In what could only be described as the most Long Beach ending ever to the inaugural Long Beach Grand Prix Fixe chef competition, long-standing veteran Chef Luis Navarro of Lola’s took home the win against Chef Maxwell Pfeiffer of Sky Room. Hosted at Partake Collective in DTLB, the night was one that—despite being a competition—was one of pure celebration.
What began as a playful idea—eight chefs, one bracket, a “fight to the top” decided not by critics but by the people—became one of the most electric celebrations of Long Beach’s culinary identity to date. The first-ever competition brought together the city’s best: established pillars like Chefs Jason Witzl of Ellie’s, Carlos Jurado of Selva, and Jason Winters of Speak Cheezy, and the new guard of kitchen talent—Chefs Waldo Stout of Due Fiori, Johnathan Benvenuti of Bar Becky, and Michael Ryan of Marlena—each bringing their own flavor, their own fire, their own ego, and their own style.
But in true Long Beach fashion, the finale came down to a story of legacy and evolution.
The dichotomy of the Long Beach Grand Prix Fixe finale was novel-like.
On one side stood Chef Luis, the de facto mayor of Long Beach, with his and his wife Brenda Rivera’s consistent public presence and Lola’s just shy of reaching its two-decade milestone of a presence. On the other, Chef Max, the French-Californian prince of Sky Room, whose love of tweezers and technique, precision and panache have already made him one of the city’s most formidable new chefs. It was, fittingly, old guard versus new blood—a reflection of our city’s evolving food scene if there was one.
The final service was more than food—it was a statement. About perseverance, even when facing aging, burnout, or just simple fatigue. About carving a space for yourself beyond the brand you work for. And about our city, the culinary talent we continue to cultivate, and entrusting them to feed us well.
“I’m not gonna lie: I was honestly just hoping to get past round one,” he said, laughing after his win. “I was in a bit of a haze post-pandemic—I think we all were but it hit me differently. At one point, I was kinda just going with the flow but in a really disengaged, retreating sort of way. And this gave me a newfound confidence and inspiration. It’s a huge moment not just for me, but my family as well.”
For Chef Luis Navarro, a much-needed lift in a game he’s played for two decades—with food he has always had in him.
I have long had confidence in Chef Luis; I say this not out of pity but sincerity. Right before the pandemic, he was churning out some of Lola’s best food. Mole-drenched duck breast. Pulpo tacos. Watermelon and shrimp salads with a guava vinaigrette. Of course, Luis and Brenda—first and foremost—run a business. And those items? They just didn’t perform, particularly when the pandemic hit. It was back to chicken burritos and combo plates.
And I would be entirely dishonest if I said I didn’t see the lack of fire. Even more, I would also be dishonest if I wasn’t bothered that I didn’t tell him to shift the patronage and, while numbers may drop, he’ll get to where he wants in the kitchen eventually. (Just look at what Steve Massis and Chef Cameron Slaugh did with The Attic: success doesn’t always mean fulfillment.)
His food mirrored precisely what I knew was always inside him but hasn’t been reflected in a long while: comforting yet refined, nostalgic yet bold. A shrimp toast sitting in a bath of Cantonese curry that likely stole the night, given that customers wanted to-go containers of it. Dumplings in a 36-hour bone broth of scallion and ginger. Hokaiddo scallops soaked in coconut vinaigrette, dotted with cilantro oil, serrano, and pickled pearl onion. A filet mignon.
Luis didn’t come with, well, Luis—or the Luis most know. And that risk—largely eschewing the comfort of Mexican cuisine simply for the challenge? It shone gorgeously.
For Chef Maxwell Pfeiffer, “life-altering pasta,” a genuinely affable sense of humility, and pride.
I choose not to taste the menus beforehand because I don’t want to showcase bias. (Believe me, I tasted an umami-packed tallow soubise from Chef Jason Witzl early in the competition and found myself pointing it out to patrons, resulting in a need to avoid pre-tasting almost everything.) However, Kathy Delgado—who helped with the greenery decorations and is just an all-around great patron—stopped me mid-service.
“You must have this,” she said, holding a spoonful of shrimp mousse-stuffed halibut with a cappeletti drenched in meunière. Another patron, eying me eying the spoonful, said, “That right there is life-altering pasta.” And, indeed, it was: easily a Top 10 pasta dish of all time for me, the melding of Italian and French was other-worldly.
And, for Chef Max, it reflected that all was not lost with his stellarly executed, painstakingly crafted and plated menu. The fact that a man and his crew churned out 30 perfectly done lamb Wellingtons, nitro-ed out meringue bites, and shrimp mousse-stuffed halibut in what was largely a single seating is nothing short of impressive.
Even more, competing without the backing of his own restaurant or staff—while others had the full support of their kitchens—he managed to slice through the bracket, knocking out both staples and rising names with calm, disciplined execution. His plating was architectural, his technique razor-sharp, his flavors deeply confident. If Navarro’s win was a testament to experience, Pfeiffer’s run was proof of a rare, emerging force—one that will undoubtedly shape the next chapter of Long Beach dining.
What the Long Beach Grand Prix Fixe was really about—and I assure you, it wasn’t the competing.
The Long Beach Grand Prix Fixe was never about pitting chefs against each other.
The competition was simply a medium: a way to showcase what this city is capable of when creativity and community collide. For too long, Long Beach has been seen as culinary-adjacent, living in the long shadow of our great sister, Los Angeles. This was a rebuttal. This was proof that we’re not an afterthought; we’re a culinary destination. A city of cooks and creators who take pride in the details and feed not just the body, but the soul of the community.
Of course, pulling off something of this scale wasn’t without its challenges. Juggling egos, schedules, ingredients, and the unpredictability of live competition is no small feat. We had Partake itself giving up its kitchen to us in a way that wouldn’t have worked at a restaurant. We had Elite Foodservice Solutions bringing in gorgeous china and stemware. There was a gaggle of incredible FOH players, including Debra Zelenga, former management for Marlena and Michael’s on Naples. We had Alan Sharpe of Mr. Sharpe create the badass trophy. We had Wicked Wolf on hand to pour welcoming drinks…
Floral arrangements (and much, much more) by Samuel Cornejo. Photos by Brian Addison.
But at the center of it all was My Dude, Samuel Cornejo. The competition was not only his idea, but he didn’t have a day off during the entirety of the competition, as his days off were nights of the dinners and days for planning. Two months. Striaght. His tireless work, logistical precision, and endless patience made the whole thing possible. My Dude deserves every ounce of credit.
The Long Beach Grand Prix Fixe finale wasn’t just the end of a competition—it was the start of something bigger: a reminder that this city, with all its grit and grace, knows exactly how to celebrate itself.
