Party of One: Jody Adams reflects on her first year flying solo at Rialto
IT'S BEEN almost a year since Jody Adams relaunched Rialto as a solo act. Before that, if any pair was a recognizable constellation in the local-restaurant night sky, it was Jody Adams and Michela Larson. They were everywhere, at every event, behind every good cause, sharing an almost one-word "Jody-and-Michela" identity. Their decision to part ways was a public surprise, but it may have been inevitable: two smart, strong, big-hearted women were probably due for some breathing space.
So as Larson went off to open Rocca in the South End, Adams stayed on to operate Rialto as a solo act. It seemed like a no-brainer: Adams could easily expect her success to continue apace on her home turf. But what she found was a learning curve that seemed to head straight up. And Adams's transition from chef to sole proprietor is a perfect illustration of why the restaurant business is so damn hard. It isn't enough to be a super chef, or a talented and charming hostess. A restaurant is the classic small business, and if the owner isn't on top of all the moving parts - the food, the service, buying right and smart, training and motivating the staff, and developing good PR and marketing skills - even the most talented chef won't succeed. But Adams made it through the transition from partner to proprietor, and I recently had the chance to sit down with her and chat.
We didn't plan it that way. I'm having dinner at the restaurant, and Adams simply pulls up a chair. When does that ever happen - even to a jaded foodie like me? One rarely gets a chance to sit with the chef, to get her running commentary on the food, the choreography of service, the business. Usually chefs are whirling dervishes during mealtime. If they know you, they might come over and make small talk for a minute or two; they might even send over a complimentary appetizer or a dessert. But their eyes constantly circle the room like searchlights, finding a problem there, waving to a regular there. It's generally a quick courtesy call, not a conversation. So sitting with Adams is a rare and luscious experience. Not only is the food delicious, so is the chef: centered, calm, and candid. Throughout dinner I keep thinking: "It doesn't get any better than this."
So what about that first year? Adams says it was "a far more educational experience" than she'd planned or expected. "Suddenly, the restaurant was mine to run, from the front of the house to the back of the kitchen, and I found out how much everyone else had been doing," she admits. "Before that, I figured that as long as things were running smoothly in the kitchen, I was doing my job. Now, it's all my job."
And so the star became a student again. She made a few big important decisions, including focusing the menu on Italian food and bringing the price point down a bit. Now the menu changes monthly, emphasizing a specific Italian region. (For a good sense of the new Rialto, try one of the restaurant's Sunday-night suppers, a $40 three-course dinner with regional Italian wine and food pairings.)
Adams also did something else that was very hard for a perfectionist chef - she made herself stay out of the kitchen. "I realized that things actually run better when I give the chefs space," she explains. "They know what to do. They're talented, they are well-trained, and they don't need me to hover over them and make them nervous every single minute." (Ah - that's why she can sit and chat over dinner; she's giving her staff a chance to succeed. I've never heard a chef admit this before.) She also closed the restaurant for a month and did a super-speedy renovation of the space, making it cozier and somehow more Italian. The colors were lightened up, the layout reordered so the room is less wide-open, with more nooks and crannies.
Adams says there were some months after the transition to sole ownership when she didn't get much sleep. As successful as she'd been as a chef, the new Rialto was her first brush with the bitch that is profit and loss. "It had been a rocky first month or so; we hadn't given ourselves much down time," she says. "One month, the numbers weren't going well, and I was beginning to panic. What if I didn't make it?" An old friend, a successful entrepreneur, came to Rialto for dinner and recognized Adams's angst. "He asked me how it was going, and he watched my face as I hedged a bit," she remembers. "He asked me if I was waking up at three a.m. in a cold sweat. Check. Was I having dreams that I was fraud? Check again. He kept chuckling as he asked me question after question. And then he said, ‘You'll be fine. You're right on track. We worry, and that's why we succeed.' "
Succeed Jody Adams has. Rialto is a restaurant that runs like a precision instrument, while still managing to keep the soft warm center of intimacy. At close to 10 p.m., the dining room is still humming. A loud party next to us is well into its sixth or seventh bottle of wine. There's a table of serious men dueling with their calculators in between bites. A pair of 20-something couples are having the tasting menu nearby. "Oh my God! Taste this gnocchi!" one of the women exclaims.
When, at the end of the evening, a luckless server breaks a wine glass, the room smiles in support. Only the chef-owner would automatically calculate the cost of the broken stemware. It's not a tragedy - just a reminder of all the little things that make the restaurant business so hard: broken glasses; expensive, perishable ingredients; a constant focus on staff training and skill; and, above all, a never-ending drive for excellence. With a full year under her belt, Adams is on top of it all. @
[Photo by Joel Veak]
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