Coatcheck Hussy? The Confession...

Ok, ok, ok...I never made out with Rocco DiSpirito....I know, disappointing, right? On many levels (he's luscious...admit it...). I was kind of surprised at your interest in the validity of my revelations last week -- an inordinate amount of you emailed me privately and Facebooked me...I had moms pulling me aside at pick up, and a few old friends calling...even my husband, who knew the true story, began questioning again...and everyone had the same inquiry: Is the Rocco makeout session the lie? Because if not I definitely need to hear that story. So, yes, I did have dinner with Billy Squier (Stroke Me!)...and yes, there were two bodyguards living with my family for a month during my senior year in high school (good times!)....But, sorry, there were in fact no kissing bandits in the coatcheck...you know, because I would never do that (as far as you know)...and anyway, well-mannered ladies don't kiss and tell, do we? But.........

....don't despair....there is a story behind that fun little tidbit. It was back in 1998, before Rocco was this Dancing With The Stars buffoon and glory-hogging reality show freak. Back then he was a young superstar chef in New York City, lauded far and wide as the second coming...Rocco's restaurant, Union Pacific, had just received a three-star review from Ruth Reichl in the New York Times. I was a fresh-faced pixie with my tasteful cashmere sweater sets and pristine Gucci loafers (gag me...), newly married, all pleased with myself and uptight. Kratz & Company, the late, great funky cool fabulous PR agency for which I was then working not only represented Union Pacific, but a slew of other top chefs and restaurants and food brands (so now you get my food porn addiction and chef groupie status....). And this was in the restaurant heyday of the late '90's...the cultural resurgence of "the restaurant as destination"...and Food Network was in its infancy, making celebs of Bobby Flay and Mario Batali and even had a talk show all about food hosted by Bill Boggs and Donna Hanover (WTF??? really...who made an appointment to watch her?). And Kratz & Company, particularly the engaging yet megalomaniacal David Kratz himself, who represented pretty much every last fine chef in town, was integral to that moment in history.

So...back to me and Rocco...we were at a book launch party, that much is true....Alfred Portale of Gotham Bar and Grill had just written his first cookbook (ghost-written by my co-worker at the time) and all the little Kratzlings (yes, David did refer to his staff as "Kratzlings"...again, gag me...) were invited and pretty much required to attend the launch at Gotham...The room was stacked with the top food journalists, movers and shakers, chef talent and big time restauranteurs: Michael Romano, Danny Meyer, Tom Colicchio, Pino Luongo, Charlie Palmer...even the 90's food god himself, David Bouley, made an appearance, which was like being in the room with some elusive genius, the Elvis of cookery.....it was a foodie nirvana. Rocco, though, had yet to be seen. My "bread" client, Ecce Panis, was there, so my boss, this brilliant yet miserable, funky-glasses-wearing barracuda was on my a** to introduce Bread Client to every journalist and chef in the joint...you know, bat my eyes and whore out the virtues of artisanal bread in one's bread basket while these superstars were pounding champagne. And so I did...smiling, whoring...laughing, drinking...and drinking some more...sidling up to the chefs, making sure they shook the Bread Client's hand. And I remember at the time all of my friends and family thinking it was so cool that I got to rub elbows with these boldface-named New Yorkers...and I suppose it would have been, had it not also been my job...and when it comes down to it, wouldn't most of us rather enjoy a fun cocktail party with our BFF/sister/spouse/girlfriend/boyfriend/side-slice than be giggling at the jokes of some vertically challenged Bread Client? But I digress....

