My Usual Table: A Life in Restaurants
Page 29
I had my last meal as a customer at elBulli about eight months before it closed. Though the restaurant was generally open only for dinner (and open at all only for about half the year, at that), it would occasionally serve lunch instead—usually when Ferran had other obligations in the evening. I’d invited my old friend Jonathan Waxman to elBulli as a birthday present, and we ended up there one crisp, bright autumn day. As usual, the meal was dazzling, challenging, occasionally maddening; Jonathan might be best known for his straightforward American and Italian cooking (roast chicken is his signature dish), but he absolutely got what Ferran was up to. “People who’ve never been here and who criticize Ferran’s food just don’t understand what he’s doing,” he said. After lunch, we repaired to the terrace to sip Armagnac and smoke cigars. Juli, who was upstairs in his office, noticed us and started hooting and waving. Then he came down and joined us, and we sat and talked and drank and smoked until the light faded.
I’d long since finished my book about Ferran by the time elBulli served its last meal, and I hadn’t been back since that afternoon with Jonathan, but I was at the party in the restaurant parking lot after dinner service on the last night of its existence as a restaurant (the site is being transmogrified, with the help of an avant-garde Catalan architect, into a foundation for gastronomic studies, and Ferran regularly insists, for that reason, that “elBulli is not closed!”). Ferran had assembled a large crowd of journalists, suppliers, faithful customers, and colleagues, including an A-list of chefs who had worked in his kitchen over the years—among them José Andrés, Grant Achatz, René Redzepi, Massimo Bottura, Joan Roca, Andoni Aduriz, and Carles Abellan, all of them now culinary stars themselves. The Rolling Stones—Juli’s favorites—were playing over the sound system set up in the parking lot, and there were two bars with free-flowing wine and liquor, and stands dispensing Joselito ham, smoked salmon, lightly cooked shrimp and crayfish, and other snacks. Ferran looked tired, his eyes glazed, his brow sweaty, but he joined in the festivities enthusiastically. “How do you feel?” I asked him. “I’m very happy,” he said, and I believed him. I wandered back into the now quiet restaurant for the last time, not quite believing that it wouldn’t fill up again the next night with quiet, focused chefs and dazzled diners, not quite believing that the magic was gone. I was glad that Ferran was very happy. I was very sad.
Envoi
I’M NOT AT THE AGE YET WHEN ALL I CAN DO IS SIT on the front porch and daydream about the good times past, but I do seem to spend more time than I used to reflecting on my life. One thing I think about a lot is how lucky I am. I’ve been able to travel all over Europe and America and beyond, eating and drinking well, meeting wonderful people, learning all manner of things (and not just about food and wine)—and to do all this under circumstances that barely still obtain today. The magazine budgets that paid for so many of my adventures are largely a thing of the past, as magazines themselves have grown stingy or been replaced by tightfisted “new media” (I doubt very much that anybody goes to Guy Savoy on Arianna Huffington’s dime). Book advances are now typically split into three or four parts, meaning less up-front capital to pay for research trips, and thus such trips become fewer and shorter.
More than that, in a sense there’s less reason to travel: the rare culinary treats I used to trek thousands of miles to seek out in Alicante or Saint-Rémy, Casablanca or Camogli, are now available on Amazon or even at the A & P, and the most famous chefs of Europe and beyond will be cooking at your local food festival this Saturday night. The popular food-based travel shows these days seem mostly dedicated to the consumption of live insects or monkey organs—connoisseurship as fraternity initiation ritual. I may have been less adventurous, but I can’t help feeling that I got the better deal in my pursuit of the perfect trenette al pesto or the ultimate jamón ibérico.
Did my culinary travels ultimately cost me a couple of marriages? Probably. Mire me in debt and thicken my waistline? Sure. Did writing all those articles and books based on my explorations keep me at my typewriter and then my computer when I should have been relaxing, exercising, spending time with my family? I’m afraid so. But while I can’t flippantly just say, “Oh, it was worth it,” I can certainly maintain that once I realized that these wonderful opportunities were open to me, I couldn’t possibly have ignored them.
