Seattle played host to the IACP convention (International Association of Culinary Professionals) this past week. And as is typical of our laissez-faire city, no one much cared. You know in New York, restaurants would have dossiers, photos and shit on all the important attendees. There’d be contingency plans, codes yellow through blue, Ruth Riechel stop, drop, and coo drills… Not in this city. I’m sure a few restaurants were on point. I know who you are. Good thing most of the attendees are above blogging…

I have to admit, it took me all week to figure out what IACP actually does. But then, I’m still not clear what the Moose Lodge does either, and my pa was Vice-Poobah. IACP started as an organization of support for culinary education, but now includes chefs, food writers, editors, heads of various food boards, etecetera, etecetera. Its yearly convention provides mucho networking opportunities and a chance to exchange ideas from many of the horse’s mouths in the food world.

This year, the convention took special note to celebrate Jacques Pepin’s 70th birthday. (name dropping omitted) My favorite moment of the convention? Getting to hear him sing “My Funny Valentine” en francais at an after party. What a cool guy. Fuckin’ A. That’s Fu en aah in French, I think. Charming, elegant, and happy to be Jacques. Class act.

Funny how meeting a chef like Jacques Pepin will make you, OK me, want to smash Bobby Flay’s face in that much more. Huh.