All or Nothing (29 page)

As I worked on myself my life continued to move forward at a frenetic pace. I tried to refocus on acceptance as I continued hunting for a space for a second restaurant, homing in on a four-block radius in the Flatiron District that had heavy foot traffic and a good mix of restaurants, shops, and businesses. Every time a potential space fell through, I reminded myself that it wasn't meant to be. But as we were outbid on spaces over and over, my anxiety crept back up. I couldn't accept the possibility of failure.

Luckily, we got some relief where I least expected it. Eddie's former babysitter worked part-time at Allison 18, a restaurant in the Flatiron District with a straightforward, New American, bistro-style menu. One afternoon Lindsay and I stopped in with Eddie to check out the place, and I couldn't believe my eyes. The restaurant was a dream—a huge, wood-paneled dining room with enough space to fit 150 people plus a private dining room downstairs with a bar that could seat another 75. The dining room had a clean, casual vibe with purple banquettes lining the walls and wallpaper covered with New York City street scenes. It was as if Allison 18 had been custom-made to fit my vision.

I didn't think about it much at the time, but when I heard that Allison 18 was going under and the landlord was taking bids, I knew this was the one, and I was nervous. So many potential deals had already slipped through my fingers. There was already a bid on the space, and I couldn't risk losing it. So I spoke to my investors, and we fired back with a much higher bid. The landlord hesitated, so we bid even higher. I had to get this done. And we did. The landlord accepted our bid, and the entire restaurant—from the china to the walk-in and the custom ovens and ventilation system—would be mine.

Lindsay was due with our second child any day as we began the back-and-forth with attorneys to work out the minutiae of the lease—the rent abatement, liquor license, stipulations, guarantors, and indemnification. Recette was still happening, but it wasn't new anymore, so I continued to put myself out there and accept catering gigs and media appearances whenever I could.

On October 9, 2013, Lindsay gave birth to our daughter, Liv Rose. This time I was present in the delivery room both physically and mentally, but it was Lindsay's turn to be distracted. She was on her iPad responding to emails right up until the moment it was time to start pushing, lying in the hospital bed processing payroll and emailing back and forth with our publicist. “Lindsay, you have to get off the iPad. The baby's coming,” the doctor reminded her. I had taken my wife and created a monster, but I'd never been prouder of her.

It was exciting for both our family and our restaurant “family” to be expanding at the same time, and I worked hard to live in the moment and not let that excitement pull me too far to the extremes. In December we signed the lease for my second restaurant, The Gander. It felt right, but the stakes were higher than ever. I was responsible for more money and people than ever before. Recette had only twenty-five employees, but I needed to hire a hundred people to run The Gander. Plus, there was more money on the line and more investors to satisfy. And as with Recette, I felt a deep need to touch every nut and bolt of this restaurant and make sure that every detail was perfect.

The first thing I did was put together my team—Christina Lee as pastry chef, Christina Han as director of culinary development, Ed stepping up to a corporate chef role, and James, whom I worked with at Gordon Ramsay, as my chef de cuisine. Christina Han, James, and I started working on the menu. I was inspired by a documentary about how renowned Spanish chef Ferran Adrià came up with new seasonal menus at his restaurant El Bulli by testing each recipe and grading it on a star system. One star meant it was weak, two stars meant it needed work, three stars meant it was almost there, and four stars meant it was perfect. I took on this system, and we worked around the clock to create a menu of three- and four-star dishes.

The food at The Gander was different from what I was used to cooking, and I was determined to use great technique while creating dishes that were familiar yet memorable. This was no easy task. We spent weeks just talking about the concept and coming up with ideas. I thought about the foods I loved to order in restaurants and how I could put my own spin on them here. I love Caesar salads and wedge salads, for instance, so I had the idea to combine them into a wedge salad with Caesar dressing. But I couldn't stop there. I had to make it my own, and we played around with a million variations—overcompensating with more dressing on the outside and less on the inside, and later squirting dressing in between each layer of lettuce leaves so that every bite was perfectly balanced, acidic, and crunchy. The breadcrumbs we put on top alone took days of experimenting as we tried toasting them, cooking them in olive oil, and tossing them in butter.

I wanted all of the food at The Gander to be approachable. Brisket is familiar and delicious, and we started playing around with making brisket croquettes as a salty fried snack. We braised the brisket with wine and herbs and then shredded it, reduced the braising liquid, and folded the meat back in. Once it set, we rolled the meat into cylinders, cut the cylinders into inch-long pieces, breaded them with flour and breadcrumbs, and fried them. They were just okay. The dish needed a twist.

A few days later my general manager randomly told me about a dream he had about a patty melt. That was all the inspiration I needed. I ran into the kitchen and tried the croquettes again, this time adding caraway and rye flour, mozzarella cheese, and caramelized onions. It was much better, maybe three stars. Over time we started breading the croquettes in potato starch, and they morphed into a combination of a tater tot and a croquette with the familiar flavors of a patty melt. Finally I was satisfied.

The restaurant already had a rotisserie, and I was determined to use it for more than just cooking chicken. I wondered what would happen if we used it to treat vegetables like proteins. I took a whole head of cauliflower and marinated it overnight in a mixture of olive oil, garlic, anchovy paste, lemon, and herbs, taking inspiration from the classic Italian version. Then I skewered it and cooked it in the rotisserie. It came out even better than I expected, with bold flavors and varying textures, the outside pieces being crunchier and the inside gradually growing softer.

