By Chef Alexis Hernandez
The first time it clicked
Back before MP3s and Spotify, I burned my own CDs and filled the kitchen with my favorites.
One night at Maggiano’s—before it became the chain it is now—Frank Sinatra floated through the room.
I didn’t know much about Italian food then. I only knew the music made the red sauce feel like it belonged.
The sound set the table before the plates arrived.
The night the room fell flat
Years later in Chicago, I ate at a restaurant called Zinfandel.
The food was good. But the room had no pulse. No music. The experience felt unfinished, like mashed potatoes without gravy.
That’s when I understood: the music carries the food just as much as the seasoning does.
And yes, others see it too.
Why sound changes the plate
Music frames pace and mood. It slows your breathing when you chop. It sets the rhythm for searing, stirring, tasting.
It also shapes how we perceive flavor—brightness, warmth, even richness feel different when the room has a heartbeat. Silence has its place.
But for me, quiet happens because music is playing.
There’s solid research on this as well—a controlled study from Glamour Magazine shows music can shift how we perceive flavor, from brightness to richness, which is exactly what I taste at home and see in dining rooms.
How I cook now
When I cook, there’s always a playlist. Pop rock when I need energy. Jazz when I want space to taste.
Ella Fitzgerald is my north star. The mix shifts from prep to plating so the work flows. I don’t blast it.
I let it sit in the room like good lighting.
Without music, the room can feel flat.
Programming a room
When I owned a restaurant, lunch, dinner, and seasons each had a set. The story stayed the same however, the tempo changed.
Daylight asked for lift.
Night asked for warmth.
Music became part of the room.
Music isn’t garnish; it’s part of the build. Low, steady, and it shifts everything.
For home cooks who host
Choose the mood first. Then build a list that fits how you cook and who you’re feeding.
Keep the volume low so conversation leads. Let a few signature artists return often so your table has a sound people recognize.
That’s how rituals grow.
When I start prep, I put on something with pace so the knife finds its rhythm.
As the pans sear and sauces settle, I slide into mid-tempo to stay focused but calm.
When we sit, I switch to warm vocals and clean instrumentals—the kind that holds the room without stealing it.
Set the room early and lightly, on purpose.
Final plate
Music isn’t decoration. It sets the room so the food can express itself—just like salt helps a dish land.
At my house, the sound comes on before the stove.
If dinner lands, it’s because the room was cooking first.
Chef Alexis Hernandez writes The Other Side of the Stove. His work has also appeared in News of Sun City Center and South County, and he has appeared on Food Network Star and Cutthroat Kitchen.
