A Long Island chef who now works at a well-regarded Greenport restaurant spent seven months as Jeffrey Epstein's personal cook — and made multiple trips to Little St. James, the private island locals dubbed "Pedophile Island," according to newly released Department of Justice files.
Francis Derby, currently working at Halyard Restaurant in Greenport, appears in the Epstein files more than 1,300 times. The DOJ released hundreds of emails that detail Derby's role in procuring food, planning meals, and — in particular — managing Epstein's apparently insatiable appetite for "jerky."
According to the New York Post, Derby told The Post he had no idea who he was working for.
"In May 2012, I was hired as a cook for Jeffrey Epstein. At the time I accepted the position, I had no knowledge of who Mr. Epstein was and was unaware of any allegations of misconduct."
Epstein had been a convicted felon and registered sex offender since 2008 — four years before Derby says he unknowingly signed on.
The bulk of Derby's appearances in the files revolve around food preparation, particularly a fixation on "jerky" that borders on the bizarre. In one October 2012 email, Derby wrote to a redacted recipient about Epstein's dietary habits:
"[Epstein] said he was gonna start eating regular food again so he might be eating less jerky."
Derby followed up in the same exchange:
"That said he has 6 bags of it in the downstairs freezer for his next trip. I believe it should be enough to get him through."
Epstein himself weighed in with characteristic terseness:
"I only eat one thing."
Another email referenced more than 70 pounds of jerky consumed in a span of a couple of weeks. Derby, for his part, apparently offered to teach a class on making jerky if Epstein agreed to give him an extra paycheck. The source publication consistently placed the word "jerky" in quotation marks without explaining why.
Make of that what you will.
Derby has maintained that his duties were strictly culinary and that his movements on the island were restricted. He told The Post:
"My responsibilities were in the kitchen. My only time outside the kitchen was serving meals in the dining room and staff quarters, and I was directed to avoid common areas. I left the position of my own accord in November 2012."
The files themselves contain no indication that Derby was aware of any wrongdoing. He left after roughly seven months — well before Epstein was found dead in his Manhattan jail cell in 2019 — and went on to become a top cook at The Cannibal, a now-closed New York City restaurant, before landing at Halyard.
There's no reason, based on what the DOJ has released, to assume Derby was anything more than hired help. Epstein employed armies of staff precisely because their presence maintained the veneer of a legitimate operation. Cooks, pilots, and groundskeepers — the entire infrastructure existed to normalize what was happening behind closed doors.
Every new batch of Epstein documents lands the same way: drip by drip, name by name, detail by unsettling detail. The DOJ releases files. The public parses them. Journalists flag the names. And still, the fundamental questions remain largely unanswered.
Who enabled Epstein for decades? How did a convicted sex offender continue to operate a private island with a rotating cast of visitors, staff, and associates for years after his 2008 conviction? The chef isn't the story. The system that let a registered sex offender run what amounted to a private compound — staffed, catered, and fully operational — is the story.
Derby's 1,300 mentions in the files are a reminder of just how sprawling Epstein's operation was. This wasn't a man living quietly under the weight of his conviction. He was ordering 70 pounds of jerky, dispatching emails about meal plans, and referring to his island as "Little St. Jeff's." He operated in the open because the people and institutions responsible for monitoring him let him.
A chef showed up, cooked meals, and left. The real question — the one these document dumps keep circling without answering — is who showed up, stayed, and never had to explain why.