Chef Mateo

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.

Week Six and business is doing well. A shout out to a flow of regulars like Holly, Larry, and Melanie, just to name a few. I have been paid a few visits by chefs, business owners and wine people (industry) which is encouraging because they can eat anywhere and decided to give Pata Negra a try. Terroir has opened one block away and already they are packed. The residual has trickled in, and some ladies have complained to me that they smell of fried food, a problem I’m sure Marco and Paul will be fixing forthwith.

A note on the people at Hearth. I have yet to meet Marco, but I did meet Paul at Insieme a few weeks back. He was very professional, confident and courteous. While having a drink at Hearth, I met a Haitian guy named Jeff who was having cheese and wine at the bar. It turns out he works there, and we had a long chat. Later on in the evening he came by Pata Negra and we listened to old Haitian songs sipping more Spanish wine. Matt has been by a couple of times as well, and it just seems to me that the crew over there has got it together. Whenever I have a night off, I will try the food.

Siesta is coming along, although I feel some people really need some time off, so much so that when the bill comes and they’ve had five drinks each, they scratch their heads as to the accuracy. My sangria is quite strong. I would lose count after five.

Making it out of February was a challenge financially, but I juggled it right, even with sales tax due and insurance premiums. There are some other issues with the management company that are not resolved, but that I’ll tell later.

Pata Negra product has been selling well, and I have been running out frequently. I apologize if you arrive and I limit your purchase. My reserve wine list recently took a hit, with some of the stars shining out of the bottle – Torre Muga 1998, Gran Albina 2001, La Rioja Alta 904 1995, Vina Alberdi 2000 etc. I will try to restock soon.

My work crew is settled, with Andres the wunderkind from Guerrero painting perfect plates of ham and cheese, and Juliana, a no-nonsense Brazilian who is learning her grapes quite rapidly. Add the Spanish dove Paloma on Saturday night and I’m set.

As I look ahead towards April, I will be reconfiguring the room for larger groups and install fans of course. Spring is here! Sticking to my menu, changed some wines. Had a couple of reviewers come down for a chat. Held a private party for the ever gracious Sarita of S’Mac, the popular Mac-n-cheese shop next door to me. Contact me if you’d like to do the same.

Chapter 3

Late September, Community Board meeting, I attend with Lolo. There’s a packet of stuff to fill out, with pictures, diagrams, blueprints menus affidavits. It’s all mind boggling. The Community Board is an ominous meeting of residents and a panel who have a clear agenda. At CSD2 their agenda became very obvious, no more bars. At one time there was no business in the East Village, and so the flood gates were open. But time has changed. Relying on laws such as the 500 foot rule, or proximity to a church or school, it is actually very easy to find grounds for denial. I was number 50 out of a docket of 51 slated for the evening. The tone was set early with rejection after rejection. Any mention of the word “bar” and there was resistance from the rafters. If anything was remiss from the application, well that meant try again next month. And just like that you are behind schedule one month. These applicants had signed leases and plans, money tied down. That didn’t matter to the board. I heard tapas get shot down and winebar too. I figured my plan for dead. There were two ladies in the crowd who were vehemently vociferous against just about every application. How would I get by those two ladies? For some reason after the 47, they just got up and left. And as I studied the panel, I felt there were one or two people I could relate too. I got up there shaking, answered some tough questions, conceded a lot (the store is across the street from a school), and used my educational background to full advantage. I would open at five, after all school activities were complete, and my business would be predicated on teaching of Spanish culture and gastronomy. Somehow I passed, much to my shock, and I sat there feeling as if the dream could actually come true. Now all I needed was an actual lease.

End of September 2006

Things are up and down with business, as the East Village is hard to figure out. I open at five, and some days nobody comes in until nine pm! Or I’ll get slammed at 11 pm until close (which I thought would be 2 am – silly me). I understand no one knows I’m open yet, so I plan to have a party for the neighborhood – a happy hours welcome of sorts. I was gonna do it for the block, but every customer from Avenue C to fifth street wants to be included. Maybe I’ll do one party per avenue.

At any rate, next week I will have a siesta hour, a time in Spain traditionally held for resting, but since New Yorkers work so damn much, a respite between 5 to 7:30 pm for someone to come in, unwind, have a glass and a tapita, and maybe go back to work (or not). House red, white or sangria for five bucks and tapas every half hour. Get a seat early and throw your napkins on the floor.

Chapter 2

Early August 2006

Negotiations with the owner become very tense. It is clear that he needs to get out bad. Judging from the look of his business, there is none. He just had a poorly conceived business plan. We ask for a copy of the lease. He was paying $2,200 a month! Come on. If I can’t pay that rent I shouldn’t be in business at all. Now the landlord is willing to accept the deal but raises the rent to $2,600. The seller claimed almost eight years left on the lease and in reality it was six and a half. So after our attorneys give the okay, we start negotiations. In the meanwhile we start corporation papers and settle on a compromise – LOMAS – Lo for Lolo and Ma for Mateo. Maybe not the most clever, but practical and available.

In the meanwhile, my partner Lolo goes away to Spain with his kids for three weeks and leaves me in charge of La Nacional, as authentic as a Spanish restaurant as there is in New York. It’s August and extremely slow, but boy did I learn a lot in that short period of time. I think some of the staff respected me there and some were resentful, but all in all a bond was formed each day I was on the floor. I always stood up for them, chasing customers down who wouldn’t tip and arguing on their behalf when Lolo wanted to have a meeting at 2 am on a Saturday night. I wore a suit, greeted everyone and tried to educate whoever asked about Spanish wine, food, and culture. It took a while for the society members to get used to me. After all, I failed at the number one question a Spaniard will ask any so called Spanish expert. “Y tu de adonde eres?” Meaning and where from Spain are you from. After I reveal my muddle pedigree they gasp, and deem me not worthy to promote the best Spain has to offer. However, I slowly realized the politics of the social club. There was a group on Lolo’s side, and a group against him. The anti-Lolo group was happy to tell me all their troubles and what they wanted, and I just lent them my ear. It was a tenuous balance. Yes I work for Lolo, but I understand you too. Lolo used to call them the Taliban, because they were always trying to throw them out.

My foodie friends came down to visit and life was great. Closing at 1 am and hitting the spots at the Meat Packing. My favorite spot was at Spice Market where I could watch the chefs cook at the bar and chat them up about everything. I got up late, went to wine tastings as a professional, and met so many cool people. This was such a far cry from teaching I was kicking myself for not having switched careers much sooner. But it’s all part of the journey.

Lolo and I start to form a very solid friendship, and form a master – apprentice relationship. My modern ideas coupled with his experience seemed a natural fit. We spent a lot of time together eating and drinking and exchanging ideas about the restaurant and our upcoming project. It was such an exciting time, being surrounded by food and wine and people in the industry. We worked on the menu, always tasting and trying new things. I tried to update the space and terrible acoustics; he reined me in whenever I was going to far. He was tremendously generous towards me and in return it made me want to work harder for him. I wanted his business to de well.

Back at twelfth street, we haggle. We offer $35,000. We don’t need the contents we say, and the lease is not as long as you said, and the landlord is asking for a higher rent. Not to mention we hear the community board is tough, there is no existing liquor license, and the store is across the street from a school. “Fifty thousand,” he says. He appears more nervous than ever.

We send and architect over to do drawings. Meanwhile, thinking ahead, I want to know whether or not we can get a liquor licence before we buy. So we hire an expeditor who knows the rules. With a lot of scrambling, we get on the docket for September’s community board meeting. We tell the seller to chill until we find out.

End of August 2006.