CVC on TAT

My remarks, read by Tara Thomas’s father Hardy at Union Station, Los Angeles on 10 September 2022

I am so sorry that I cannot be with you all in person today. Tara meant everything to me. I can’t remember the moment when we met, nor can I remember exactly when we became best friends, but since the Autumn of 1979 when we both started at Miss Porter’s School I have just always known her and we have always been the best of friends.

We annoyed the hell out of our fellow housemates in Lathrop House that year by playing the records we loved over and over and over again. During the joyful three years we shared at Farmington, we wore mini skirts and thought we were the coolest things since sliced bread. We went to New York on the weekends whenever we could, got our hair cut at Bloomingdale’s, ogled over the latest clothes at Fiorucci and snuck into the trendiest nightclubs, one of which memorably had a woman dressed as a mermaid in a tank at the entrance. Under Tamara’s watchful eye, we devoured the art at the Museum of Modern Art, the Met, the Whitney and any other exhibition or collection that we deemed important. We vowed that we would never be waitresses, but famous curators of great art collections. Thanks to Tamara and Hardy’s hospitality, I got to know California better. We laughed at Kirk, but secretly loved his company. We skied, we played tennis, we ate countless delicious meals, we savoured life as we formed our own compasses to direct us through life.

Tara was a year below me at school and even younger than that by birth, something I teased her about when we were young and I was jealous of when we aged. I left her behind at Farmington when I went to Georgetown, but I never left her behind as a best friend. University wasn’t the right place for Tara, but the Culinary Institute was. I watched with admiration as she developed a passion and great skill for cooking. She started to work at wineries in Napa and eventually at Calera with Mr Pinot, Josh Jenson. Her time there, and with him, made a significant mark on her life.

I met Tara’s first husband Ulrich on a boat on Lake Tahoe a few days before they were married at Fallen Leaf. I was her ‘Best Man Girl’ as his German family called me, because they did not understand the concept of a Maid of Honor. The restaurant they made together at 410 Boyd was a triumph, not least because it launched Chef Thomas onto the culinary map of Los Angeles where she made an indelible mark on the nascent rejuvenation of Downtown LA. When their marriage ended I told Tara I had always found him difficult and she asked me why I had not told that to her sooner. Maybe there were other things I should have told her sooner, but she was always a woman who appeared to know what she wanted and how to get it and so it was normally best not to cross her path.

By the time that Tara opened Traxx, I was married and she had loved a few other men. I was so proud of her culinary achievements. Not only was the food delicious (I am dreaming of Persephone salad and succulent pork chops right now), but she managed to pull off that elusive magic trick that only a few restauranteurs successfully achieve, which is to create a meeting place for like-minded people to exchange ideas and friendship. Politicians, clergy, artists, and patrons of the arts all flocked to the beautiful place Tara created at Union Station. Alongside Le Train Bleu in the Gare de Lyon in Paris, Traxx must have been the classiest railway station restaurant anywhere in the world… and the chef wore pearls! That she achieved this and kept the restaurant and bar thriving for 20 years is an enormous accomplishment in a town where most places fail in ten minutes or less. That she was a woman working in a world dominated by powerful male chefs makes this achievement all the greater.

In 2006 I also entered into a career in hospitality when my husband and I opened Stubton Hall in Lincolnshire, England. Suddenly the two Farmington girls who swore that they would never wait tables were both waitresses, because if you are going to own and operate a restaurant or hotel, no job is beneath you. Although we lived far apart, we continued to be in touch on a regular basis. Christmases were celebrated at my house in Fulbeck, summers at le Mazel in France. My daughter Georgina was born and I brought her to Fallen Leaf to be baptised by its waters. Up until the day before she went into the hospital, Tara and I often spoke on the phone. We talked about art, about life, about our successes and failures, and about how to get the bus boys to work harder. I thought that no subject was left untouched. I flew to the side of my best friend when her mother died. She flew to mine when my husband died. I always thought we were there to support each other in any and every way.

I now know that Tara needed support in ways that she would not tell me and that I could not fathom. This realisation is sadder for me than losing her.

Running a successful kitchen requires organisation, timing, strong leadership and also a deep desire to take care of the people you feed. Tara’s impressive skills and great generosity of spirit nurtured so many. In the weeks since her death I have become aware of so many layers of her friends who were all touched by her laughter and generosity. Many of these friends I do not know, but I hope I speak for anyone who knew and loved Tara when I say that we will remember her talents, her grace, her sense of humor and her flair in feeding our empty stomachs as well as our souls.