Category: The Chef

Pata Negra Saga Chapter 6

The arrival of August brought about an unseasonable amount of fair weather with low humidity, making way for a more lucrative month than I had anticipated. I planned for a week off at the beach, doing nothing of course, but all was contingent on making the numbers in three weeks instead of the full four.

At Ostia, I had other pressures. My manager Gabriel has been doing an excellent job across the way, maintaining the flame that I lit at my first restaurant venture in the West Village. But a crazy summer of bartending and managing brought about a natural response – burn out. He announced his resignation, and I can’t say I didn’t see it coming. Who would I hire next? When would I train that person? Is anyone with a pulse available who’s crazy enough to take that position?

Yes, people work in the biz for money, but unless you’re into long hours, no life, crazy bosses, and the endearing public, you should probably send your resume to Citicorp instead. My new business still needs me and I can’t just go over to Ostia to straighten things out. Unless I hire a manager for Pata Negra…

I asked around, and had one person in mind. She was highly qualified and told me she was looking for something cozy having worked at Gotham Grill, but I couldn’t get the timing right and figured I couldn’t offer a competitive enough salary commensurate with her talent (I hear she’s at Gramercy Tavern now and wish her the best).

On top of that there were staff issues, as two of my best left of personal differences. Boy the crew was turning skeleton in a heartbeat. True to his word, Gabriel said he would stay as long as it takes to get the place in top speed before he ultimately leaves, and I just gotta sit back and have faith.

To his credit, he has installed salsa night on Sunday evenings, and the turnout and band was fantastic. Drop in if you like live music.

I did indeed close for ten days and spent some QT at Long Beach, just eating lobsters and scallops and playing poker and doing nothing just the way I like to.

I’ve got some plans for the fall menu, but will unveil that in October.

CHAPTER 6

I had barely taken the fresh Cuban cigar out of mouth, before January’s cold, brutal weather hit us. Business was very slow. Then across the street another tapas bar opened with a modern sleek Gaudi type of look called Tasca. They had ammunition and a press junket. I had word of mouth and friends. They had urbandaddy.com. I had a makeshift staff and chef I had to let go in the kitchen. They had an army of dainty servers in sleek black attire with a basement big enough for ten kitchens. I had Lolo squeezing another fridge upstairs because we have no basement.

One night the chef comes over for a drive-by, orders everything on the menu and pretends to chat me up. I smelled it a mile away. He was gregarious, pompous, and arrogant. He gave me underhanded compliments and bragged about how busy Tasca was night in and night out. Some nights I would step out of Ostia to look across the street and they would indeed be filled, people spilling onto of the streets.

It was a daily struggle. We looked for another chef and endured the snow. I tried to hire staff interested in enduring the tough start, but I lost many. Lolo became nervous and more demanding. I wasn’t even earning a salary, despite the 100 plus hours. And while Diego suggested Lolo take up knitting, Lolo fired Diego, a signal of the beginning of the end. We had no exec chef, no chef, and Lolo in the kitchen undoing everything Diego accomplished.

Then Lolo pressured me into withdrawing my partnership with a very smart play. Sensing defeat and a restaurant on the ropes, he told me he was withdrawing and that I had to buy out his shares. I told him that I couldn’t financially afford to do so, and he said them I had to give up control. I didn’t know what to do, and I knew that I didn’t want to leave the baby I had just created. I believed it was going to work. But I had no choice.

I asked for my investment money back, a salary to work and ten percent of the business after six months time. My partners Farias and Patricia mediated the meeting and agreed. They paid me a lump sum for work that had been done. I was given a $400. per week salary plus ten percent of the tips as a maitre d’hotel (my wine service to the tables and overall good cheer basically). Lolo said I had to prove myself to be paid more money. I also had to take care of all the p.r. and ordering of booze, wine, and food, as well as coordinate with the kitchen chefs and staff, as well as be on the floor for all service. When business got better, I would be compensated more. I knew that things would work, and that I would need three months to do it, despite Tasca.

