Aftertaste - Meredith Mileti [144]
Tony waves away the menu the waiter offers him. “I want a steak, bloody, an order of fried leeks, and the blue cheese mashed potatoes,” Tony tells him. “A glass of Cab with dinner and a double Grey Goose martini as fast as Bob over there can make it.”
“Tough day?” I ask him.
“Aren’t they all?” says Tony.
Over his martini, Tony fills me in. He’s been working under Philippe, who, in Tony’s opinion, is a competent cook, but will never be a chef. “Wouldn’t recognize a creative spin if it bit him on the ass. You know the kind,” Tony says, taking a hefty gulp of his drink.
I do. Jake and I had worked for plenty of them in our time. But, given the mediocre review in the Times, and what I’m sure is Tony’s accurate assessment of Philippe’s stewardship in the kitchen, how is it that profits are up ten percent? Something doesn’t quite add up.
“So,” I ask. “What gives?”
Tony shakes his head. “Seriously, Mira, these guys may be fucking geniuses. First, they’ve replaced some—make that all—of the expensive suppliers. I assume you’ve heard about Renata, right?”
I nod.
“Eddie, too. But that’s only part of it. They’ve cut staff and pay, considerably beefed up the wine list, and added a froufrou martini bar. The markup on the wine is huge, and the martinis are exotic, interesting, and expensive. Suffice it to say, we are attracting a slightly different type of clientele. But we’re still crowded every night and booked a couple weeks out on the weekend. We are making more money than we did this time last year, so it’s not all bad, you know?”
Not all bad? Even though Marcus and Jasper had mentioned making changes, I hadn’t really focused on precisely how those changes impacted Grappa. “Tony, how is any of that good? People can get good booze anywhere in this city!”
Tony holds up his hands in mock surrender. “I know, I know,” he says. “Obviously, the downside is that, if steps aren’t taken to address the drop-off in food quality, we may be living on borrowed time. Which reminds me, I brought you a present,” Tony says, his eyes flashing mischievously. He reaches over to rummage through his knife case and pulls out a small Styrofoam container. “Here you go. Buon appetito,” he says, smiling. I open the container. Inside is a small portion of gluey-looking gnocchi and a handful of limp morels. “I figured if you were having any doubts about coming back, this would put you over the top.”
I spear a a piece of gnocchi, which offers more resistance than it should. Right away I can tell, without even tasting it, that it will be too tough. “The dough’s been overworked,” I tell him, laying the untouched pasta on the edge of my bread plate. Tony picks up another from the container with his fingers and pops it into his mouth.
“Yeah, and the flavoring is too overpowering. The morels are completely lost. It’s crap,” Tony says. “Yes, I like the restaurant syndicate concept, and the numbers are pretty hard to ignore. But in terms of maintaining Grappa’s quality, we need you back soon. You’re right; people can get good booze anywhere, and sooner or later they are going to realize that the food is no longer great. It’s already started. Some of our longtime customers are coming around less frequently. But, if you come back soon, we can turn it around. Speaking of good booze . . .” Tony drains the rest of his martini. He turns around and waves a finger in Bob’s direction. “Look, I had my lawyer review the papers from AEL. He says everything looks kosher. I’ve already put in about half of my sabbatical fund at this point, and I’m planning to invest the rest, but only if you’re in, too. What do you say? When are you moving back?”
I hesitate. There is still so much I have to figure out. I want to ask Tony about Jake and Nicola, but I don’t quite know how. Luckily, Tony anticipates my question.
“Jake’s pretty much full-time at Il Vinaio. He’s hardly ever at Grappa now, you know,” he says. “With the pay cuts, there’s been a lot of staff turnover as well. Freddo’s long gone. Zoe, too,” Tony says, shaking his head.
“Zoe? We hired her right out of cooking school!