Anton Kovalkov on Freedom and Finding His Own Path in Gastronomy

Different holdings, collaborations, even different countries — among his peers in the trade, it's not just Anton Kovalkov's biceps that stir envy, but also his knack for keeping his independence while building relationships with all sorts of different restaurant groups. And for making projects just as distinctive — unlike anything else, sometimes bold, and almost always full of drive.

Tell us how you became this kind of culinary stringer?

- Honestly, I never set out to become a stringer and work with everyone — it just happened that way. But I like it, though it has its own nuances. On one hand, when you work at one company, you can grow faster inside it, and it's generally easier because there's one unified system. When you work with different ones, each has its own systemic quirks, its own specifics. But as the saying goes, you shouldn't keep all your eggs in one basket. For me, the huge upside is that I absorb the best of everything: every restaurant company has its own interesting little tricks — that's valuable experience. You see something here, something there, draw your own conclusions. And then you decide what's closer to you, what interests you more. I think restaurateurs themselves build their collaborations on the same principle, to trade experience, to learn something from each other. In that sense, it was really interesting to work with Anchovy's Club — the guys and I agreed I'd join the project for six months to launch breakfast and refresh the menu. I put my own experience into that story and refined a few classic recipes.

 - And what do you want to arrive at?

Over the next year I want to build a good system that helps both the restaurant grow, and the staff inside it, and the chefs. Honestly, I don't have plans in my head right now to expand and take on new projects. When you've got more than three projects and no system yet, that's very hard to manage. And mine are in different countries besides — in Russia and in Cyprus. Right now I need to systematize everything and focus more on quality than quantity.

As for the bigger-picture plans, of course, there's still room to grow. I want a project devoted to Russian cuisine after all. Right now I'm going to put maximum weight on Russian ingredients. And honestly, I've missed complex culinary work. The international market is interesting too, but I still haven't figured out for myself which country exactly. Dubai has potential, but I don't like the climate there, I couldn't live there. If I'm going to grow somewhere on a European scale, it's important that it be comfortable. Overall, my plans are on Russia for now — I already have one foreign project, I want to build up a bit of muscle on it, and we'll see from there.

- Speaking of Russia, where do you see opportunities for growth?

I think it's the million-plus cities, like Nizhny Novgorod, Yekaterinburg, and Golden Ring towns like Yaroslavl. Things are working beautifully up north — Krasnoyarsk itself is growing. I think Altai is picking up momentum too — there aren't any big-name places there yet, but they'll show up soon. Personally, I'd take a close look at Yekaterinburg. If companies like Dreamteam are opening projects there, that means they see growth potential there. I know Lyosha — he's a very thoughtful, strategic guy. Krasnoyarsk itself was never a tourist destination, but what the guys did there is wonderful — they opened up a new restaurant world, and the city became a tourism-and-gastronomy destination. The same thing's happening in Nizhny. A lot of people talk about Kamchatka these days, but that's too far to look toward, even though tourism is a noble cause, sure.

- What principle did you use to choose the country for your first foreign project?

The choice was made for me. Alexey Burov invited me to Cyprus. Their project was already mostly done by that point. What remained was deciding who to bring in as brand chef. We'd already worked together — I'd done master classes for chefs, for instance. When he showed me the references for the Cyprus project, I liked it a lot, and I agreed without a second thought. Alexey always appealed to me — his approach to building a team, to the product, to detail — we found we had a lot in common. Even our kids look a lot alike.

Human relationships matter a lot to me in business. No matter how great a businessman you are, it won't substitute for being a good person. Maybe over time I've started paying more attention to that. If you don't have a certain professional empathy between you, you won't build anything big together.

- What's the difference, for you, between working with Anton Pinsky, Dreamteam, and Folk Team?

Honestly, in everything. Someone once said every restaurateur has their own internal ratio of creator, businessman, messiah, visionary, and so on, and that ratio is different for different restaurant groups, different restaurateurs. Some have more business in them, some have more of something else, some keep it in balance.

What I like about Dreamteam and Folk Team is their approach to details — to choosing gadgets, tableware, and other things that might seem insignificant to some people. Because when you visit a restaurant, you notice these details, even if they don't jump out at you. It could be cool coasters, some matching in the interior, in the materials, and so on.

The level of systematic organization is different for everyone too — I can't even say anything bad about it. But the difference is big. Again, that comes from the people building this business — they're all different. And as a result, the teams and companies they build are wildly different.

I think Anton Evgenyevich is more of a businessman, and that shows in his approach. Because at the speed his business grows, it's hard to deliver a complex, visionary solution for every single project. He builds his whole system a bit differently. That's neither good nor bad — it works as a business. There's a lot to learn from Anton, he's got interesting experience, and not everyone could reach that kind of status at his age. He has fewer details, but the internal structure of the story is different. We're comfortable working together.

- How hard was it to do a project together with Troyan, and what's it like generally for two chefs in one kitchen?