Eventually Bread Client had met all the players, and had talked a few into taking his card...then (thankfully) decided he'd had enough and was on his merry way. So I hung for a little while with my friend Chuck who cracked me up making hilarious, snide comments about everyone in the room under his breath, smiling the whole time (cannot recall where my Kratz BFF, Jim, was at the time...Dallas? Phoenix? off to Cairns??). But eventually I was pretty much over the whole scene and decided to make my own exit. Chuck had to hang back and pander to Pino, so I bid him adieu and made my way towards the coatcheck through the sea of folks clamoring around Alfred, congratulating him...all that jazz. And it took me quite a few minutes of navigating the masses...it was sort of like white water rafting. I am a short little thing, so I was pushed back and forth, elbowed along my way, nearing the end...when all of a sudden, this tall gentleman appeared next to me, put his arm about my shoulder and escorted me through until we were free, next to the coatcheck and face to face with the Funky-Glasses-Wearing Barracuda Boss...tall gentleman's arm still circling my shoulder.

My boss seemed stunned briefly but regained her composure and greeted the tall gentleman reverently. And then she turned to me and said: "Suzanne, I see you've met Rocco." And I was still sort of clueless as he and I turned to face each other, my neck tilted all the way back so that I could look up to his face...and there he was, Rocco DiSpirito, smiling down at me, taking my hands and holding them in his...leaning in for a Euro-style "kiss kiss"...saying hello and calling me by name. And I guess I thanked him for helping me navigate the crowd and he never let go of my hands. I heard Funky-Glasses-Wearing Barracuda Boss tell Rocco that I worked at the agency, listing my accounts -- Campari, Romana Sambuca, Ecce Panis, yada yada yada...And, still holding my hands he leans down, inches from my face, hypnotizes me with this steady gaze that I still remember vividly to this day and says:

"Well then, Suzanne, you and I should become friends...you will have to come see me at the restaurant. I would love to have you as my guest."

Ok...for you non-foodies, I am sure you think this entire story is so ridiculous and inane and like, "who the ef really cares, the dude is a cook"....But for those of us who know what Rocco was at that time, and also how captivating he actually is in person (and we all know what a sucker I am for a charismatic rogue...), it was like Big Papi or Eli Manning or Tom Cruise (ick) or, I don't know, Dolly Parton, personally inviting you to be his/her guest at the World Series or Super Bowl or the Oscars or, I don't know, Dollywood...Funky-Glasses-Wearing Barracuda Boss, who normally was an angry, jealous old bird, was visibly impressed and almost gleeful. So, I think I said something like: "Really?" and he said: "Of course, I would love to cook for you" and I said: "Well, that would be amazing." And Rocco said something like: "Well, I will look forward to seeing you there then. Call me at the restaurant." He squeezed my hands, gave me a second Euro "kiss kiss" and then he grabbed his coat and was off.

So honestly, despite the little brush with greatness and obvious envy of Funky-Glasses-Wearing Barracuda Boss, I was a kind of uneasy...the whole interaction felt sort of...naughty, I guess. This little benign invitation for dinner confused me to no end and I wanted it to be a secret. You know, I was a young married then, still so naive about life and idealistic about the future...but I knew damn well that invitation was for me and me alone, no husband or friends included. So I walked home that night and got into bed...Rob asked how the event was and I told him I met Rocco DiSpirito by the coatcheck...and that was all I said.

The next morning in the Kratz kitchen (Chuckaccinos on ice...), Funky-Glasses-Wearing Barracuda Boss tells the story to a few of our co-workers who had congregated and everyone is sort of staring at me, certainly wondering what I must have done to warrant said invitation from Rock Star Rocco. And frankly, I had no answer for them...we met and then he invited me to dine at his restaurant...simple as that. But everyone was so impressed, so I started to feel like a zoo animal and a pit began to form in my stomach. I asked Funky-Glasses-Wearing Barracuda Boss if she thought Rocco's invitation was actually sincere and she assured me that she had no doubt, but that I needed to act fast and get myself to Union Pacific as soon as possible...and my co-workers all agreed that I should call the restaurant that day and plan my visit. Ugh...the pit in my stomach got bigger and bigger...I just couldn't help but feel like Rocco probably forgot the whole incident two seconds later and his staff would hang up as soon as I called. So that afternoon at lunch I stopped by the now closed Alva over on 22nd Street, run by Aaron Bashy, an Executive Chef who actually was my friend...he knew Rocco, their restaurants were doors apart...and I told him the story. He agreed with Funky-Glasses-Wearing Barracuda Boss...he said that if a chef tells you to join him as a guest at his restaurant, then you should jump on the invitation, because it is likely another one will never come. Well that made sense...

