KITCHEN CONFIDENTIAL Adventures in the Culinary Underbelly

(Chris Devlin) #1

I don't really know what happened to the Supper Club. The general
manager, with whom I had a good working relationship, was suddenly
gone. Nightclub operations were shut down, possibly in response to
neighborhood complaints about noise, unmanageable crowds in the
streets, change in ownership. The new management team was an oily duo
of ex-waiters from the Waldorf, a Spaniard and an "I dunno" who liked
to pretend they were French. I answered an ad in the paper for a chef and
was quickly in the wind.


I took Steven along.


One look at One Five, and I knew the place was doomed. Jerry
Kretchmer, with the hugely talented Alfred Portale in tow, had just failed
in the same location. The new owners were two very nice matronly
middle-aged ladies with little to no restaurant experience. But I fell in
love with the kitchen. It was huge, well equipped and loaded with
history. I'd even worked there for a day while at CIA, as part of a "Day in
New York" field trip. The dining room was appointed with the salvage
from the ocean liner Normandie, which had sunk mysteriously in New
York harbor. It was an irresistible impulse. My predecessor, a jumped-up
megalomaniac boob, had already plowed through most of the partners'
dough, insisting on a kitchen staff of thirteen people to serve sixty or so
dinners a night, so I figured it wouldn't be too hard to make a difference
and do some honest toil for these nice ladies, save them a few bucks.


Hiring crew, post-Supper Club, with Steven as my underboss, was
always fun. I felt like Lee Marvin, with Steven as Ernest Borgnine, in
The Dirty Dozen when they recruit a fighting unit from the dregs of the
stockade. Steven and I would meet, and I'd say, "Who's available?" We'd
discuss who was still talking to himself, suffering from paranoid
delusions ("But can he still work the line?"), who could be lured away
from another job ("Is he happy? How happy? What's he getting paid?"),
who was still loyal from the collection of part-timers and freelancers
we'd used for party work at the Supper Club, who had evenings free after

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