Happy Birthday: A Novel

“The following is a news item as well as a review,” the column began.For those of you who are not aware of it, there was a kitchen fire at April in New York this week. No one was injured, although the premises were damaged. The restaurant is already under repair and will be open for business again hopefully in August, and no later than Labor Day weekend. For those of you addicted to the food that master chef and owner April Wyatt serves there, even a three-month hiatus will be upsetting news.Last September, I wrote a review of April in New York, which was less than complimentary. Knowing the credentials of Ms. Wyatt, I was irked by what I considered the plebeian fare she offered. Everything from melt-in-your-mouth mashed potatoes to traditional mac and cheese, meat loaf the way Hall of Fame Super Bowl stars like Jack Adams like to eat it, and pancakes for both adults and kids. I smirked at the root beer float on the menu, and had been told that the burgers and fries were good. If I remember correctly, I think I commented (in fact I know I did) that it was like Alain Ducasse, where she trained for two years and became his main sous-chef in Paris, cooking for McDonald’s. What kind of restaurant was this? Pizza? Banana splits? Matzoh-ball soup? Okay, also steak tartare and gigot and escargots the way you only get them in Paris. This reviewer stands corrected. As those of you who practically live there know, I missed the point. April in New York is not only a place to find an exquisite dinner—perfect lobster, the finest sole meunière, osso bucco the way only an Italian can make it (she trained in Italy too, a total of six years in Europe before she brought her skills back to the States)—but it’s also a home away from home, where lucky diners can find the best of the foods they love and grew up with, and real comfort food on a bad day, the kind your mother should have made and didn’t, or at least mine never did. It’s where your palate can be challenged, tempted, teased, and thrilled, and your soul comforted, depending on your needs of the day. The fish is not only fresh but exquisitely prepared. It’s perfect. Chicken, roasted or Southern fried, melts in your mouth, and the mashed potatoes that go with it do the same. White truffle pasta or risotto in season were the only ones I’ve tasted that good in the States. Her wine list is the best collection of moderate-priced unusual wines I’ve ever seen, and are from Chile, Australia, California, and Europe. What April Wyatt has done is create a magic kingdom where the palate reigns supreme. But more than that, she offers a kind of atmosphere and comfort that meets other needs as well. Adults wait a month for reservations, and your kids will beg to go there. And don’t miss the Grand Marnier soufflé. I am totally willing to admit that I missed the boat on this one. And I’ve been there often since, and realized how big a mistake I made. While others feasted on goose, pheasant, venison, lobster, turkey, and roast beef and Yorkshire pudding on Christmas, followed up by Yule logs and plum pudding or chocolate soufflé, what did I eat? Two stacks of the best buttermilk pancakes I’d ever had, with maple syrup. Why? Because I’d missed breakfast? No, because I hate the holidays, and Ms. Wyatt made them bearable for me with the comfort food I needed, and followed it up with a hot fudge sundae, sugar cookies, and homemade truffles Ducasse taught her to make himself. Don’t miss this one! You’ll have to wait until the end of summer, and for those of you already suffering from serious withdrawal, take heart, April in New York will be up and running again by Labor Day!

There were tears running down April’s cheeks as she finished reading it and handed it back to him. She didn’t know what to say. He had not only reversed his earlier damning position, but he had written the most incredible review she’d ever seen. But he believed every word of it, and they both knew it was true. And now everyone who read about the restaurant would know it too. When he wrote it he had had a moment of concern about what his editor would ultimately think when he found out that Mike was engaged to April, so he told them, and they still liked the piece. Mike stood behind every word he had written. He truly believed that her restaurant was one of the best in the city, for all the reasons he had stated. Her skills hadn’t been underused there, she had used them in the most sophisticated, unpretentious way, to serve elegant meals to those who wanted them, and simple wholesome meals to those who didn’t. Where else could you find athletes, movie stars, food buffs, and even six-year-olds thoroughly loving their meal and all under one roof? Only at April in New York. And even if he didn’t love her, he thought her food was terrific, and admired the sheer guts of what she did, even in the face of tough critics and food snobs like him.