CHAPTER 3

THE EXTRAORDINARY POWER OF INTENTION

Tabla transformed contemporary Indian cuisine in the United States-and the engine behind that transformation was Chef Floyd Cardoz, who cooked food inspired by his Goan heritage.

The restaurants my dad oversaw for RA-including Brasserie, the restaurants at Rockefeller Center, and the food and beverage program at Lincoln Center-were buzzy and busy. He'd often leave me for an hour with a cook or one of the servers, who'd give me a job to keep me busy. I loved the behind-the-scenes access and the surge of energy that coursed through me when I walked through those dining rooms.

For most of my young life, my dad was the president of Restaurant Associates, a massive restaurant company that, over time, has been responsible for everything from corner coffee shops and corporate cafeterias to fine-dining establishments like the Rainbow Room-and the Four Seasons.

When I was thirteen, about a year after our dinner at the Four Seasons (on the drive back from SeaWorld, of all places), my dad asked me what I wanted to do with my life.

This might seem like a crazy thing to ask a thirteen-year-old kid, but my dad was incredibly intentional with his parenting, as with everything in his life. Every day, he'd wake up, get my mom out of bed, put her in her wheelchair, help her in the shower, then make and feed her breakfast-all before heading off to work. Fifteen hours later, he'd come home and do it all backward, always finding the time to watch me perform a new song I'd learned on the drums or help me with my homework.

His stamina and selflessness were amazing to witness, but I now realize he never would have been able to achieve what he did as a businessperson, as a husband, or as a father without mapping out his days with precision, organizing his priorities, and setting his nonnegotiables. For my father, intentionality wasn't a luxury or business philosophy; it was a requirement.

With that background, perhaps it's not odd I knew exactly what my life goals were, even at thirteen. First, I wanted to study restaurant management at Cornell University's School of Hotel Administration. Second, I wanted to open my own restaurant in New York City. Third, I wanted to marry Cindy Crawford.

I inherited from him an understanding of the importance of this concept-as you'll see, 'intention' is a word I use a lot. Intention means every decision, from the most obviously significant to the seemingly mundane, matters. To do something with intentionality means to do it thoughtfully, with clear purpose and an eye on the desired result.

Everything I did from that point forward was with those goals in mind, and I'm proud to say I achieved two out of three-and did better on the third. (No disrespect to Ms. Crawford, but my wife is really awesome.)

And in my senior year, I applied and got into the hotel school at Cornell University.

My real first job, at fourteen, was at the Baskin-Robbins in Tarrytown. I left many ruined cakes in my wake; it's harder to pipe 'Happy Birthday' onto an ice cream cake than you think. In high school, I worked as a dishwasher and a host at the Westchester outpost of Ruth's Chris Steak House and, over a summer vacation, as a busser at Wolfgang Puck's Hollywood restaurant, Spago. Later, I would work as a server at Drew Nieporent's Tribeca Grill; I even spent a summer cooking at another Wolfgang Puck restaurant called ObaChine.

My dad pushed back on that decision. He wasn't entirely opposed to my choosing a life in restaurants, but he was uncertain about my committing to the path so early; a degree in hotel management would mean my career was laid out for me. (He also had some experience with Cornell graduates, who tended to come out of there believing they were ready for a CEO position, and he really didn't want me to be one of those assholes.) But when I was accepted, I knew I wanted to cross that goal off my list.

Of the many restaurants we saw, two-Tabla and Eleven Madison Park, both owned by the restaurateur Danny Meyer-stood out to me. It felt natural to be in their dining rooms, and I returned to school excited to learn more about them. As it happened, a couple of months later, Richard Coraine, one of his partners, came and spoke to one of my classes at Cornell, and I fell in love with their company, Union Square Hospitality Group.

I loved Cornell and met some of my closest friends there. As graduation drew near, my friend Brian Canlis and I traveled down to Manhattan and worked our way uptown from Tribeca, stopping for a snack or a glass of wine at some of the best restaurants in the city: Nobu, Montrachet, Chanterelle, Zoë, Gotham Bar and Grill, Gramercy Tavern, Union Pacific, Tabla, and Eleven Madison Park. We kept going, up to Alain Ducasse, Café des Artistes, and more.

At the time, Danny had only four restaurants-Union Square Cafe, Gramercy Tavern, Eleven Madison Park, and Tabla. Gramercy Tavern and Union Square Cafe were two of the most beloved restaurants in New York City, inevitably numbers one and two every year in the annual Zagat guide. Eleven Madison Park was a bustling brasserie in an extraordinary room-the vaulted, marbleclad former executive assembly room in a landmarked Art Deco building; Tabla, in a smaller, adjacent space, was the most exciting Indian restaurant in the country.

The cornerstone of the company's culture was a philosophy Danny called Enlightened Hospitality, which upended traditional hierarchies by prioritizing the people who worked there over everything else, including the guests and the investors. This didn't mean the customer suffered; in fact, the opposite. Danny's big idea was to hire great people, treat them well, and invest deeply into their personal and professional growth, and they would take great care of the customers-which is exactly what they did.

Danny had revolutionized fine dining in New York by putting a uniquely Midwestern spin on going out to dinner. His restaurants offered both a friendlier, more informal dining experience, and a more excellent one-largely because of the people who worked for him.

By the time I graduated from Cornell, there was no question in my mind: Danny Meyer was the guy to work for. And when I got back to New York from Spain, I landed an interview with Richard Coraine. Ironically, my interview took place at Eleven Madison Park, though Richard ended up offering me a manager position at Tabla. Before I accepted Richard's offer, though, I allowed myself one last moment of hesitation. Neither EMP nor Tabla was pretentious, but they were fancier places than I'd ever pictured myself working at; I was (and still am) more cheeseburger than foie gras.

A month later, I was a manager at Tabla, running the front-door team. My education had begun.

Not for the first or last time, I turned to my dad for advice. He addressed my concerns this way: 'It's easier to learn the right way to do things at the high end than it is to break bad habits. You can always take it down a notch later, but it's harder to go the other way.'