Arts & Entertainment
Celebrating Ina Garten’s 13th cookbook with her biggest fan
Trent Pheifer has made all 1,272 of her recipes and counting
Ina Garten’s gay appeal is undeniable. From her fabulous home and gardens, to her creative cocktail recipes, to her many gay friends and over-the-top brunch parties, who wouldn’t want to count Ina as a friend?
He may not be on the brunch invitation list yet, but we can all live a bit vicariously through Trent Pheifer, 37, a home cook who chronicled his quest to cook all 1,272 of Garten’s recipes on Instagram (@storeboughtisfine), catching her eye and ultimately cooking with her on a Zoom event earlier this year.
To celebrate the release of Garten’s 13th cookbook this week, “Go-To Dinners,” the Blade sat down with Pheifer to talk all things Ina.
“She pulled me in, in a way that wasn’t about cooking,” Pheifer said. “She was always having a good time, it was approachable.”
Pheifer said that when he first started cooking he tried Julia Child, but ran into problems with her lengthy recipe for Beef Bourguignon.
“A lot of those recipes weren’t working out for me because I didn’t have the skills,” he said. “I had made a few of Ina’s recipes and everything was easy to read and gave me confidence in the kitchen and the results were delicious.”
Pheifer loved the film “Julie and Julia,” about a Julia Child fan who cooked all of the iconic chef’s recipes, and thought he would cook his way through Ina’s many recipes.
It took him nearly six and a half years, but he did it and in March of this year, he reached the end, culminating in a memorable Zoom event with Ina herself in which Pheifer cooked the final recipe, her Boston Cream Pie, a notoriously tricky dish.
What did he learn during all that time in the kitchen as an amateur cook?
“It’s about diving in — you just have to do it,” he says. “So many people think they aren’t good cooks because they’ve never cooked or they’ve tried something too complicated. … Don’t overdo it when getting started and slowly build.”
Pheifer noted that he was eating mostly prepared foods from Trader Joe’s when he started and now can make anything in Ina’s vast repertoire. But learning to cook isn’t all about impressing dinner guests with fancy dishes. Pheifer, who’s gay and works as a fundraiser for the Advertising Council in New York City, said the bigger lesson was discovering his self-confidence.
“I’ve always struggled with self-confidence — not being good enough or smart enough – and I think in the last seven years of this project my confidence has skyrocketed,” he said. “Having worked hard at something and being recognized, having fun with people, I found confidence in being myself and that has spilled over into my job and life. I wouldn’t be where I am without it.”
Pheifer also shared his thoughts on Ina’s appeal to gay men, noting that about half of his Instagram followers are men, most of whom he assumes are gay.
“A lot of gay men are attracted to strong women,” he said. “A lot of gay boys grew up with ‘Barefoot Contessa’ and a lot of her friends are gay and it’s a place you knew you were welcome. She never waved the Pride flag, but I knew I would be welcomed into her home.”
Aside from baking cookies with his mother and grandmother as a child, Pheifer didn’t grow up with an interest in the kitchen, though he noted the family sat down to dinner most nights together. By college he wasn’t cooking at all.
“When I was approaching 30 I realized I didn’t know how to cook for myself and it’s expensive to go out to dinner every day,” he said. Julia Child inspired him at first, until that run-in with the Beef Bourguignon. After discovering Ina’s recipes were more approachable, he only encountered one bad experience while cooking his way through her books: vegetable lasagna.
The recipe calls for roasting three trays of vegetables and making a sauce — not an easy feat in a small New York City kitchen. “There were too many elements at the same time,” he says.
Undeterred by the laborious lasagna recipe, Pheifer soldiered on for nearly seven years, sometimes wondering if all his efforts and Instagram posts would be noticed. He says he didn’t start the project hoping to get media attention, but there were thoughts that maybe all of this could lead somewhere.
“At some point you get years into the project and wonder, will anyone notice,” he said. “Ina is so beloved that she inspired this fan base of people who love her and I think I got lucky that no one else was doing it already.” He added that he didn’t do any outreach and the subsequent media attention was organic and came via word of mouth.
One highlight of Pheifer’s culinary journey came unexpectedly while on a vacation in Paris, which happens to be Ina Garten’s favorite city where she and husband Jeffrey own an apartment. He was on a foodie trip with friends and snagged a coveted table at Verjus, known for its tasting menu, when he spotted Ina and Jeffrey at a table in the intimate dining room. When they finished, Pheifer summoned the courage to approach his culinary idol.
