Life, on the Line (41 page)

I had watched firsthand how powerful her voice was when she crowned The French Laundry “the most exciting place to eat in America” in a feature for the
Times.
Since I personally helped create that specific meal, it gave me confidence that she would see both the connection to the food that excited her back then, the evolution of that base, and the originality of what we were doing at Alinea. Having been open now for seven months, I felt we were ready for her.

I asked Nick if he thought it would be okay to e-mail her personally and invite her to come to the restaurant. This confused him. “Why would it be bad? What's wrong with that? In fact, if you write the e-mail well I bet she'll find it refreshing to be getting a personal note from the chef rather then being pitched by a publicist.” I tried to explain to him that most chefs go through PR channels to sway journalists into their restaurants, and that e-mailing her myself may seem too forward, cocky, or even arrogant. Or it might even challenge some sort of ethics thing. He assured me it would be fine. I e-mailed Michael Ruhlman, figuring he would have her current contact info, and to test the waters with him to see if he thought I was off my rocker for asking her in.

Michael responded with her work e-mail at Condé Nast and a bit of caution. He didn't try to talk me out of contacting her, but simply asked if I felt we were really ready to have her in. He gently recalled the Bruni thing and politely reminded me that Alinea had only been open for seven months, not seven years. After service that night I sat down and wrote:

After completing the e-mail draft I saved it and returned to working on the spring menu. I didn't feel completely right about sending it off yet, so I decided to sleep on it. If I felt good about it the next morning, I told myself I would let it fly. And so I did.

I was peeling sweet potatoes for a new tempura course that I had been working on when Joe came walking toward me with a grin on his face. Joe is not one to smile much, especially in the morning, but he was clearly smitten with something and was looking forward to telling me.

“Good morning, Chef. I know you don't enjoy having large parties in the restaurant, but we got a request today for one that I thought might interest you. A woman from
Gourmet
called and wanted a table for fourteen. She claimed Ruth was going to be in the party, apparently a bunch of them are in town for some type of event.”

Jesus.

We hated large groups, so much so that we made it our policy to try to avoid booking them except on the rare occasion that we were slow due to the post-New Year's Eve season. Fourteen was our absolute maximum size. It fit comfortably into our downstairs dining room, but it was stressful on the kitchen and service. The nature of the Alinea experience does not lend itself to big parties.

But we couldn't say no. “Do you think she'll really be in the party, or is this a marketing event that is trying to leverage her name to get a party booked?” He shook his head. The call came in from New York, caller ID said it was Condé Nast, and the girl made it a point to say Ms. Reichl would be dining.

“We have to do it then.”

“Okay. I'll block the downstairs room. Do you want me to handle it as per normal? Take a thirty percent deposit at booking, etc.?”

“Yes,” I replied. “Standard procedures.”

“Any price breaks, or quote them the normal room charge, etc.?” Joe asked, just to be sure.

“Same as always,” I replied.

I was excited but freaking out at the same time. Apparently my e-mail had put a bug in her ear about Alinea, or maybe it was just a coincidence. But either way she was coming—as a 14-top! Jesus.

I immediately walked over to Alex Stupak, our pastry chef, and told him the party was booked.

“Fourteen? Fourteen? How can we do a perfect dinner of our food for a fourteen-top?” he exclaimed.

“I'm not sure, but we have a few weeks to figure it out.”

We engineered a menu that was the best representation of what the kitchen had to offer and what we thought we could produce for a 14-top on a busy night. We had to consider everything. Not only the output of the kitchen and service, but things like whether we had enough serviceware to accommodate a 14-top along with a normal service. Sure, we had around thirty of every piece, but we had to assume that many of those would be in use at the exact moment we needed them to fulfill the
Gourmet
party. If we had thirty specially designed pieces from Crucial Detail in inventory but twenty were sitting on tables when we needed to pick up the fourteen VIPs, we would be in trouble.

We knew this would be a very different type of dinner than it would be if Ruth were to come in with a smaller group. Would they be talking business? Would many of the diners have special requests? Would all of them even be into food? Typically when a food writer comes in, the reaction of the chef is to shove as much food down their throat as humanly possible. In this case I intentionally held back. I knew this was a different animal, and I suspected at some point, despite how much she clearly loves food, she must get sick of being force-fed. I knew if we did it right she would return, and I knew the limitations of Alinea. It was my goal to make every course we sent perfect. Quality over quantity.

The dinner went incredibly well. Ruth did in fact show up, and we served the 14-top a seventeen-course meal that we paced impressively. The ticket came in the kitchen at 8:13 and the last course walked at 10:54. The anticipation for her arrival had been building for days prior, and the team was incredibly fired up. In the staff meetings leading up to the dinner I had explained to the team the backstory of the article she wrote for the
Times
about The French Laundry, and how much I respected her. They knew we needed to not only perform perfectly, but also to do it under less then ideal circumstances.

