New York, New York
"One belongs to New York instantly, one belongs to it as much in five minutes as in five years.” ~ Tom Wolfe
Last week I talked a little bit about my first day at Spiaggia and basically how scared and terrified I was when I started working there. I want to jump around a bit and fast forward to October 1997. I had worked at Spiaggia for about 3 years and Paul, the chef helped me get a job in New York. This time in my life was very stressful, I was nervous about moving to New York and starting a new job, especially when the chef had just won a James Beard award for the rising star chef of the year. He had also received a glowing 2-star review in the New York Times by Ruth Reichl. I had never lived anywhere else but in Chicago and even though I was excited to experience New York, I was also terrified of moving to a huge city and not knowing a single person.
I had arranged my flight to New York months before and I found a deal on United Airlines. Flying has always made me nervous, I’m uncomfortable on planes because I have claustrophobia but I’m also a big guy and sometimes airline seats can be unforgiving, also crowded flights really make me anxious. I sold almost all my possessions and packed whatever was left for my move, I wasn’t 100% sure when I was coming back to Chicago, I thought I might stay out there if I liked it. I found a giant duffel bag and stuffed it with everything I owned at the time which was mostly cookbooks and clothes. Of course, as it would turn out a lot of people purchased that same deal on United and the plane I was on was packed to the gills. This flight proved to be one of the most awful experiences I have ever had while flying.
Once in the air, I was fine, I figured it was only an hour and a half flight, how bad could it be. But once we got close to New York the captain came on and said they might be delayed about 20 minutes because there was a huge thunderstorm in New York and flights were backed up. He said we were going to circle LaGuardia until we were approved for landing. I was not happy about this but figured 20-30 minutes was no big deal right? After about an hour the captain came back on said planes were being rerouted to Newark because they had closed the runways at LaGuardia. He didn’t tell us at the time but I later learned a plane had to make a crash landing and they shut everything down after that.
When we got close to Newark the captain came on again saying Newark was really backed up because of the storm and we were going to circle here for a while. About an hour later he comes on again and says Newark is now closed because of the storm and we are going to land in Philadelphia. So by this time I have almost lost my mind. First of all, I’ve been on this plane for almost four hours and I am starting to get anxious, really anxious, I couldn’t sit still and kept fidgeting. I was supposed to have landed in New York at 7:30 pm and it was now after 10 pm and we had not landed yet. My mind was racing, I had arranged for an inexpensive hotel room for my first few days in New York because I needed a few days before I could move into the apartment I had rented. I worried if I didn’t call them soon they would give my room away. This was before cell phones (yes I’m old).
When the captain announced we were finally landing in Philly the whole plane cheered and I started to feel just a bit better. They told us they had arranged Amtrack vouchers for everyone and you could take the train into New York tonight. Once we landed I made a mad dash to the restrooms then ran to the luggage area. Once I made it there I went to a payphone and called the hotel to try and find out about my room and found out they had given it away since I had not called before 10 pm and it was now 11:30. I almost screamed into the phone but stayed calm and asked if I could book another room and they said no they were at capacity. I hung up, I was beyond upset, I could feel my face get hot with anger and I was trying hard not to lose the fragile grip on my sanity. As I was walking back to the luggage carousel I saw my huge red duffel bag coming down the conveyor belt. It had busted open and my clothes had spilled out. There was a yellow note taped to the side that said “There was an issue with your luggage, we apologize, please see the baggage claim to file a claim.”
That was it. I was now so pissed off that I was thinking about just heading back to Chicago. I checked my duffel bag, everything seemed to be there but the zipper was broken and they had pinned it shut with some kind of giant safety pin. I dragged the bag to a bench and started trying to fix it so that I could get it to New York. I noticed everyone from my flight was making their way towards the train station so I picked the bag up and followed trying hard to keep it together.
Once at the train station, I noticed the train itself was packed. Like really packed, there were no seats and a lot of people were standing. I made my way on board and tried to find a seat, dragging my duffel bag with me, holding it closed while I walked. The conductor was trying to find room for everybody but it was obvious there weren’t enough seats. There were now so many people on the train car that the aisles were packed as well. The only room I could find was between the two rail cars, I laid my duffel bag on the ground and stood in the doorway between cars. There was another man sharing the space with me, there were just so many people. That ride was about an hour and a half but it seemed like twelve hours. I was so uncomfortable, angry, scared, hungry, tired, and my head was in a tailspin.
We arrived at Penn Station and I was almost giddy to have finally reached New York even if I had no place to stay. I dragged my luggage to a bench and sat down, trying to figure out what to do. I had wanted to move to New York to become a better cook, to experience different things, to learn, to expand my horizons, but the only thing I really wanted to do was go back home. I felt that this horrible experience was New York’s way of telling me I didn’t belong here. It was New York’s way of testing me, to see if I was really serious about this, to make sure I was tough enough, to make sure I could hack it. I felt like giving up. New York had told me it didn’t want me there.
I was pretty lost and didn’t know what to do. I decided to call an ex-girlfriend, I knew she would be up because she was a server and usually worked late. When she answered, I was so grateful to talk to someone I just started rambling about the horrible day I was having and I told her I was thinking about turning around and just coming home. She laughed, then told me I had to calm down, she asked for the phone number for the payphone and after I gave it to her she told me she would call me back in a few minutes. I hung up even though I didn’t want to, and sat down and put my head in my hands, wondering what to do. She called back in a few minutes telling me she found a room for me at a hotel a few blocks away, she made a reservation and they were expecting me. I exhaled deeply, wondering if I had what it takes to make it in New York. She thought the whole thing was comical, which irked me but said nothing. She became serious at one point and told me “ You can’t give up that easy Mark, c’mon. It’s not that bad. You just had a shitty night. How hard did you work to get here? You’re going to give up now?”
She was right of course. I had worked hard to get there. I had worked a lot of six-day weeks, double shifts, brunches, you name it. Paul, the chef at Spiaggia, had told me that if I stay at Spiaggia for a while and work really hard he would help me get a job wherever I wanted. He had a lot of suggestions for me, mostly French or Italian restaurants where the chefs were very famous. But I had found a Latin American restaurant and chef that inspired me, his cookbook blew my mind when I opened it. I carried it everywhere I went. I thought it was the coolest thing I had ever seen and being Puerto Rican I wanted to cook Latin American food, to show people that French and Italian aren’t the only game in town. When I saw that a Latin American chef was doing great things I had to go work for him. I knew that this is what I wanted to do more than anything. I told Paul this, he tried to get me to work at a French place in MIdtown Manhatten but I insisted on the Latin American restaurant and he made one phone call and got me a job there. One phone call that I am so grateful for, it put me on the road to my dreams. Because of that phone call, I worked at Patria, would later come back to Chicago, meet a famous restaurateur, become executive chef at a very large, very trendy Latin American restaurant, and meet my future wife there. I’m glad I didn’t give up.
New York, New York
Oh geez, those days of air travel seem so far in the past…and yet we still have them. At least nowadays we can text our friends and family!