“It was kismet,” he says, “the color ran from my face. I approached after they finished and my friend knocked over their bottle of wine as I was shaking their hands.”
He introduced himself as the man behind @storeboughtisfine and Ina immediately recognized him and they posed for a photo.
“I couldn’t think of a more magical way to meet her,” he said, “this was such an intimate experience and in the city she loves the most. Ina is obsessed with Paris so it was a magical moment.”
With Ina’s new book out Oct. 25, Pheifer says he will continue his quest to cook all of the recipes. He plans to tackle two or three each week.
And if Pheifer could pick the theme for Ina’s 14th cookbook, he says it would be “Store Bought is Fine.” Ina has said her next book will be a memoir and Pheifer hopes she will write about what drives her to create.
Although Pheifer turns to Ina for French, Italian, and American dishes, he said he collects all sorts of cookbooks and his favorite this year is “Korean American” by New York Times writer Eric Kim.
As for Pheifer’s favorite Ina recipe to make, he says it’s her rigatoni with sausage and fennel from “Cooking with Jeffrey.” Least favorite: pear and parsnip gratin. His go-to Ina dinner: Shrimp and Linguini Fra Diavolo with Outrageous Garlic Bread. Go-to dessert: Mocha Iced Box Cake. And his favorite Ina cookbook is “Barefoot Contessa At Home.”
Ina Garten’s latest, “Go-To Dinners” is out Oct. 25 from Clarkson Potter and includes breakfast-for-dinner options, make-ahead ideas, and simply assembled dishes.
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a&e features
Award-winning D.C. chef reaching new culinary heights
Anthony Jones of Marcus DC competing on ‘Top Chef’
In Anthony Jones’s kitchen, all sorts of flags fly, including his own. Executive chef at award-winning restaurant Marcus DC, Jones has reached culinary heights (James Beard Award semifinalist for Emerging Chef, anyone?), yet he’s just getting started.
Briefly stepping away from his award-winning station, Jones took a moment under a different set of lights. Recently, he temporarily gave up his post at the restaurant for a starring small-screen slot on the latest season of “Top Chef,” which debuted in March. (The show airs weekly on Bravo and Peacock).
Before his strategic slice-and-dice competition, however, Jones, who identifies as gay, draws from his deep DMV roots. In the years before “Top Chef” and the top chef spot at Marcus, he was born and raised in Sunderland, Md., in southern Maryland, near the Chesapeake.
Early memories were steeped in afternoons on boats with his dad bonding over fishing, and wandering the garden of his great-grandparents spread with fresh vegetables and a few hogs. “It was Southern, old-school ethics and upbringing,” he said. “Family and food went hand in hand.” Weekends meant grabbing bushels of crabs, dad and grandma would cook and crack them. Family members would host fish fries for extra cash. In this seafood-heavy youth, Jones managed time to sneak in episodes of the “OG” Japanese “Iron Chef” show, which helped inspire him to pursue a career in the kitchen.
Jones moved to D.C. after graduating from college, ending up at lauded Restaurant Eve, and met famed chef Marcus Samuelson, who brought him to Miami to be part of the opening team for Red Rooster Overtown. After three years, Jones moved back to D.C., where he ran Dirty Habit, reinventing and reimagining the menu, integrating West African flavors and ingredients.
Samuelson, however, wouldn’t let a talent like Jones stay away for too long. Pulling Jones back into his orbit, Samuelson elevated Jones to help him open his namesake restaurant Marcus DC, which has been named a top-five restaurant by the Washington Post. Since then, Jones has been nominated as a semifinalist for the RAMMYs Rising Culinary Star in 2026 and won the Eater DC’s Rising Chef award in 2025.
Samuelson’s Marcus is a tour de force interpreting the Black Diaspora on the plate, from the American South to West Africa, along with his signature “Swedopian” touches. Yet it’s Jones who has deeply informed the plate, elevating his own story to date. Marcus DC is primarily a seafood restaurant, which serves Jones well.
