The Art of Hospitality: Head Chef Erik Johansen on Food, Memory, and Community

Artists arrive at MacDowell carrying the practical necessities of travel and the mental residue of whatever they left behind: unfinished work, long flights, interrupted sleep, ideas still taking shape. Some have crossed continents before stepping into the woods of southern New Hampshire. Others have come only a few hours. Either way, arrival often means disorientation before it means focus, and Head Chef Erik Johansen thinks carefully about how to ease that transition.

For Erik, hospitality begins long before a plate reaches the table. It starts with helping artists settle back into themselves. A warm meal after a twenty-hour journey, a favorite cookie remembered days later, the reassurance that dietary needs are understood and supported—these gestures create a sense of safety and belonging. Since joining MacDowell as Head Chef in December 2024, Erik has come to see the kitchen not simply as a place that feeds artists, but as an essential part of the residency experience itself.

When he first arrived at MacDowell, Erik wasn't sure what to expect. Coming from restaurants, hotels, and resorts, he imagined he might find institutional food or a more utilitarian approach to dining. Instead, he found fresh bread rising in the ovens, vegetables growing in the kitchen garden, and menus built entirely from scratch. The culture of care already embedded in the kitchen surprised him. "My job," he jokes, "was to not screw it up."

What Erik initially imagined would be a role focused primarily on cooking quickly revealed itself to be something broader. He remembers hearing that artists often arrive feeling unsettled, unsure of what awaits them in the woods of southern New Hampshire. Hospitality, he realized, could help bridge that transition. The open doors of the kitchen allow artists to wander in, ask questions, share stories, and become part of the daily rhythm of the space. Over time, Erik has learned that what he knows best about many residents is not their résumés or accomplishments, but their favorite foods, cherished family recipes, and the memories attached to them.

Those memories have become one of the most meaningful parts of his work. Erik speaks about them with the curiosity of both a chef and a storyteller. He recalls one artist describing a couch that sat in her grandparents' kitchen, where family members gathered while food cooked throughout the day. Another remembered her father carrying pillowcases overflowing with saffron slung over his shoulder. These details linger with Erik because they reveal something larger: how deeply food is woven into identity, family history, and a sense of home.

That connection often extends into the kitchen itself. Artists frequently cook alongside the staff, sharing recipes shaped by migration, tradition, and personal history. One particularly memorable evening centered on a meal prepared with an artist whose work explored questions of home and displacement. As she spoke about the food's significance and the memories it carried, the dinner became something more than a meal. It became a way of sharing a piece of herself with the community gathered around the table.

For Erik, those moments reflect the role food can play in artistic life. A meal can offer comfort after a difficult journey, spark conversations between strangers, or evoke memories that reconnect someone to a place they have left behind. It can also create the conditions for creativity by removing the practical burdens of everyday life. At MacDowell, artists do not need to shop, plan meals, cook, clean, or store leftovers. By taking those responsibilities off their minds, the kitchen creates something increasingly rare: uninterrupted time to think.

The atmosphere Erik cultivates among his staff mirrors that philosophy. There is structure and discipline, certainly, but also laughter. He describes the kitchen team less as employees than as fellow travelers moving in the same direction. Each cook brings a distinct personality to the menu, and Erik sees one of his primary responsibilities as creating the conditions for that creativity to flourish. Rather than dictating every detail, he supports his team with the tools, ingredients, and freedom needed to make food that feels authentic to them.

The energy in the kitchen matters. "If you don't make it feel like this trudge through the swamp," he says, "it translates to the food." That sense of joy carries outward into the dining room, where meals become spaces of exchange and discovery. A composer may find unexpected common ground with a sculptor. A writer and a dancer may realize they wrestle with the same creative questions, expressed through different forms. These conversations often unfold over dinner, transforming shared meals into a vital part of the residency experience.

For many residents, meals at MacDowell become inseparable from the work they create there. Not because the food demands attention, but because it quietly supports the life unfolding around it. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner provide rhythm to the day, moments of gathering after hours of solitude, and opportunities to reconnect with others pursuing creative work.

Yet Erik understands that nourishment is never purely practical. Food can provide comfort, celebration, memory, and camaraderie all at once. It can make someone feel cared for in an unfamiliar place. It can create space for connection across disciplines and cultures. It can remind a person of where they come from while helping them feel at home somewhere new.

In Chef Erik Johansen's hands, the kitchen has become another kind of studio at MacDowell—one built around the practices of presence, generosity, curiosity, and care. Like the artists he serves, he understands that meaningful work often begins with creating the conditions that allow people to flourish. Sometimes, that work starts with something as simple as a warm meal and a welcoming table.