I figured that Lolo would not be around enough to matter, and that I would still be running the show. For the most part that was true. He would breeze in unannounced, ordering me around, and I would yes him to death, wait until he left, and do exactly what I wanted. Lolo installed a couple of spies, but it was so obvious, I didn’t worry. I hired my own staff. Lolo poached two cooks from Degustacion. I understand that the owner, Jack Lamb, caught Lolo in his restaurant one time too many and confronted him about it. Jack called him a thief and threw him out and Lolo denied it all. Meanwhile, those cooks of Jack’s are pretty darn good.

In January we had to cough up the rent as we did not break even, and I was hell bent on making sure we could survive February without having to cough up another cent. They say that a restaurant doesn’t break even for six months to two years. I wasn’t gonna wait that long. I was determined to make Ostia work, and prove to Lolo that I could run a successful restaurant in the West Village just like Sinatra sang, “I did it my way.”

PATA NEGRA SAGA CHAPTER 5

A funny thing happened during May and June. Spring got skipped and summer arrived fast, way too fast. Where was the transition between spring and summer? It seemed like lots of rain outs and unseasonably warm and humid weather. The same customers who were looking for solace in my cozy living room during the winter were now looking for the direct opposite – the great outdoors of New York’s sidewalk cafes, albeit filled with schmutz and noise pollution. Ostia, over in the west village, sports 24 outdoor seats. Packed. Tree, just one block east from me, has an entire backyard. Packed. Everyone is looking for some outdoor space to sit, drink and relax under a cool breeze.

Just down the street from me, Resto Leon opened its many windowed doors and looks very inviting. Not to mention they make mojitos and martinis too. Tough competition. Very inviting. Perhaps I would knock out my window too? Too time-consuming and costly. To top it all off, Terroir, the wine bar attached to Hearth one block east, earned a premier write up in the Times. A bit puzzling (they’re a wine bar not a restaurant) I’m sure you’ll agree, but it happened. They received one star from Mr. Bruni, responsible for the premier restaurant review column in the country. Terroir is home to a top notch chef and a sommelier, and that my friends is news.

Meanwhile, I worked, trying to build my business one client at a time. Some days I was very encouraged, and others not so much. With so many choices around, the warm weather, etc. Pata Negra slowed way down, almost to a halt. Then supply problems hit me. There was a trucker’s strike in Spain delaying the delivery of hams and other Spanish goods. Supply outlasted demand as there were no shoulder cuts of Pata Negra available left on the east coast. I scrambled to get one leg out of California, and that was just lucky. No importers had any ham left, and on top of it all a strike! My last shipment from Spain (about 4 kg) was confiscated by customs. Somewhere someone with a bad uniform is having a $350. ham sandwich. Somehow a ham that has been enjoyed for a thousand years is dangerous to American palate and sensibility. Historically the irony is just too much. What exactly is sprayed on our produce? How are our cows and pigs raised and slaughtered? These pigs roam the forest, eat acorns and that’s it. Nothing could be better for save for spring water.

With a shortage in Pata Negra, I had to shake up the menu. What started the change was a charity event I participated in for City Harvest where I had to provide one dish for 400 guests. The obvious choice was to do something with ham, but Bodegas Fermin was also invited and brought their own. So I switched to bacalao, salt cod. Not just any salt cod. The best from Cantabria, harvested by Giraldo. The stuff can be eaten raw. So a little olive oil, lemon juice, guindilla peppers – voila – cod sashimi. Aided by Chef Diego Gonzalez, we went through several pounds of cod. Judging from the line and number of seconds, it was a hit. The event was fun and I was glad to help a charity in some way.

And so the menu expansion continues. First cod, then spicy padron peppers from La Tienda in Virginia, chorizo with alubia beans, empanadas and cocas (flat bread) pizza of the day, and a salad (ok I scratched the salad – it is a ham and cheese bar after all). Gotta stay true to my own self. The tapas portion really started to shape up. Maybe shrimp and tortilla soon. But now it is July and dead summer, as everyone has hit the beach or the comfort of their AC. That’s precisely where I would be, if only I could.

The pizza guy next door to me takes the month of August off completely. My buddies over at Mac-n-cheese are heading to India soon as well. Has the block just given up?