“Where I’m from is seafood heavy, and as I’ve progressed in my career, I’ve moved away from meat.” Veggies and fish are hero dishes. His own dish, Mel’s Crab Rice, was not only lauded by the Washington Post, but is framed by his youth carrying home the crustaceans from Mel’s crab truck. It’s a bowl of Carolina rice, layered with pickled okra, uni béarnaise, and crab. Jones also points to a dish on the opening menu, rockfish and brassica, paying respect to a landmark D.C. institution, Ben’s Chili Bowl. Jones reverse engineered a favorite bowl of chili that’s seafood instead of meat forward, leveraging octopus and rockfish along with different riffs of cauliflower: showing his intellectual, creative, and cultural sides.
While “Top Chef” is showing Jones’s spotlight side, he also lets his identity show at work. “In the kitchen, I make sure we’re inclusive. We don’t tolerate discrimination. Everyone that’s here should feel confident to express themselves. There are so many different flags in the kitchen.”
Jones says that he didn’t fully express his gay identity until fairly recently. He felt reluctant coming out to certain family members, “you’re scared to tell them about being different,” he says, and while that anxiety ate at him, “I’m lucky and fortunate to have unconditional love and that weight off my shoulders.”
Today, “I’m me all the time, Monday to Sunday. I’m honest with people, and my staff is honest with me.”
“Being a chef is hard,” he says, “and being a chef of color is even more difficult.”
Yet his LGBTQ identity is a juggling act, he says. “I need to keep that balance, because once someone finds out something about you, their opinion can change, whether you want it or not.”
Being on a whole season of TV cooking competition, however, might mean millions more might have an opinion of him (Jones has appeared on TV already, on an episode of “Chopped”). To prepare, he says, “I’ve just kept a level head. It’s just an honor to be on top chef with amazing people happy to be there.”
Plus, this season is set in the Carolinas, and Jones attended Johnson & Wales University in Charlotte, N.C. “It’s a full story of my life, now a monumental moment for me.”
Jones also recently was nominated for a James Beard Foundation Award. “JBF has been a north star, a dream for so long. I always had this goal on my wall.”
Being at the top spot at Marcus DC, making waves through his accolades, and cooking on Bravo means that Jones is highly visible. “I think that if someone has a similar background to me, and can see our story, trajectory, and success, they can have more ability to be themselves. This is my goal.”
Back at Marcus, Jones has plenty up his chef’s white’s sleeves. A new spring menu is in the works. He’ll be launching a new tasting menu “dining experience,” he says, and has plans to work on more events and collaborations with chefs and friends to bring in new talent and share the culinary wealth.
Movies
Trans-driven ‘Serpent’s Skin’ delivers campy sapphic horror
Embracing classic tropes with a candid exploration of queer experience
It’s probably no surprise that the last decade or so has seen a “renaissance” in horror cinema. Long underestimated and dismissed by critics and ignored by all the awards bodies as genre films, horror movies were deemed for generations as unworthy of serious consideration; relegated into the realm of “fandom,” where generations of young movie fanatics were left to find deeper significance on their own, they have inspired countless future film artists whose creative vision would be shaped by their influence. Add to that the increasing state of existential anxiety that has us living like frogs in a slow-boiling pot, and it seems as if the evolution of horror into what might be our culture’s most resonant form of pop art expression was more or less inevitable all along.
Queer audiences, of course, have always understood that horror provides an ideal vehicle to express the “coded” themes that spring from existence as a stigmatized outsider, and while the rise of the genre as an art form has been fueled by filmmakers from every community, the transgressive influence of queerness – particularly when armed with “camp,” its most surefire means of subversion – has played an undeniable role in building a world where movies like “Sinners” and “Weapons” can finally be lauded at the Oscars for their artistic qualities as well as celebrated for their success at providing paying audiences with a healthy jolt of adrenaline.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, the boldest and most biting entries are coming from trans filmmakers like Jane Schoenbrun (“I Saw the TV Glow”) – and like Australian director Alice Maio Mackay, whose new film “The Serpent’s Skin” opened in New York last weekend and expands to Los Angeles this week.