I STILL TRAVEL A LOT, though my trips now rarely last longer than four or five days (and Erin often comes with me, which helps with that travel-vs.-marriage issue). One thing that has changed in my life, though, is that, quite possibly for the first time since my parents started taking me to Chasen’s all those years ago, there is no one restaurant at the center of my life. I have favorite restaurants in various cities, of course, but there is no single place I go to regularly, no single establishment that seems to define this period of my existence. This is an unfamiliar situation for me, but one that has come about for reasons both practical and geographical: I’m working a full-time desk job again, running The Daily Meal, a big food and drink website in Manhattan, and its demands are such that I almost never have time to go out for lunch the way I did at Saveur. After work, Erin and I like to get on the first train we can back to Connecticut, and, frankly, there is not an abundance of interesting restaurants around where we live. These days, we usually prefer to cook and eat at home anyway, especially in warm weather, when I can grill out on our terrace, surrounded by a small forest of tomato and chile plants and assorted herbs, a glass of good red wine at hand.
I can’t imagine never having a restaurant at the heart of things again, though. I miss the promise of dependable good food, the warm welcome, the sense of contentment that floods over me when I walk into the right place, knowing that it’s the right place. As I’ve reported in the preceding pages, many of the restaurants that once afforded all this to me are gone, or have changed too much with time. The handful that remain, in something resembling the form in which I first knew them, are far from where I now live and work.
I haven’t given up restaurants, by any means—Erin and I dine out at least once or twice a week, and we build our travel around anticipated meals, just as I’ve always done—but my usual table these days isn’t in a restaurant at all: It’s the big white farmhouse one in our dining room, in front of a window that looks out on a thicket of fir trees and a patch of sky. I’m sure I’ll find another restaurant home one of these days, but for now, in my real home, my usual table suits me fine.
PHOTOGRAPH SECTION
Dad at his typewriter, early 1930s
(Courtesy of the author)
Mom with Groucho Marx in a scene cut from At the Circus, 1939
(Courtesy of the author)
The house on Beverly Glen Boulevard, 1944
(Courtesy of the author)
Getting an early start at writing, circa 1946
(Irene Andrews)
Prematurely blasé at one of my parents’ parties, with Dad (fourth from the left), circa 1951
(Irene Andrews)
At the table with Dad, Mom, and Merry, circa 1951
(Courtesy of the author)
At Buccone wineshop in Rome, circa 1972
(Karen Miller)
Atlantic Records: singing backup with music business colleagues Bill Yaryan and Todd Everett, with Screaming Lird Sutch and Noel Redding (ex-bassist with Jimi Hendrix), 1972
(Courtesy of the author)
With wine business colleagues in a private room at Scandia, 1973 (Joe “Trader Joe’s” Coulombe to my right)
(Antonin Kratochvil)