After the last course left the kitchen, I walked over to Alex in the pastry station and shook his hand.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“Given the circumstances, I don't think it could have gone better.” He raised an eyebrow, smirked, and shook his head. A few minutes later Ruth Reichl was standing in the kitchen. She didn't say much, and I was of course a bit timid about engaging her. Standing at the end of the kitchen she watched the cooks still in full swing of a busy service with a seemingly permanent smile on her face. I didn't know what to think. Surely she has seen dozens of kitchens, many of them the best in the world, but somehow she had a curious and pleased calmness on her face. It was like she didn't know what was happening, but somehow loved it.

We chatted briefly and I thanked her for coming. After she turned and left the building Joe came up to me and asked what she had said. “Not much, Joe—and I think that's a good thing.”

At that point I hurried up and waited. And waited.

Several weeks went by, and I started second-guessing my gut feeling on how much she enjoyed the meal until I got word that her assistant had called to book a second reservation. The requested date was a month away, but Alinea was going through some growing pains. Alex had given notice, and along with him his second in command of pastry, Jordan Kahn. This was a bit of a blow for me, because Alex had been a huge creative force at Alinea since day one. Ruth's pending reservation was for August 25; Alex was leaving at the end of July.

I met with the team of sous chefs and we jointly made the decision to not hire another pastry chef. Alex's desserts were a perfect fit for the style of cooking we were doing, and I couldn't think of another person who would make a seamless transition. John Shields, one of the sous chefs, offered to move off the hot line and oversee the pastry station.

Ruth made a reservation for a follow-up visit. That told me something good was going on. The second visit was for two people, and they requested the Tour menu. I remembered back in 2001 that
Gourmet
had put out a restaurant issue that contained their ranking of the fifty best restaurants in the country, but I didn't know they only did the list every five years.

Ruth arrived with
Gourmet
's senior editor, John Willoughby. Joe escorted the two into the kitchen for a quick hello. The team slowed their rapid pace, and sous chef Curtis Duffy flicked off the exhaust hood, rendering the kitchen absolutely silent. After a nervous greeting, I thanked them for coming, and they were then led upstairs to their table. At that moment, it was as though someone had turned an old-school movie projector back on—the kitchen exploded with action and sound. I instructed all the cooks, the running staff, and the expediter that I wanted to see every plate for her table on the way out and on the way back. The phrase “coming and going” was born. If the chef is looking at all of your plates on the way out and after they're cleared, you've achieved the ultimate VIP status. I knew I would likely plate most of her food myself, but this was a simple way to make sure that nothing got past me if I happened to be working other tables. I sent a message up to the dining room to bring the captain down to the kitchen. Peter Koludov, the bald Bulgarian who had waited on me when I was trying out for my job at Trio, and who had subsequently come to Alinea when we opened, was running the team in her room.

“Peter, this has to be perfect, I mean perfect. We have been doing this together now for four years, you know what has to happen. I want to see everything that comes off that table. Everything. Glasses, silverware, napkins. And I want to know which of them it came from. And tell everyone to tell me immediately if she makes any comments to you. Anything, even the color of the walls.”

“Yes, Chef.”

Moments later the ticket came in the kitchen. I grabbed it from the front waiter's hand.

Order in: two Super Soigne Tours.

Typically the expediter would call the orders out. Without breaking rhythm the team shouted back to me.

“Two Super Soigne Tours, Chef!”

Goose bumps ran up my arm.

They smiled after taking bites, laughed at Peter's jokes, and engaged the team throughout their twenty-seven courses over four hours. Every plate came back clean, and all reports were that they were having a great time.

After the meal they came downstairs and into the kitchen to say good-bye. I asked them the same question I ask every guest that I meet after their meal.

“So, how did we do?”

Ruth stood there looking at me with a giant smile on her face and did not say a word.

 

“Chef, you have Ruth Reichl on line two,” one of the reservationists whispered to me as I peeled asparagus.

I walked to the host area and saw the light for line two blinking; I grabbed the handle and pushed the button.

After exchanging greetings she spoke up. I was wildly and unexpectedly nervous.

“Grant, I don't know if you know this, but every five years
Gourmet
does a restaurant issue where we rank the fifty best restaurants in the country.” I told her I recalled seeing it back in 2001, and remembered that Chez Panisse came in at number one and the Laundry at three.

“Well, the issue will come out this October, and I wanted to call you personally and tell you that we have chosen Alinea to be on the list.” She paused for dramatic effect. “At number one.”

I was speechless. Dumbfounded. Ecstatic. Every good emotion one can imagine, all at once. After trying to gather my thoughts, I thanked her profusely. I don't even remember hanging up. I'm not sure if I said good-bye.

I immediately called Nick.

“Dude. So remember how Ruth came in?”

“Of course.”

“I just got off the phone with her. Turns out they are putting out a list of the country's fifty best restaurants in the October issue.” I took a play out of her book and paused. “Alinea is number-fucking-one dude. Number one.”

I immediately went downstairs and penned a thank-you e-mail to Ruth and sent if off the next day.