Headley says that in his perfect world, he would keep Superiority Burger free of major animal proteins but be allowed to use fish sauce and pork fat for flavor. In their absence, he says, “the foundational flavors of SB are dates, good olive oil, generic non-fancy chili flake, and burnt bay leaf,” a surprisingly analog list in the age of mega umami-boosters.
Since long before Superiority Burger opened its doors, Headley has more or less lived at the restaurant. “Basically I live a block away and I just go home to sleep, or when my girlfriend makes me. Then I’m up at 5am and back in the kitchen,” he says. At a time when the restaurant discourse is centered on kitchen workers practicing self-care and achieving work-life balance, this unabashed workaholism seems almost transgressive.
“I do not expect my staff to work like this,” he stipulates. “I insist they work civilized hours, have their own lives beyond the restaurant, go to movies, museums, have band practice, go on tour, go to the beach, do art, go salsa dancing.” At the same time, he himself claims to have zero interest in any of that, much less the kind of normie niceties (house, kids) that many chefs find themselves craving as they hit middle age.
“I know a lot of people will say that restaurant work is physically taxing and this and that, but I’ve never felt that way,” he says. “I just love it so much. I love the rush of service. I love the thrill of prep. I love to cook.”
I ask if his body has continued to love it as much as his mind.
“I feel like I have superpowers!” he says. “It’s like when I used to do my favorite thing ever, which was touring. I can’t do that anymore, because I’m an old fucking man. But when you’re touring you have superpowers, too.”
Brett Martin
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