a purported club for coprophiles. "Hitler and Goering . . . yah, Goering,
zey would go these places." Daytime with Gianni involved a lot of very
fast, very hard work, mostly production-cake assembly, wrapping of the
ever-present Wellingtons in pastry dough, rolls, pastries, stacks of crêpes
for crespelle, cookies, the sectioning of fruit for later dipping in
caramelized sugar. All the while, Gianni urged us on with cries of "Cha!
Cha! Via! Let's go!"
But the atmosphere in Gianniland was remarkably happy-go-lucky. At
the beginning of the workday a waiter would appear with an urn of
steaming hot espresso, and we would actually sit down for a nice demi-
tasse, accompanied by homemade sticky buns. Even in the middle of
full-bore production, Gianni found time to hurl profiteroles at the skaters
sixty-four flights down in the Rock Center rink, all of us having a good
laugh when he scored a direct hit. And Gianni was a skilled raconteur.
His romantic adventures and misadventures made for much
entertainment. Though married, he was relentless in his pursuit of every
woman in the restaurant—most of them looked like whichever was the
uglier of Cagney and Lacey (the later episodes when they bulked up to
cruiserweights). He was always befuddled when one of them would resist
his affections: "So I saya to thees girl, "I bring you out to nice dinner
which I pay . . . and I drive you in nice car—a Buick . . . and you no
wanna fuck me?" I don't unnerstan!" He was kind of charming, totally
untrustworthy, conspiratorial, possessing mysterious juice with the
ownership, able to operate completely outside the normal chain of
command. What I loved about Gianni, though, was that at the stroke of
four, when the day-shift ended, we all sat down and had a lovely meal of
prosciutto, arugula, sliced tomato and mozzarella on fresh-baked Italian
bread, often accompanied by a nice bottle of red wine and more espresso.
Where Gianni got this stuff, I have no idea, particularly since edible food
was decidedly not a perk enjoyed by the rest of the staff and kitchen
crew. In the main kitchen, and for the floor staff, the "family meal" was
uniformly awful. Hunks of silver-skin-covered breast flaps of veal—not