There are still parties to be had, birthdays to celebrate, graduations, going away parties, etc. Actually I’ll probably close for the last week of August too. A little beach time is in order. In mid-August the arrival of the butt cut of pata negra is due and I will be promoting special parties to coronate the precious legs. In the meanwhile, come on down to check out the new menu, many white wines, the best sangria, and keep me from getting high on my own supply.

Chapter 5

In retrospect, it all happened as quickly as our transition from spring to summer. A little over two weeks to open a restaurant didn’t seem doable, but I really wanted to try. In my mind the most important thing was the food and wine followed by the staffing. The décor was just a nuisance I would deal with during spare time.

We hired Diego Gonzalez of Zipi Zape and Allioli in Brooklyn to consult on the menu and train the staff. Diego is an affable Galician, passionate about cooking who once earned a “27” from Zagat Survey for his work at the now defunct Alioli. I put an ad out for all staff immediately receiving a poor crop for the kitchen. One dishwasher quit the same morning. Another locked himself upstairs and fell asleep. I had to break the door down and almost called an ambulance. I fired him and he returned with two thugs demanding his pay. I kindly explained to them that I was willing to beat all their brains out for free if they didn’t leave at once. Staff just wouldn’t last. I hired three bartenders, two guys and a girl. The first chef we procured was a nice guy, but couldn’t hack it. Every dish was missing some key ingredient and we had to keep reminding him that clams and beans needs the clam part too. One week into training I was told by Lolo we had to let him go. That was the first time I ever had to fire somebody. Not a cool job. But something I guess owners are confronted with a lot.

I hired Sylvia, a designer friend of Lolo’s, to do the décor and employed my friend Lisa for all the artwork, logo, menus, etc. My to do lists had to do lists, as each business day meant one less thing I could get on time, as Christmas was approaching. I spent countless hours on the Bowery selecting glassware, silverware, plates, etc. I haggled prices, made deals, and tried to bargain my way for everything. I ordered pressed tin from Canada, a 22 ft. banquet couch and new refrigerators.

Meanwhile the pressure was building. Open. Open. Diego and Lolo were at one another’s throats. Diego wanted control of the kitchen, and Lolo wanted to add his two cents. The fights were classic. “You make for me one croquette and I will know what kind of a chef you are,” Diego aimed at Lolo. “You can’t even work for McDonald’s,” Diego fired. “You think you are Alain Ducasse,” Lolo would answer back. I had to separate them physically as they thrashed about in the storeroom. We had no completed menu and I had a staff to train.

Meanwhile there were other signs of trouble. Lolo was on top of me 24 hours a day, telling me that this was the restaurant business. I was buzzed. But I also realized that thing could be accomplished more efficiently with smarts and a plan. All I need was some experience to see where the short-cuts could be taken. Lolo wanted an old school menu and décor. I wanted to modernize. I wanted a cocktail menu. He wanted salt and pepper on the table. I thought our food was seasoned perfectly and was unnecessary. The wall. The long wall opposite the bar was cause for great debate. It was designed to be tin almost to the ceiling, with room for a shelf and then paint. But on the day of application (Christmas day) I went all the way up with it. The next day he was pissed. He felt insulted. He thought I disobeyed him on purpose. I was very confused. He disagreed about every decision I made. I had no choice,. There were hundreds of decisions to make on the spot and I had no time for consultation. I had a clear vision of a sleek new Spanish restaurant with style and flair and he wanted an updated version of La Nacional. Then I figured it out. He was upset that I was getting the job done without his help and that I took Diego’s side of the argument.

Diego and I spent countless hours bonding over food and cooking and life during this process. I was the buffer between the two and I Diego and I just clicked, spending hours over a bottle of wine discussing the menu, technique and our dreams and passions. Lolo was jealous and hurt. But the show must go on.

I had my friends come in to taste the food and give critiques. I ordered all the wine and liquor. I trained the staff. I painted, I fixed, I lost any semblance of a holiday. I worked thru New Year’s Eve and Christmas day up until 10 pm. The kitchen was a mess but somehow we got it to work, mostly from my collaboration with Diego and keeping Lolo at bay with other busy work.

We opened the day before New Year’s to family and friends and prepared for a New Year’s Eve party when for one evening I felt on top of the world, having accomplished that which I thought was not doable, enjoying the moment with a cigar and champagne, ringing in the New Year 2007 with wide-eyed hope and visions of success and achievement.

