Life, on the Line by Grant Achatz (leveled readers .TXT) 📗

back to the task of building a spreadsheet to track our daily sales and forgot about the exchange.

After an hour had passed I had a few questions regarding how detailed Grant wanted to track food inventory, so I headed back to the kitchen. He wasn’t there.

I could rarely get an hour with Grant alone since he was simply too busy tweaking the menu and trying to put out fires. I figured it was a reporter, not a salesman, who had cornered him, and he was unable to get away. So I went upstairs with the pretense of grabbing Grant for a phone call.

He was seated facing the stairway at Table 25. The man’s back was to me, and as soon as Grant saw me arrive at the top of the stairs he shot me a look that told me to back off. I gestured with a shrug, “What’s going on?” and got nothing in return. This was serious. The city? Another inspector? If that were the case then certainly he would call me in. An attorney, perhaps.

I went back downstairs and sat behind my laptop, but I couldn’t work. I was concerned that something odd was going on up there. Another fifteen or twenty minutes passed before Grant came down, shook the man’s hand formally, and turned toward the kitchen. The man headed for the front door. Never shy, I stepped in front of him and introduced myself.

“Hello, I’m Grant’s partner in Alinea, Nick Kokonas.”

The man smiled broadly at me, grabbed my hand with a genuinely crushing, aggressive handshake, and said, “Good to meet you, Nick. I’m Grant Achatz.”

It took me a few moments to process that. Grant Achatz?

“You mean Grant Achatz, Sr.?” I mumbled.

“Well, not senior really,” he said, finally releasing my hand after having thoroughly proven that he was far stronger than I. “But I am his dad.”

I looked toward the kitchen, caught Grant’s eye—he was watching the exchange—and he just shook his head and let out a small laugh.

“Mr. Achatz, I’m really glad you came by today. Pretty amazing what your son built here, huh?”

“I suspect he had some help. I’m eating here tonight . . . it should be . . .”

“—you’re eating here?” I interrupted.

“If it’s okay with you, yes.”

“Of course it’s okay. It’s more than okay, I’m happy to have you.” I tried not to sound shocked, but it wasn’t working. “I think you’ll be amazed how wonderful it is. Your son is a truly gifted chef. You must be very proud of him.” I said this more as a suggestion than a question.

Grant Achatz, Sr., turned and walked out the front door. I stood for a second and thought, “How long has Grant known that his dad was coming here, and why had he never mentioned it to me?”

“So that’s your dad, huh?”

“Yep. He looks older, but that’s him all right.”

“Did you know he was coming by?”

“Yeah, he’s eating here tonight.”

Grant said that so matter-of-factly that I was offended. To me, after not seeing your dad for seven years, this constitutes real news. “You didn’t tell me,” I said.

Grant looked at me as if to say, “Why would you care?”

“I think it’s a great thing that he came by. Whatever’s happened, life is short and he’s your father. I would kill to have my dad walk through that door right now and see this. I know it’s not the same, but you’ll feel better about things in the long run. I’m glad he’s eating here tonight. You’re going to blow his mind.”

“He won’t like it. Not really. Whatever.”

CHAPTER 19

Nearly every culinary magazine in the United States and most major newspapers wanted to cover Alinea beyond simply mentioning its food or decor. Profiles of Grant began to proliferate, but increasingly, other than the local papers, we were becoming wary of letting some national critics in. The kinks were still being worked out, and the New York Times article taught us that reviews of the restaurant were great, but associating ourselves with the broader movement in what the press termed “molecular gastronomy” could backfire. We were willing to wait for profiles that singled us out.

Grant explained his theory to me, and I in turn let our publicist Jenn Galdes know that we would, for a short time, be taking a hiatus from any further press coverage and instead remain focused on the online forums and emergent blogs, media vehicles that would allow us to showcase the unique experience that Alinea provided and that were increasingly becoming the go-to place for customers who wanted to research restaurants and read reviews. This is the last thing a publicist wants to hear, so she kept pushing. Time after time we said no, insisting instead that we wanted to wait for the truly big hits that could make a difference in Alinea’s long-term worldwide reputation.

This seemed absurd by almost any standard. Restaurants normally kill for any PR, and it was true that the New York Times article did far more good than harm for our business and reputation. But Grant was adamant about controlling the flow this early in the game.

Then Jenn called me and said, “Grant doesn’t want to let John Mariani in. I can’t tell you how stupid that is. He does the national list of the Twenty Best New Restaurants every year for Esquire. You guys are a shoo-in, right? You’ll probably get the number-one spot. He wants to come in next Friday. I have a reservation at the ready and Grant wants me to cancel it. I’m not sure how I can do that. I haven’t come up with a viable excuse yet.”

Grant did indeed cancel the reservation. But later Mariani was back in town and Grant was convinced to let him in. The only opening we had on short notice, however, was at 5:30, when the doors opened. Grant would be preparing our smaller menu for him, not only to get him out the door in time for the reservations that we already