At Les Halles, life goes on as always. The same crew showing up, on
time, every day: Franck and Eddy, Carlos and Omar, Isidoro and Angel,
Gerardo, Miguel, Arturo, the two Jaimes, Ramón and Janine. They're
still with me, and I hope they stay with me. My bosses, however, when
they read this, will really prove themselves patrons of the arts if they
don't can me right away.
My wife, blessedly, has stayed with me through all of it, the late nights,
the coming home drunk, my less than charming tendency not to pay any
attention at all to her when mulling over prep lists and labor deployment
and daily specials and food costs. A few months back, in a moment of
admittedly misguided solidarity with my heavily decorated kitchen crew,
I got a tattoo, a reasonably tasteful headhunter's band around my upper
arm. Nancy, however, was on record as finding skin art about as
attractive as ringworm; she took it, not unreasonably, as a personal
affront. She was mightily pissed off, and still is, for that matter . . . but
she still wakes up next to me every morning, laughs at my jokes on
occasion, and helpfully points out when I'm being an asshole. The few
days a year we spend in Saint Martin have been the only times I've ever
not been a chef since she's been with me. Squatting under a palm tree,
gnawing on barbequed chicken legs and drinking Red Stripes, there's
nothing more important on my mind than what we're having for dinner—
the stuffed crab backs or the spiny lobster—and I imagine that for once I
behave in some approximate way like a normal person.
Tragically, inexplicably, my old sous-chef and director of covert
operations, Steven, has chosen to leave New York for Florida with his
girlfriend, pulling up stakes, giving up his apartment, even bringing
along his goldfish. So it doesn't look like he'll be coming back anytime
soon. I can't imagine life without him. My doppelganger, my evil twin,
my action arm and best friend—I just can't imagine not being able, at
any time, to pick up the phone and call him on his cell, enlist his help in
whatever dark plans I'm hatching at the moment. Plus, I'll need
somebody strong to work my grill on Saturday nights. He'll be calling of