We're friends, and he's my son's godfather — there's a personal parallel between us. I teach all my cooks and chefs one simple thing: when you're building a business while working with relatives and friends, your relationship develops along two parallel tracks — one about the personal relationship, the other about the professional one, and they don't cross. Maybe at the start, because of some technical issues tied to launching the project, we had a bit of chaos, but then we sat down and split up the responsibilities. Roughly speaking, we drew up a systematic checklist, if you can call it that, and split it between the two of us. We travel a lot, and if one of us is in Moscow, he has to check everything inside the restaurant. Once every two weeks we look at the financial numbers and make whatever management decisions are needed.

Responsibility is the thing a certain kind of growth comes with. Everyone's looking for the magic pill for how to start growing, how to earn more — I think it all comes down to taking on responsibility. You take responsibility for the work and for the people you work with. Even at twenty, I never saw myself as a hired hand who comes in the morning and leaves at 6pm. I think most successful chefs take that same approach — they spend a lot of time at work, basically devote themselves to it, and take responsibility for everything; it bothers them if the glasses are sitting crooked or the flowers aren't fresh. Being a chef, for me, is a bit more than just standing at the stove, and I care about what's happening inside the restaurant. And when you become a partner, that means putting in even more effort. You always have to be able to spot things you can fix and make better.

- Tell me, in your view, what helped you fully realize yourself after moving from Nizhny to Moscow, and not get lost in such a competitive environment?

Well, I haven't fully realized myself yet. I think I'm in the full bloom of my powers. There've certainly been the best days of my life already, but there'll be a lot more of them still, I'm sure.   

There's probably no secret to it. A lot of people think someone brought me here, that I had a PR person or something. Honestly, when I arrived, I didn't know anyone at all. Not a single chef, except Kostya Ivlev.  I messaged with Volodya Mukhin on Facebook (*), messaged with the Berezutsky brothers on Skype. To get something to work out, you have to actually do something. I tried to do what felt close to me, food-wise. There were ups and downs. What matters, in my view, is staying open to talking with people.

Take Andrey Shmakov, for example — it's one thing when a chef rides some wave to the top, holds on for a year or a year and a half, and then, just like that, fades into obscurity, and it's another when someone keeps working on themselves constantly, keeps doing something relevant. The most important thing, once you become a brand chef or a partner, is to keep working in the kitchen. Not be afraid of it. I'm not pointing a finger at anyone, but I definitely see people who stop working in the kitchen once they reach a certain status. You can't cut that umbilical cord.   

- What would you call your highest high point, and probably your most telling low point?

I believe my biggest high point is still ahead of me. Honestly, right now, I'd say it's the appearances at international festivals — in Paris, Montreal, Ireland. A lot of people think that's the peak of my career, but I don't believe that.  

As for failure…  Honestly, I really do think mistakes, failures, and your wrong steps can teach you far more than winning does. There were plenty of different failures. Some might say leaving Beluga, but I don't see it that way. There were moments when I made the wrong decisions. A hundred percent those things happened, but if I sit around dwelling on it, that's not going to get me anywhere.

- What does body culture mean to you? How much time do you devote to it every day?

I'll give you an example. Not long ago, a chef asked me for remote mentoring.  I   asked him, which area do you want to grow in? He says: well, cook better, level up my kitchen management. I say, got it, what else? Tell me what you do in life? By the time I turned forty, I'd concluded for myself that you can't just level up your body, you can't just read cookbooks and grow that way. Maybe that'll get you to a certain level, but past that you need to read books on management, delegation, and other things. Build a philosophy for yourself and draw conclusions. It's the same with body culture — physical development matters, but so does being able to work with your head. I'm not telling everyone to go see a therapist, though for a lot of people that's the key to getting past their blocks. What matters is reaching a balance in everything by a certain age. If you're missing healthy relationships within your family, that'll hurt you somewhere else. Same with health. Over time, past thirty-five, I started to understand how much the amount of food you eat really matters. Maybe that sounds like something an old man would say, but you only get one body, and you need to take care of it. Unfortunately, terrible news keeps coming about young chefs dying. Daniel Hoglander passed away literally the other day, and James Kenfiod six months ago, whom I personally knew… We work in a very tough environment, both physically and mentally, and you need to account for that too and look after your health. And you absolutely need to learn to relax. I meditate, I go for sports massages, because tight muscles disrupt circulation — your body stops functioning properly, and after two proper massages you find yourself wondering how you were even living before that. I also relax by spending time with my family. For me that's mentally a great way to spend time. It's a switch. You can't have your head stuck in work all the time, that's really hard. So I started limiting myself — after a certain hour, I don't pick up the phone for work matters. Around nine, I'm no longer up for talking, and I rest on weekends too. Someone said a good line once: if you want to take your car out on the racetrack, you need to make sure you've got a full tank of gas. In other words, if you want to step up into some kind of premier league, you need to make sure you're not just built up in every way, but that you've got a reserve of energy too.