From the left: me, writer Jan Short, actor-writer Tom Nolan, and photographer David Strick at Ports, 1978
(Courtesy of the author)
Dinner at home with Claude and Pepita, 1978
(Leslie Ward)
With writer-director Nicholas Meyer at Ma Maison, 1978
(Courtesy of the author)
Conducting a wine tasting for staff at New York magazine, 1979
(Courtesy of the author)
&
nbsp; At Le Vieux Moulin, 1983
(Claude Caspar-Jordan)
With Pepita at Le Vieux Moulin, 1983
(Claude Caspar-Jordan)
Claude in Provence, 1983
(Colman Andrews)
With the Saturday wine lunch boys at Café Swiss on the restaurant’s last Saturday in business, 1985
(Julian Wasser)
At Sol-Ric in Tarragona. From the left: Charles Perry, me, Bradley Ogden, Lydia Shire, Sol-Ric chef, Alice Waters, Jonathan Waxman, Mark Miller, Ruth Reichl, Sol-Ric manager, 1986
(Courtesy of the author)
With Alice Waters, Jonathan Waxman, and Ruth Reichl in Barcelona, 1986
(Mark Williamson)
Opening night, Coyote Cafe, Santa Fe, 1987. From the left: Larry Forgione, Mark Miller, Stephen Singer, me, and Alice Waters
(Courtesy of the author)
Roy Brady, my wine mentor, 1991
(Colman Andrews)
After tasting wine with Steven Spurrier, St. Bacchus wine competition, near Perpignan, 1991
(Courtesy of the author)
With Julia Child in her kitchen in Cambridge, 1992
(David Graham)
With Karen at the “new” Piccolo Mondo in Rome, 1999
(Christopher Hirsheimer)
Cooking at the Beard House with Gabrielle Hamilton, 2002
(Courtesy of the author)
With Erin and Ferran Adrià in the elBulli kitchen, 2006
(Courtesy of the author)
Celebrating the 50th anniversary of El Motel, Dalí Museum, with prominent Spanish chefs and restaurateurs, including (starting from the top row, second right) Joan Roca, Carme Ruscalleda (partially obscuring me), Jaume Subirós, Ferran Adrià, and José Andrés, 2011
(Jordi Meli)
INDEX
The page numbers in this index relate to the printed version of this book; they do not match the pages of your e-book. You can use your e-book reader’s search tool to find a specific word or passage.
Abbott, Laurence, 37
ABC-TV, 60
Abellan, Carles, 308
Academy of Applied Science, 61
Achatz, Grant, 308
A Çigheûgna, 215–16
Action Cookbook (Deighton), 69
Adams, Richard, 168–69
Adrià, Ferran, 229, 304–8
Adriatic, 74–75, 84
Aduriz, Andoni, 308
Alan Hooker’s New Approach to Cooking (Hooker), 47, 48
Albergo Corso, 76
Alexander, Peter, 66
Alfredo alla Scrofa, 146
Algonquin hotel, 256
Ambasciata d’Abruzzo, 157–58
Andrés, José, 308
Andress, Ursula, 182, 204
Andrews, Colman
childhood, 5–7, 20–22, 25–28
college, 55–60, 62, 84, 113, 128
daughters, 259, 267
high school, 40–42, 48–51
honors and awards, 129, 273, 303
marriages, 195–98, 258–59, 297–98
Andrews, Deirdre, 16–17
Andrews, Isabelle, 267, 280–81
Andrews, Madeleine, 259
Andrews, Merry, 13, 16
Andrews, Robert Douglas, 17–18, 19, 28–30, 42, 51–52, 162
Antonioni, Michelangelo, 163
Apartment Life, 211
Apple, Johnny, 281–82
Archerd, Army, 204
Arpège, 101
Arrowood, Dick, 139
Arzak, Juan Mari, 260
À Sousceyrac, 99
Astaire, Fred, 182
Atlantic Records, 129–30
Au Filet de Boeuf, 154–55
Au Petit Café, 110
Austin, Gene, 55
Aux Amis du Beaujolais, 87–88, 100–101, 104
Azulete, 261
Babitz, Eve, 169–70
Babitz, Sol, 169
Ball, Lucille, 19