The first week of April was kind of slow. I think everyone was just happy the weather let up and spent their time outdoors. But then The New York Times published a piece on new wine bars, and Pata Negra was mentioned among Terroir, Gottino, Xai Xai and others. All of the sudden people who never spend their time in the East Village were coming out of the woodworks. Boy was I busy!

It was great and tiring and whirly at all the same time. I ran out of food and wine and had to make several trips to replenish wares personally. Customers were eager with questions, and it was a pleasure to have such a diverse crowd at my place. My only complaint was that many people were pulling the fat off my ham, and I had to chastise a few. This particular fat is laced with great omega-3’s, and actually lowers your bad cholesterol and raises your good cholesterol. Some gave it the old college try, while others wanted me to pull out The New England Journal of Medicine report.

One Saturday I averted a near disaster. I ran out of soap for the washing machine. My kitchen guy (Andres) got arrested the night before, and there was no bread delivery. I had to go into the kitchen, plead for emergency bread, and borrow soap from Hearth (Chef Jordan was most kind). Finally around eight pm, Andres strolls in and order is restored. He got picked up for sleeping on the train with no I.D., or at least that’s his side of the story.

Pata Negra (the butt cut) has been selling out frequently, and I have been changing the wine list according to the weather. I feel bad sometimes that my regulars can’t get in, but that’s the nature of the business.

AC has been installed, but it is just not quite that hot yet. April has been the best month to date, and I’m ready for a transition to warmer climate and attitude.

Chapter 4

Things at La Nacional are going good as I start to develop some good client relationships. But I am still eager for my own venture, partner or no partner. There is a lot of back and forth with the seller and a lot of back and forth with attorneys. Things don’t seem right as every day gets more tense. But Lolo and I do the most important thing – we put money into a joint business account. Things sure seemed real. But then there was a long delay from the landlord. No one was offering any info. Then finally I found out that the building was being sold. The rent was being raised and on top of it all, I found the reason for all the desperation. The seller was being evicted. He told me he had solid counter offers, and I old him fine. He called back a couple of hours later to tell me that I would never, ever have that store, no matter what. A threat, but an empty one.

This information was kept from me, and I used it to drive the price way down. I still remember his threats, “You don’t know who you are f!#$@$#% with! I am Turkish. You don’t know the Turks!” Apparently this particular Turk just couldn’t pay his bills and get away with his lies. The deal was officially off, and I was sad because I felt the harder hurdles were already cleared.

Then in December, the suave, no nonsense Brazilian guy from across the street came to us and said that the problem with the lease on seventh avenue had been resolved, and if we were still interested, a 50/50 partnership was still on the table. We asked for a copy of the amendment, shook hands, and excitedly rushed o the new space 113 seventh avenue south – heart of the West Village – landmark and ready. The dream would continue here, and I was ready to work my butt off to get it to work.

Our partner wanted to do Brazilian food, but we convinced him to do Spanish tapas, not because the tapas trend was hot, but because it was our forte. As our attorneys worked on the details of the deal, we went over to the new space, just a stone’s throw from La Nacional.

The space was an existing ground floor restaurant with no basement, on the east side of the street next to the Duplex with potential outdoor seating. The kitchen was used and built, the old fashioned wooden bar existing, and a small second floor storeroom for food and supplies. Two bathrooms, wood floors, a low ceiling and windowed doors rounded out the rest of the general features. The place looked very nondescript. Yes it was functional, but boy did it need a makeover.

That was a priority along with staff, menu, wine list, concept, and a name. Many names were thrown around. I suggested Ostia, a name which I had heard every Spaniard use at one point or another in common parlance. Lolo resisted (it’s the equivalent of calling a restaurant the word f@#$%!), but I thought the play on words would be well-received. Ostia means the host in Mass ceremony. It can be used as a curse word, and also as a word meaning heavenly. It would surely stop Spaniards dead in their tracks, and some Italians too (Ostia-Antica is a seaside town outside of Rome). Lolo checked with his Spanish friends, and it was overwhelmingly approved. Now for the hard work, opening a restaurant in two weeks for New Year’s eve.