My Wild Ride on a Carousel: (By the Caterer Who Couldn’t Cook)

By Bill Jones

This is the story of Bill Jones, caterer to the stars and much more, told in 52 vignettes highlighting key episodes in his life and on the job. Follow Bill as he struggles to find employment even as he has had to drop out of high school because of his frequent Gran Mal seizures. Ride along with him as he takes you behind the scenes at catered affairs for celebrities such as Elizabeth Taylor and The Beatles; as well as the largest catered event ever (25,000 guests); and many humorous and touching stories of events for major corporations such as Herbalife, Hitachi, and Dr. Pepper. Most importantly, you will be inspired by Bill’s attitude of faith in one’s self and dreams, and his ability to move through adversity to success in tough and often unusual circumstances. If you’ve ever thought of being a caterer or just wondered what it was like, this book will delight you.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press
• Release date: Jul 31, 2020
• ISBN: 9781982251741

Bill Jones

Bill Jones is a renowned, Michelin-trained chef based on Deerholme Farm in the Cowichan Valley, British Columbia. He is the author of twelve cookbooks and winner of two world cookbook awards. His writing has appeared in numerous publications, including the New York Times, Gourmet, Bon Appetit, and Saveur. An acknowledged expert on wild foods and foraging, Bill has a keen respect for local First Nations ethnobotany and culture. He is an accomplished cooking instructor and a passionate supporter of local food communities. His consulting company, Magnetic North Cuisine, is active in all areas of local food production, marketing, and development.

Book preview

Copyright © 2020 Bill Jones.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by

any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying,

recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system

without the written permission of the author except in the case of

brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Balboa Press

A Division of Hay House

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.balboapress.com

1 [phone]

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or

links contained in this book may have changed since publication and

may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those

of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher,

and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

The author of this book does not dispense medical advice or prescribe the use

of any technique as a form of treatment for physical, emotional, or medical

problems without the advice of a physician, either directly or indirectly. The

intent of the author is only to offer information of a general nature to help

you in your quest for emotional and spiritual well-being. In the event you use

any of the information in this book for yourself, which is your constitutional

right, the author and the publisher assume no responsibility for your actions.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are

models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

ISBN: 978-1-9822-5172-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-9822-5173-4 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-9822-5174-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020913696

Balboa Press rev. date:   07/31/2020

If one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours.

—Henry David Thoreau

Contents

Getting Started

Uncle Willie

Gran Mal

John Larsen

Alec Guinness

Table Manners

California, Here I Come

California, Here I Am

Bob Lieberman

The Beatles

Carousel or Casserole?

Stepping Out on Our Own

What Happened to the Wedding Cake

The Largest Catering Event in History

Catering across the Nation

Surprise!

For the Birds

Be Sure You Get What You Asked For

Doctors of Pepper

Another Airport, Another Plane

They Do the Work— I Get the Glory

Maui Stories

The Super Bowl

Memorable Things That Happened at Catered Affairs

Trouble in Paradise

Every Day Should Be Thanksgiving

We Got Our Act Together and Took It on the Road

Motown

Catering for a King

Dinah Shore Golf

Elizabeth Taylor

Passion for Women Perfume

Elizabeth Taylor and the AIDS Epidemic

The Puppy

More Support for AIDS

Steven

How We Met Chef David

Chef David’s Memories

Herbalife

Lessons Learned by Accident

A Hole in the Ground

John Wayne

Jimmy Komack

Screaming for Days

Chuck Berry, Catalina Casino, and Herbalife

The Consumer Electronics Show in Atlanta, Georgia

Paris, France–Honolulu, Hawaii

The Oscars

Dream

My Ride Has Come to an End

MENUS

Elizabeth Taylor Passion For Women Menu

Herbalife At Home Of Kenny Rogers

Dr. Pepper Maui

Tray-Passed Hors D’oeuvres

Acknowledgments

28336.png

Getting Started

I have been asked many times, one way or another, How did you get involved with the catering business? This was followed by questions like Was your father a chef? Did your family own restaurants? My answer was that my father was not a chef. He was in prison for fifteen years during my childhood. None of my five siblings or I knew where my father was. We were told he was in a hospital in upstate New York and had a blood disease.

My mom would go to visit him monthly. Sometimes, if she could afford the cost, one of us would tag along. Being the youngest, I remembered little about my father. I was only four years old when he left to serve his sentence. It has never been spoken of, but I am sure my older brothers knew where he was. So to answer the question, my dad was not a chef, and we did not own a restaurant. We were a family of eight, counting my parents, and we were on home relief or, as some call it, welfare. This meant we were broke, in scramble mode to survive, and dependent on that monthly aid check.

Despite this, I did not have a bad childhood. In fact, it was very interesting. There was a lot of activity in our house, and my mom did whatever she had to do to keep us all together. There were times when she was afraid we would all be put into foster care. She constantly had to think of ways to raise extra cash; some were legal and some not so much.

One day, I remember a policeman came to our door and gave my mom a coupon for a free Easter basket that contained food from neighborhood food stores. It included condensed milk, canned vegetables, and other nonperishable items. We went down to the police station with our coupon and retrieved our basket. On the way home, she was very quiet, which meant she was planning something.

I looked at her, and she said, This is what we’re going to do. Next year, you’re going to volunteer to help fill the baskets. But every time you put one item in the baskets, you put two items in a basket under the table, which you’re going to sneak home.

I was scared stiff and tried to explain to her that I would be at the police station, and what if I get caught? Her answer was You’re too young and skinny. No one will even be looking at you. They’ll be too busy. So the next year rolled around, and I did what she asked. At the end of the day, I had so much food in my hidden basket that I could hardly lift it. But she was right. I struggled out with my basket, and no one said a word. It may be that they saw me and knew that we really needed that food. If that was so, I’m grateful to them.

My mom was not a highly educated woman. I don’t think she finished high school. But she was very street-smart. And her devotion to her family, and even to my father, was unbreakable One day she decided that we had to have more money from the state, so she told me she was going to show them how thin and sickly I was. Hopefully, this would convince them that she needed more money. She instructed me that at the interview, when she tapped my foot, I should fall on the floor as if I had fainted. Well, I did it! And we netted an extra ten dollars per month for the effort.

My mom also liked to entertain to keep us happy. So each Thursday, she would gather all the kids on the living room floor and perform Broadway shows for us—ones that were currently on Broadway and others from the past. I still carry some of those old tunes in my head. One that seems to appear on occasion is called Maisy Dotes, and another one is a real tearjerker called My Mother’s Eyes. You could say we were poor but happy.

28344.png

Uncle Willie

I n our building, there were many small apartments. All the tenants were friendly and stayed out of each other’s business.

Every once in a while, we would come home, and in front of our apartment door would be a bag of groceries containing items like cereal, canned goods, bread, and jelly. I would ask my mother where they were coming from, and she would say, They’re from Uncle Willie.

Who’s Uncle Willie? I asked.

She replied, "He lives at the end of the hallway. He’s a nice man. Now mind your business, and if you ever see him in the hallway or anywhere, do not speak to him. Do you understand?" She always knew I was nosy.

Though I was curious, I did what I was told. It turned out that Uncle Willie did not live in that apartment. Some