We met at Le Madri and went over my résumé—thankfully without too
much scrutiny. Pino is one of those guys who puts a lot of stock, I think,
in his first-hand impressions of character when interviewing a candidate.
The meeting went well. I was invited to a taste-off at Mad 61, another
Pino operation in the cellar of the uptown Barney's department store
where, presumably, I would lead with my best shot: do everything I
could to show the man I could cook.
My fellow chef candidates, and some others already employed by
Toscorp who were aiding and abetting the company-wide drive to come
up with a menu for the new store, arrived with the usual, "Look how
pretty I can cook" stuff: swordfish tartare with avocado (!), California-
inspired faux Tuscan updates, various ring-molded and squeeze-bottled
presentations using expensive ingredients. I picked the cheapest, oiliest,
and most unpopular fish I knew, one which I'd always liked, and
suspected that Pino would like, too: the humble bluefish. I grilled it and
added a warm potato and chorizo salad, topped with a little shaved
fennel and red onion with mint and basil. Then a braised shoulder of
lamb with Sicilian olives, rosemary and garlic—on basil-mashed
potatoes—as well as a giant raviolone of codfish brandade with crabmeat
and lobster . . . just to play it safe. Pino smiled when he saw the bluefish,
figuring that if nothing else, I had some balls on me.
I got the job.
Salary negotiations were brief. Pino asked me how much I wanted. I
asked for a lot more than I thought I deserved. He suggested 5,000 less.
That was still a number far, far higher than I had ever—or still, for that
matter have—been paid. After leaving Pino's 59th Street offices, I
walked on air over to the Oak Room and treated myself to a martini, my
voice still too shaky to speak. When I finally managed to call my wife on
the phone, I must have sounded like a breathless young girl: "Dad! You'll
never guess! He asked me to marry him!"