But....I ignored everyone's advice....I never called...in fact, I never set foot in Union Pacific ever again. I know, what a loser, right? Ugh...I don't know, I just felt sort of stupid calling and telling some hostess that I in fact met Rocco and he in fact did tell me to come see him at the restaurant...I mean, please, it was bizarre and surreal and...I still get all freaked out even imagining making that call. I suppose it would have been nice, sampling Rocco's specialties, making nice with him and maybe actually becoming friends as he had said...who wouldn't want to be friends with the shining star of the New York City culinary scene? Instead I decided that I would rather preserve that little moment we had at the coatcheck and that way I would at least have that to go back to...a fun little memory. Sure, there were times when I thought that I made a mistake by never calling the restaurant....but that was until.....

Flash forward to 2003 and Rocco is the star of this reality TV experiment entitled The Restaurant, which was supposedly documenting his experience opening a family style Italian restaurant on 22nd Street (in a space that encompassed the old Alva, ironically) called, what else, Rocco's. By that point I was a mother of three children, firmly ensconced in the suburbs, in a comfy job at Weight Watchers and a happy little life. But I couldn't wait to watch my old "friend"...you know, I thought he sacraficed some of his street cred agreeing to do the show, but I was totally rooting for him...

And then, there it was, like the Cher from Moonstruck "snap out of it" slap across the face...captured on film in the very first 10 minutes of the very first episode of this new reality docu-drama...out there for the world to see -- Rocco f**king DiSpirito used the locked-gaze-hand-holding-sincere-"let's be friends" bullsh*t on every single b*tch who walked into the joint! Oh and make no mistake, his little move wasn't reserved for anyone special...he was doling out his charming stare downs to anything in a skirt...and frankly, I think he was using his charismatic sorcery on the dudes too. My husband goes "he's such a d*uche" and I busted out laughing, incredulous at my own utter stupidity...of course this guy was a complete man-whore...of course his little come hither lines and invitations were just a side effect of his inability to control his desire to be loved by everyone...a typical chef to the core, apparently all Rocco wanted was to make people happy...And of course, my friends, that little naive, idealistic Suz with her tasteful cashmere sweater sets and pristine Gucci loafers fell for it hook, line and sinker...again, gag me. 

So nearly six years after our chance meeting at the coatcheck, all I could think was:

Thank GOD I never called the restaurant!!!

Image 1: Standard signage at all coatchecks...well, shouldn't it be?...yeah, maybe not...

Photo 2: My "friend" Rocco actually cooking something...hasn't done that in years...

Photo 3: My everyday shoe of choice circa '97...oh how I rocked those timeless ivory patent leathers...

Photo 4: Alfred (in navy) and his star chef posse...you know they all hate each others' guts...

Photo 5: There I am sporting my serious grown up hair and chic little city girl outfit....at a real party, no clients allowed, with my BFF, Allison...

Photo 6: That's me in 1997...fake smile, whoring around some event, winking, smiling and pushing some foodie product on some randy yet unsuspecting restaurant reviewer...

Photo 7: The "Rocco" of cheesy country music drag queen icons...seriously, how does she stand up straight?

Photo 8: We as young marrieds...not yet quite so jaded...

Photo 9: There's Funky-Glasses-Wearing-Barracuda Boss attempting to bully me into calling Rocco on her retro cell phone...the scowl permanently etched on her face...

Photo 10: Years later, kids all around, the coatcheck meeting is a distant memory...

Photo 11: Ugh...there he is spreading it around like some little rabbit dressed in a chef coat...the cad...but, you know, he is still kind of cute, no?