Ballymaloe House, 296
Balzer, Robert Lawrence, 120
Bangs, Lester, 128–29, 130
Barale, 214–15
Barbuto, 285
Bardot, Brigitte, 151
Batali, Mario, 285
Bautzer, Greg, 182
Beach, Donn, 33, 35
Beatty, Warren, 163, 208
Beauman, Sally, 130, 137
Becker, Ethan, 271–72
Begley, Ed, Jr., 175
Benchley, Robert, 9
Bening, Annette, 208
Bentel & Bentel, 275–76
Bergen, Candy, 13
Bergeron, Victor J., 34–36
Bergman, Ingrid, 108
Bettónica, Luís, 242–43, 244
Beverly Hilton, 30
Birreria Forst, 76–77
Bisset, Jacqueline, 182
Bistango, 206
Bistro, 68
Bit of Sweden, 107–8
Blane, Ralph, 55
Bléton, Philibert, 100
Blueprint Café, 297
Blum’s, 6–7
Boadas, 244, 245
Bocuse, Paul, 181, 206
Bogart, Humphrey, 10, 34, 108
Boiansko Hanche, 155
Bolger, Ray, 9
Bonnier, Jonas, 287
Borge, Victor, 109
Bottura, Massimo, 308
Boyer, 192
Brady, Roy, 116, 120, 123, 126–28, 139, 141–42, 185
Bressette, Irene, 19. See also Colman, Irene
Bristol Farms, 23
Brown Derby, 11
Bruni, Frank, 288
Brussels, 155–56
Bulevardia, 154
Bulgaria, 154–55
Burdel, Claudius, 178
Burgundy, travels in, 217–24
Burns, George, 10
Buttons, Alicia, 182
Caen, Herb, 35
Café Anglais, 178
Cafe Annie, 213
Café at Chez Panisse, 201
Café de l’Acadèmia, 246–50
Café Swiss, 121–26, 141
Cagney, James, 8
Cahn, Sammy, 123
Caine, Michael, 182
California State University at Los Angeles, 84
Ca l’Isidre, 233
Campbell’s Book Store, 62
Camponeschi, Benito, 158
Camponeschi, Roberto, 159
Camponeschi, Tommaso, 150
Campton Place, 243
Can Solé, 245
Capra, Frank, 8
Cardoz, Floyd, 275
Carré des Feuillants, 98, 102
Carroll, Jon, 183–84, 188, 197–98
Carson, Johnny, 205
Casale, 158
Caspar-Jordan, Claude, 88, 91–104, 191
Caspar-Jordan, Pepita, 91, 92, 94, 99, 102–3, 191
Catalan cuisine, 226–50, 258–62
Catalan Cuisine (Andrews), 227–28, 256
Channing, Carol, 204
Chaplin, Charlie, 10, 11
Chasen, Dave, 7–9, 21, 22
Chasen, Maude, 21, 22–23
Chasen’s, 7–12, 20–23
Chew, Jack, 37
Chez Gu, 200
Chez Panisse, 201, 299
Chicago Daily News, 17–18, 91, 92
Chinois on Main, 205
Christie, Julie, 163
Christy, George, 204
Chronicle Books, 302
Cigars, 133
Cinecittà film studio, 150–51
Classic Cat, 115
Coast, 130–31, 135
Colbert, Claudette, 13
Colicchio, Tom, 275
Collart, Yanou, 181
Colman, Irene, 15–16, 19–20
Colman, Ronald, 19
Comfort Me with Apples (Reichl), 189–90
Comme Chez Soi, 155–56
Communism, 49
Compton, Philip, 175
Conneely, Enda, 299, 301
Conran, Terence, 214, 297
Cook, Joe, 7
Cooper, Anderson, 132
Coo
per, Gary, 122
Cooper, Ron, 66
Coplen, Charlie, 174–75
Coppola, Francis Ford, 163
Coraine, Richard, 282
A Corner of Chicago (Andrews), 91, 92
Corti, Darrell, 139, 193–94
Country Choice, 293–94
The Country Cooking of Ireland (Andrews), 302–3
The Country Cooking of Italy (Andrews), 303
Coyote Cafe, 243
Crawford, Joan, 34
Creem, 128–29
Cruanyas, Lluís, 234–38
The Daily Meal, 310–11
The Daily Planet, 128
Dan Tana’s, 136
Daviau, Allen, 57–58, 110, 144
Davis, Nancy, 10
DC-3, 267
de Beauvoir, Simone, 97
Deighton, Len, 69
Del Grande, Robert, 213
Denny, Martin, 31
Didion, Joan, 206
Dietrich, Marlene, 34
Disneyland, 27
Don the Beachcomber, 33–34
Doolittle, Jimmy, 109
Dorn, Warren, 67
Dry Martini, 245–46
Dubrovnic, 78–80
Duchamp, Marcel, 51, 169
Dunne, Dominick, 175, 206