, asking me back for an interview. They invited me into the kitchen and I cooked like my life depended on it. I was hired.

I moved to New York in 2007, crashing with Joee in East Harlem, where I found places to go to Narcotics Anonymous meetings.

I dove headfirst into my career — working around the clock at Gordon Ramsay's and apprenticing at other prestigious restaurants.

My friends and I started playing around on our off-nights, experimenting with our own menus. We eventually launched a supper club, Recette Private Dining, using a local bakery during its off-hours.

It was around that time that I reconnected with an old high school classmate named Lindsay, with whom I'd lost touch. She was living in California, but had read about the club. "I'm so happy to hear you are doing what you love," she wrote in an e-mail. I was so excited to hear from her that I immediately replied with a long response, describing my descent into addiction and recovery. We'd hooked up a couple of times back in the day, but she was an honors student with strict parents who couldn't possibly have kept up with my excesses. Thank goodness she didn't try. I would have ruined her.

But she understood and respected everything I'd been through. It started off as a long-distance relationship, but she eventually moved East. With the support of Lindsay, and the help of my dad and some brave investors, I opened my first restaurant, Recette, in the West Village in 2009. In March 2010, it got two stars from the New York Times. And three years ago, life came full circle when I won my favorite childhood cooking show, "Iron Chef America."

I've come too far and have too much to lose to ever go down the destructive path again.

Today, my life is fuller than I ever thought it could be. I opened my second restaurant, the Gander, earlier this year and I live in the West Village with Lindsay, whom I married in 2010, and our kids, ages 4 and 1. They mean everything to me.

Since I no longer drink, Lindsay and I don't go to many social events. Working in a restaurant, I'm obviously exposed to fine wines and other alcohol. It's an intrinsic part of the business. But I don't have the desire for it anymore. I'll smell the cork as part of my job, but that's as far as it goes.

I also insist on a clean kitchen. Around a year ago, I discovered that a member of staff was an alcoholic who was stashing bottles of wine leftover from the tables. I leveled with him and told him about my past. "You have a choice, just like I did," I said. He was wide-eyed at my story. After that, there was a new respect between the two of us.

My therapist always said there was no gray area with me. That, when I flicked the switch away from drugs, I'd apply the same passion and intensity I'd shown as a junkie to something positive. And that positive is food. I'm just as addicted as ever — it's only the substance that's changed.

I still have drug dreams and sometimes catch myself peeking into friends' medicine cabinets — old habits die hard — but I make sure to go to meetings regularly. These days, I know how to deal with uncomfortable feelings. I've come too far and have too much to lose to ever go down the destructive path again.

When I FaceTime with my son from my kitchen before he goes to sleep at night, I know that family is worth that daily fight to find balance.

Chef Jesse Schenker works in the kitchen at the Gander, one of his Manhattan restaurants.Photo: Christian Johnston


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