A few weeks before The Gander opened I hosted a preview of the new menu for the media right in the middle of the restaurant during construction. Journalists came from
Travel + Leisure, Bon Appétit, Time
magazine, Zagat, the
Wall Street Journal,
the New York
Daily News,
and Bloomberg Media, and we served the wedge Caesar salad, brisket croquettes, rotisserie cauliflower, and a pasta dish with a whole suckling pig that we cooked in the rotisserie and then shredded. It was our first time cooking for other people in the new kitchen, and I was my regular manic self, tasting everything twenty-five times, reseasoning every dish, and meticulously inspecting everything that came out of the kitchen. In between courses I went out to the dining room and talked to the journalists, answering their questions about The Gander's concept and inspiration.

Too many restaurants are pretentious and stuffy, and when I saw those journalists, who were technically working, eating and drinking and laughing unself-consciously, I knew that my dream would be realized. The Gander would serve as a meeting place for people who wanted to shake off their cares and worries, eat good food, and have fun.

On the cab ride home late that night Lindsay rested her head on my chest and I thought about how blessed I was. Despite all the bad choices I'd made in life, I had a beautiful family and a good relationship with my extremely generous and forgiving parents and sister. Ten years before, they didn't know if I was alive or dead, and now we enjoyed a closer relationship than most men my age have with their families. My parents aren't only an essential part of my business, but also wonderful and involved grandparents to Eddie and Liv. My sister, Joee, and I are closer than ever. We have fun together, and she's an amazing aunt who spends as much time as possible with my kids. It struck me that despite how much my addiction had hurt my family, it also helped all of us get out of the cycle of codependency and develop stronger, healthier relationships.

Thinking back to the moment I hit bottom and called my parents from that seedy hotel room, I was in awe of the way they cut me off at the knees right when I needed it. As a parent, I could now plainly feel how painful it must have been for them to do that, and I was so grateful that they did. I owed my parents everything, I realized. They gave me a great life, and when I ruined it they did the most difficult thing a parent can do, ultimately giving me a new one.

Now I had reached a level of personal and professional success I couldn't have imagined when I was smoking crack on the streets of Florida, and that wouldn't have been possible if my parents hadn't found the strength to let me go. Sure, I still struggled with the day-to-day anxieties of running a business and raising a family, but I was a completely different person than the one I'd been ten years before. I was a productive member of society and, most important to me, I lived with integrity. This was the serenity I had been searching for my whole life, and I vowed not to let it slip through my fingers yet again.

When we got home, I paused in front of my daughter's crib and watched her sleeping, transfixed by her beautiful little face. Her rhythmic breathing always brought momentary peace to my hectic universe. After a while I moved to Eddie's room. The bed was empty, but the mattress, which he'd pushed up against the wall, was occupied, with his feet where his head should have been and a pacifier resting next to his open mouth. I knelt down next to his mattress and listened to his deep and relaxed breathing, each inhale and exhale suggesting a child's clear conscience and carefree existence. Children are the epitome of living in the moment, and that is still the ultimate goal for me—to keep my balance and acceptance so that I can live in the moment with them.

During one of our recent phone sessions my therapist Larry started talking about my cooking. I was surprised; this was one topic we normally didn't cover. “When you're making a dish, what happens if you leave out an ingredient?” he asked me.

“The whole thing falls apart,” I answered automatically.

“Exactly,” Larry said, as if I had just hit on something brilliant. “Your life is a recipe,” he continued. “It's made of therapy, meetings, service, work, and family, and you need every ingredient to make it work.”

Of course I still slip sometimes. I take on too much and miss a meeting and my anxiety level starts to rise, or I dive into work in the morning before embracing my family and become depressed and filled with remorse. I may not be healed, but I am whole. And with the same dogged persistence that I use to craft each dish in my kitchen, I will keep working until I perfect the recipe of my life.

Mom & Dad: You have been so selfless and giving, and without you this life wouldn't be possible. You've had to make really hard decisions and put yourselves aside to do the right thing for me and save my life. You have loved me and guided me unconditionally; your love has no end. I owe you everything and am forever grateful to have the most wonderful, loving, and nurturing parents who molded me into the man and father I am today.

Lindsay Schenker, my wife, my best friend, my partner, and the mother of my children: You never let me down and you continue to be my biggest strength in navigating this world. There is no one I'd rather be experiencing all these ever-changing emotions with than you. Thank you.

Joee Schenker, my beautiful older sister: Over the years, you've always supported me no matter what. You're the best sister and aunt anyone could ask for. I love you for eternity.

Eddie & Liv: I love you both more than life itself. You keep me so humble and teach me every day. Being with you is the only thing that brings time to a halt. I've learned how to be in the moment because of you.

Everyone in my life whom I've crossed paths with—good and bad—you know who you are: All the experiences we've had together led me to the life I know today. To all of my family, friends, and coworkers: Thank you for making my life so rich. And to all of you who weren't so positive: I appreciate you for giving me the courage, strength, and patience to survive on the ugly side of this world. Together as a whole, I feel blessed for everyone and everything I've lived through.

Thank you to David Nayor, Celeste Fine, Mark Chait, and the whole crew at HarperCollins, Sterling Lord Literistic, and Dey Street Books for making this project come to life. A special thanks to Jodi Lipper for helping me write this thing and turn my stream-of-conscious thoughts into this book,
All or Nothing
.

Pearl Jam: You've been there the WHOLE way.