Described in a review from RogerEbert.com as “a kind of ‘Scanners’ for the dolls,” it’s a movie that embraces classic horror tropes within a sensibility that blends candid exploration of trans experience with an obvious love for camp. It centers on twenty-something trans girl Anna (Alexandra McVicker), who escapes the toxic environment of both her dysfunctional household and her conservative hometown by running away to the “Big City” and moving in with her big sister (Charlotte Chimes). On her first night in town, she connects with Danny (Jordan Dulieu), a neighbor (the only “hottie” in the building, according to her sister) who plays guitar in a band and ticks off all her “edgy” boxes, and has a one-night stand.
The very next day, she starts a new job at a record store, where she connects – through an intense and unexpected incident – with local tattoo artist Gen (Avalon Faust), a young woman she has seen in psychic visions, and who has been likewise drawn to her. The reason? They are both “witches,” born with abilities that give them a potentially deadly power over ordinary humans, and bound together in an ancient supernatural legacy.
It goes without saying that they fall in love; together, they teach and learn from each other as they try to master the mysterious magical gifts they both possess; but when Danny coincidentally books Gen for a tattoo inspired by his earlier “fling” with Anna, an ancient evil is unleashed, leading to a string of horrific incidents and forcing them to confront the dark influences within their own traumatic histories which may have conjured this malevolent spirit in the first place, before it wreaks its soul-stealing havoc upon the entire community.
Confronting the theme of imposed trans “guilt” head on, “Serpent’s Skin” emanates from a softer, gentler place than most horror films, focusing less on scares than on the sense of responsibility which seems naturally to arise just from being “different.”. Both McVicker and Faust bring a palpable feeling of weight to their roles, as if their characters are carrying not only their own fate upon their shoulders, but that of the world at large; blessed (or cursed) with a layer of awareness that both elevates and isolates them, their characters evoke a haunting sense of responsibility, which permeates their relationship and supersedes their personal desires. At the same time, they bring a mix of respect and eroticism to the sapphic romance at the center of the film, evoking a connection to the transgressive and iconic “lesbian noir” genre but replacing its sense of amoral cynicism with an imperative toward empathy and social responsibility.
All of this helps to make the film’s heroines relatable, and raises the stakes by investing us not just in the defeat of supernatural evil, but the triumph of love. Yet we can’t help but feel that there’s something lost – a certain edge, perhaps – that might have turned up the heat and given the horror a more palpable bite. Though there are moments of genuine fright, most of the “scary” stuff is campy enough to keep us from taking things too seriously – despite the best efforts of the charismatic Dulieu, who literally sinks his teeth into his portrayal of the possessed version of Danny.
More genuinely disturbing are the movie’s scenes of self-harm, which both underscore and indict the trope of trans “victimhood” while reminding us of the very real fear at the center of many trans lives, especially when lived under the oppression of a mindset that deplores their very existence.
Still, though Mackay’s film may touch on themes of queer and trans existence and build its premise on a kind of magical bond that makes us all “sisters under the skin,” it is mostly constructed as a stylish tribute to the classic thrillers of an earlier age, evoking the psychological edge of directors like Hitchcock and DePalma while embracing the lurid “shock value” of the B-movie horror that shaped the vision of a modern generation of filmmakers who grew up watching it – and even if it never quite delivers the kind of scares that linger in our minds as we try to go to sleep at night, it makes up for the shortfall with a smart, sensitive, and savvy script and a rare depiction of trans/lesbian love that wins us over with chemistry, emotional intelligence, and enviable solidarity.
What makes “The Serpent’s Skin” feel particularly remarkable is that it comes from a 21-year-old filmmaker. Mackey, who built the foundation of her career behind the camera with a series of low-budget horror shorts in her teens, has already made an impact with movies ranging from the vampire horror comedy “So Vam” (released when she was 16) to the horror musical “Satanic Panic” and the queer holiday shockfest “Carnage for Christmas”. With her latest effort, she deploys a confidence and a style that encompasses both the deep psychological nuance of the horror genre and its guilty-pleasure thrills, rendered in an aesthetic that is grounded in intimate queer and trans authenticity and yet remains daring enough to take detours into the surreal and psychedelic without apology.
It’s the kind of movie that feels like a breakthrough, especially in an era when it feels especially urgent for trans stories to be told.
A “No Kings” demonstration was held in Anacostia on Saturday to protest the Trump administration. Speakers at the rally included LGBTQ activist, Rayceen Pendarvis. Following the rally, demonstrators marched across the Frederick Douglass Memorial Bridge.
(Washington Blade photos and videos by Michael Key)
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