Marea's Pinstripes

As a kid I wanted to play second base for the Yankees. I knew centerfield and shortstop were long shots, but second, second I had a chance. If Billy Martin could play second, I reasoned, with nothing but spit and vinegar so could I.

Needless to say, second base for the Yankees didn't pan out. But a few years ago I got to cook at Marea in Manhattan and for me that was like playing second base for the Yankees.

That first year at Marea was like playing on the 1927 Yanks. We had guys who had come up with our Executive Chef Michael White (Jared Gadbaw, Adam Dooling), the most decorated Italian chef in the U.S.. We had cooks who had come through Gramercy Tavern (Asi Maman, Ronen Tenne). We had Jimmy Everett who had worked at WD-50 under Wylie Dufresne. David Chang brought us Jared Forman. Most of pastry had done stints under Johnny Iuzzini at Jean Georges (Heather Bertinetti, Jade Riggin, et al). And that's just some of the back of the house. Never mind the front of the house.

But winning is not what I admire most about the Yankees or why I enjoyed my time at Marea. I admire the Yankees for the standard that they set, the standard they play up to, and how timeless they are whether it's their uniforms which have never changed, their team before player philosophy which translates into no players names on their jerseys, or their respect for tradition.

For the first time in my professional career, I found the same ethos at Marea. A high standard that won us the James Beard Award for Best New Restaurant in the U.S., three stars New York Times, and two Michelin stars. A standard that we played up to whether we were serving a handful of people that first summer or 300 after the reviews hit. And, believe it or not, our aprons.

Unlike many famous uniforms - be they for athletes, the armed forces, police or fire - most people never saw us cooks in our dark blue navy aprons. But for me, putting on that apron felt like putting on the pinstripes.

Each morning I walked across 58th Street to Marea where I entered through a service entrance, my ears full of Gershwin's "Rhapsody in Blue" as I'd fist bump the rest of the staff as we prepped for service. I walked tall across the city knowing I worked at one of its best restaurants and I took pride in the work we did.

This fall I am honored to recreate Marea's menu at my alma mater, Davidson College, for a night. And, thanks to Amador Acosta, Chef Michael White, Omar Hanhan, and the staff at the Altamarea group, I am happy to put this back on.

Pick UP!

Giusto

Over time we molt skins, we live multiple lives, and we change direction. The same applies for businesses. Long-time insurance behemoth Lloyd's of London started as a coffee house. Nintendo started out selling playing cards and vacuum cleaners. And long before it sold motorcycles, Suzuki moved looms. Likewise, the time has come for Cookbook Calculator to shed its first name and purpose and to take on a new identity more in line with its focus.

Somewhere along the line people got the idea that Italians make good food and that they like to eat it together. While my family's gatherings typically occur around religious events, what brings people out is the time with each other and the food they have brought with them out of love. A little something of everything so that everyone had something to eat, whether it was finicky eaters like me as a kid or cousins that had gone vegan, there was something there for you that was made just right.

While short on communal eating, cooking at Marea taught me about the high standard of culinary excellence. The chefs at Marea taught me how to make food "giusto", just right. Now I can not only bring something to family events, but can make sure it's just right.

Or so I thought.

With a big family it's hard to keep track of who's eating what, who's on what diet, and who has what allergy. It's become harder to make something just right for everyone.

Which leads us from Cookbook Calculator to Giusto. The business' focus has changed, and now, so has our name. We desire to help people eat together, to share the foods they love with the people they love, and to cut down the $25 billion caregivers in the U.S. lose annually from either lost wages or in health care costs due to trips to the emergency room for food allergies. That's time and money that could be spent eating well with good people instead of interrupting Thanksgiving with an epipen. That's Giusto.