On July 4, 1998, I visited Philadelphia for only the second time in my life. I remembered thinking it was a cool city the first time through, and my memory served me correctly. I wandered around Center City for a while before making my way to the address Marc [Vetri] had given me. I was taken aback at first by the quaint little townhouse that stood in the middle of a mostly residential block. But as unassuming as it was, 1312 Spruce Street had a remarkable culinary past, including being the original home of Le Bec-Fin, rated America’s finest French restaurant for many years.
If the outside of the building was somewhat unassuming, the inside was downright unappealing! It was in serious disrepair from floor to ceiling and from front to back. I questioned why I was even there for a moment, but my dismay was short-lived when Marc started painting the picture of what it would look like after we did renovations. His confidence, creativity, and commitment told my gut that he was going to make this happen. It just felt right.
I returned to New York with a big decision to make. Marc had a decision to make, too. All signs pointed to us joining forces, but as Yogi Berra said, it ain’t over til it’s over. In retrospect, it’s funny that the first time I heard Marc’s name, when [his brother] Adam mentioned he was returning from Italy, I blew him off as unqualified. And when Marc first considered leasing a restaurant space in Philly, he blew me off for a guy named Roberto. But a few days after my trip to Philly, he called me up and we sealed the deal.
“So hey, what are you thinking?” Marc asked.
“I love your vision, love the space, and I’d really like to be part of this.”
“That’s great news!” Marc said. “The bad news is, I can’t pay you very much, and I can’t guarantee, well, anything really. I can’t even set up company health insurance yet. So … are you still with me?”
“Where do I sign?” I said.
And that was that. We worked out a few more business details, but it was all very casual and uncomplicated. I gave my notice of resignation to Restaurant Associates and said sayonara to the world of corporate dining, hopefully forever.
By the first week of August, Marc and I were spending our days like Daniel-san from Karate Kid, sanding and painting for all we were worth until we were dripping with sweat. In short order I realized I had partnered with a guy who had the most ferocious work ethic I’d ever seen. And on the days when his 60-something father Sal would join us, I would see where he got it from. Besides all the manual labor we both partook in, Marc had a whole host of responsibilities to get the back of the house ready, and I had to do the same for the front.
The workload kicked my ass day in and day out, but I embraced this new venture like nothing I ever had before. Luckily, by the time my head hit the pillow at night, I had no energy left to dwell on everything I was leaving behind.
Day by day Marc and I could see the restaurant shaping up, and in early September we made the announcement: “Vetri” would open its doors for business on Tuesday, September 22, 1998.
And … we’re off!
Opening night at Vetri went off without a hitch. There were plenty of friends and family to cheer us on, as well as a few local celebrities to help make the scene, not to mention the most important dignitaries of all — our first paying customers. We were off and running.
Like most restaurants, though, within a couple of weeks of blasting off and packing them in, the novelty wore off and the crowds died down. While weekends were always busy, many weeknights were frightfully slow. We had no money to advertise, and instead relied solely on word of mouth. Half the time Marc and I would send home most of our staff of six and just sit there in the dining room waiting for customers, me drinking bourbon and him playing guitar. We would often talk about the future and our prospects, with Marc never wavering in his assurance that we’d make it. In the back of my mind, though, I kept thinking, “A year from now I’ll be back in New York.”
One memorable evening, we had sent everyone home due to the typical lack of customers, compounded by a snowstorm. We figured we’d hang out until 8 or 9 before closing up shop, just in case anyone did come by. Marc was alone upfront playing guitar when a couple popped their head in the door and asked, “Are you open?”
He jumped right up, welcomed them with gusto, and then grabbed me from the office to take care of them up front while he fired up the kitchen. As we got their meal going, another couple popped their snow-covered heads in the door and we welcomed them right in, too. Four more couples followed within a half hour, and just like that we were swamped!
Marc and I both did it all that night, from cooking to pouring wine to waiting tables to bussing trays to washing dishes to whatever else was needed. It was easily the worst night of service Vetri customers have ever received, but our guests loved every minute of it! They understood our situation and the energy in the room was infused with a sense of camaraderie. When it was time to leave, the storm had dumped so much snow in the city that taxis were no longer available. So, in addition to every other hat Marc wore that night, it turned out he had room for one more: taxi driver. He pulled his four-wheel-drive Ford pickup truck around to the front of the restaurant, then started driving our customers to their destinations. He must have made three different trips that night, but it was well worth it. We got some good word-of-mouth out of it, not to mention repeat business from several of the parties. In fact, one of the couples have been regulars ever since.
About three months after opening, we got our first big break. The Philadelphia Inquirer food critic came in for dinner, unbeknownst to us, and a few days later wrote a glowing review of Vetri. Business took off immediately after that. It didn’t hurt that, within our first year, Food and Wine Magazine would name Marc one of America’s Top Ten Chefs of 1999. That thrust us right into the stratosphere, and we’ve never looked back.
Family night at Vetri
By January, plans for my family to visit Vetri for the first time started to shape up. [Editor’s note: This is several months after Benjamin’s father was diagnosed with cancer and given less than a year to live.] Although the restaurant was Marc’s baby, not to mention his namesake, I had never felt so connected to anything I’d been part of, short of maybe my Wendy’s baseball team back in Davenport. It was settled that Mom, Dad, and both of my sisters and their families would trek to Philly for dinner at Vetri on Valentine’s Day, 1999. How perfectly fitting; it was going to be a love fest.
I knew they would all be terribly impressed by the space and the food, but most of all by the fact that little Jeffy had pulled this off ! After all we had been through in the last year-plus, our family needed this moment.
Dad and Mom arrived at six o’clock on the dot for their reservation. Dad was still using a cane but made it up the brownstone steps on his own to greet me with a warm hug at the threshold. He looked dapper as a dandy in his coat and tie, and Mom was also dressed to the nines. They ate everything on the menu, it seemed, even the clams! It was a glorious night. After dinner, Marc joined me to say goodbye to my parents outside. Mom hugged me so hard she nearly broke my ribs, and did the same to Marc. Dad, ever the gentleman, shook both of our hands firmly before stepping into the cab.
As they drove away, Marc turned to me and said, “That ain’t a guy who’s dying anytime soon.”
“My God,” I thought to myself, “please let him be right.”
Excerpted from Extra Innings: A Memoir of Fathers, Sons, Baseball and Fate. Copyright 2024 Jeff Benjamin and Greg Jones.
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