chef profile: perry rea

grayson kelly

usc annenberg ‘22

The scene was cinematic in its beauty: the golden sun setting across the French countryside, casting a pale pink pall over the chateau courtyard. The white tablecloths adorning the banquet tables that had been set up for my sister's wedding rehearsal dinner were illuminated by a litany of flickering, multi-sized candles. The courtyard–flawlessly manicured and looking like a set out of Downton Abbey–was filled with family and friends imbibing on red wine and cheese. Amy Winehouse hummed lyrically in the background, notes of roasted garlic wafted through the air, and it was beautiful. Or, at least, I would imagine it was beautiful. You see, that night, I wasn’t just a brother attending his sister’s rehearsal dinner. At the behest of my father, I was also acting as a de facto sous chef for a close family friend, Perry Rea, who had enthusiastically taken up the responsibility of cooking dinner for the party. 

“Sous chef,” I’d snickered when my father assigned me the moniker for the night. “Perry’s not a chef--he’s a cook,” I reminded him with a haughty tone of pretentiousness, the deep insecurity leaking out of my pores. Two hours later–during which Perry cooked in circles around me–I shamelessly ate my words, alongside a delicious mound of baked ziti and grilled chicken. It was that day that I realized that professional training isn’t the only way a true chef comes into being. Sometimes, as in Perry’s case, true passion for food is instead what leads one to culinary greatness.

When I was younger, Perry was intimidating. There was something about his gruff, hyper-masculine and all-Italian demeanor that made me feel like I wanted to puff out my chest when I would see him at my brother and his son’s soccer games growing up. It’s not that he was unapproachable or rude; rather, Perry has the type of male personality that commands respect. When he talks, you listen. “He expects a lot from his friends, family, and employees,” my mom (and Perry’s former realtor) tells me over a recent Facetime call. “And he expects that you understand that. Perry is a perfectionist–a true Capricorn.” 

Perry was born in Motown, as Detroit was an ideal place for his father’s automotive part business, but he grew up in Canada in what he calls a “very, very Italian” neighborhood in Toronto. “English was the second language there,” he reminisces. “It was Italian to the point where, on Fridays, around four o’clock in the afternoon, a guy with a pickup truck filled with ice and fresh fish in the back would be coming down the road going, ‘chi vuole il pesce, chi vuole il pesce,’ which means ‘who wants fish’. It was a real Italian neighborhood.” He attended Catholic elementary and high schools, which he says were also as culturally rich as his neighborhood. His childhood, he fondly recalls, was colored by “Italians, good food, and good friends.” Canada is also where he met his wife Brenda. 

Perry’s passion for food is a trait that has ostensibly aided and abetted Rea’s rise as an entrepreneur and food personality. Perry’s success with Queen Creek Olive Mill comes, really, as no surprise––the man has business chops, as evidenced by his background in the automotive industry.  After receiving an undergraduate degree in economics from the University of Western Ontario, he went on to receive a masters degree in business from the University of Windsor. Throughout his school years, Perry worked for his fathers automotive part company in both the hands-on side in the plants as well as the corporate side. “It was kind of a unique business,” he says. “We manufactured fluid handling systems, so that’s kind of where I got my background in engineering and business, in the automotive tubing industry.” After college, Perry began working for his father full time, and by the early 90’s he had taken over the whole business as the president after his father retired. At that point, the company had 13 locations and around 2200 employees, and was doing about $105 million in annual sales. After multiple successful years under Perry’s leadership, the company was bought out by a British automotive part company, C.B. Auto. Perry remained as president of the North American leg of the company, which required him to fly around to visit the 18 plants, as well as travel to Europe monthly. 

“And then, Angelo was born,” Perry remembers, referencing his eldest son. “I was always in a plane, back and forth. I hardly even knew Angelo very well, because I was always doing something and, you know, talking to Brenda, we said, you know, it's probably time for a change.” 

Perry’s snowbird parents happened to be vacationing in Fountain Hills, Arizona that winter, which served as a perfect spot for a visit with Brenda from their home back in frigid Michigan. One temperate night, on a walk around downtown Scottsdale, a smattering of olive trees dotting the landscape caught their eye. Olive trees? In Arizona? The couple was fascinated, and a seed was planted.

 “Then when we went back to our place in Michigan, Brenda and I were actually out in an Irish pub one night, drinking too much beer. And Brenda looks at me and goes, ‘Hey, Perry, why don't we make olive oil in Arizona?’ And I looked at her and I said, ‘you know, that’s kind of a fun idea.’”

Perry got to work. His entrepreneurial skills had taught him that success in any business is primed by surrounding yourself with great people. Funnily enough, when I talked to his daughter Sydney, she too had told me that “his key to success is to surround yourself with people who are smarter than you are.” This led Perry back to academia for a short stint. “I did a couple of short courses at UC Davis on viticulture and how to make olive oil and then I went to Italy a couple of times to see olive oil being made, which is where I really learned.” 

16 years later, Queen Creek Olive Mill is a thriving operation in Arizona, spanning over 100 acres of olive farms with an attached mill, market, and gourmet restaurant. “We have about 17,000 trees in the back, which seems like a lot, but it’s not. It’s not at all; it doesn’t support all of my oil needs, which is why I have a farming partner in Yuma with 60,000 olive trees.” 

As the C.E.O. and sole olive oil sommelier of the Mill, Perry’s job is a delicate blend of responsibilities in both the business and culinary sides of the operation. Though he enjoys and relishes the role of boss, the moniker of head chef is the one that literally feeds his soul and keeps him coming back to work. In both areas, he is a perfectionist, and it’s evident. 

“Everything that we do in our kitchen is from scratch. We grow our own lettuce and vegetables, which supports about 40% of what we do in the kitchen. Last year, we grew over 7000 organic knobs of garlic, and had a huge garlic festival that brought in about 10,000 people. We grow our own basil. We have a small greenhouse with raised bed gardens that we cover and we grow, you know, lettuce and all kinds of tomatoes, peppers, etc. that find their way into our kitchen.”  

Nowadays, Perry says, the restaurant at the mill takes up about 80% of his time, but it’s time that he would rather spend nowhere else than the kitchen—to the delight of his family, friends, and customers. When I ask my mom what dish of Perry’s is her favorite, she tells me that it’s his spaghetti aglio e olio, meaning “spaghetti with garlic and oil.” 

When I ask Sydney about hers, she says the same thing. “Although dad can truly make anything under the Tuscan sun, this is by far a family (and fan) favorite. It's a traditional pasta dish from Naples that is simple to prepare and inexpensive to make. But although it's simple, timing is key and having the right ingredients on hand is pivotal.” When she tells me this, I’m touched by her ability to discern the small things that make her father’s food elegantly and essentially delicious, and my mouth is watering. I dig deeper, and ask her what she admires most about him. 

“He's shown me that it's possible to turn passion into a business. He's taught me that it's important to do what you love and love what you do, because life's too short for bullshit.”