The Flavors of Love

Maybe it sounds funny, but the story of my restaurant is a love story. I should say our restaurant, because my wife, Karen, and I are partners in business and in life.

We opened Chanterelle 30 years ago, in our early 20s. We’d known each other since high school. We’re both from the Bronx. Otherwise, it was a case of opposites attracting. I’m reserved while Karen is one of the most engaging people you’ll ever meet. When we started dating, she wasn’t into food and I was in culinary school upstate.

Every weekend I’d drive to Manhattan at the crack of dawn to work my shift at the Empire Diner. Then I’d spend the afternoon with Karen. Driving back to school, I kept thinking of spending every day with her, not just afternoons.

I quit school and found a job as sous-chef at a little French restaurant in the city. A wonderful job. But I dreamed of owning my own place. I confided in Karen about this and she told me she would like to join me in the adventure. I couldn’t have been happier.

We threw monthly Sunday dinner parties in our tiny apartment. Karen and I talked about the menu for days. We pictured the meal as it would unfold for our guests, trying to make sure no flavors or textures were repeated.

Once we settled on a menu, we’d really get to work. I’d shop, prep and cook. Karen would hit the flower market, return with her arms full of blossoms, and make beautiful arrangements. She wrote our menus in graceful flowing pen strokes (as she still does at the restaurant to this day).

Around sunset, friends and family would file in. We ate and talked for hours. The apartment felt set apart from the rest of the city: It was a refuge, a place devoted to the comfort of our guests.

The more dinners we had, the more confident I felt about having a restaurant. Most important, I had my inspiration: Karen. The qualities I’d come to love in her—that irresistible combination of graceful style and down-to-earth warmth—were the qualities I dreamed of for our restaurant.

Opening a New York restaurant back in the '70s was a lot less expensive than it is today. We were in decent financial shape, we thought.