It usually goes the other way around. A musician works in a kitchen to get by but dreams of becoming a troubadour, roaming the globe in search of inspiration.
After a half-decade of living that romantic life and establishing himself as one of the Twin Cities' most masterful songwriters -- comparisons to Leonard Cohen, Steve Earle and Greg Brown abound -- Ben Weaver wound up going in the exact opposite direction. He quit the road to go work in a kitchen.
"I hit a wall and couldn't write anything for about a year, and I knew I needed to get a job," Weaver, 31, recalled. "I wanted something I could be interested in and inspired by. Food was the obvious choice."
A year and a half after he put down his guitar and picked up a chef's knife, Weaver is back doing what he does best -- although the fact that he worked for two of the most respected foodie joints in Minneapolis, the Corner Table and the Craftsman, proves he must be a decent cook, too.
His new album, "Mirepoix and Smoke" (in stores Oct. 19), is a stark but stirring collection sparked by his experiences crafting food instead of music. Not only is he passing along that inspiration on record, he's also showing it off onstage.
Thursday night, he kicked off a thematic three-night residency at Bryant-Lake Bowl by inviting up friends from the food world to discuss where they find their inspiration. This was the "Food" installment of a series dubbed "Tramping With the Pioneers." It continues next Thursday with a "Words" show featuring "Dear American Airlines" author Jonathan Miles and some of his favorite writers. The "Music" finale is Oct. 8 with the Pines as guests.
"Part of the idea was to show off the main ingredients that went into this record," Weaver said. "But I also felt like, especially in the Twin Cities, people often haven't known what to make of me. This was a way of showing off my aesthetic."
The title of "Mirepoix and Smoke" refers to the onion/carrot/celery mix ("meer-pwa") that's a basic building block of soups and sauces. Along with his daily cigarettes, mirepoix was the smell Weaver couldn't wash off his hands for all those months he worked in restaurants.