I’m in a pristine kitchen, the kind where the stainless steel workstations are wrapped in linen to reduce noise. It’s clinically calm. Surrounded by men and women in white, I listen intently as their boss—a pink-cheeked ex-soccer player who looks like a linebacker—discusses their latest assignment: to create compelling dishes without the use of their go-to fat of choice. Butter.
Read MoreThe Amish farmer stepped into the backseat of the car and placed an old, slightly dusty black briefcase on his lap. “Nice briefcase,” I told him.
“Everyone notices it,” he laughed.