Back in the late 1950s my father was a big wig at the Italian-American Club and Restaurant in Albany, New York, peopled by many upper class Italians in many fields: business, academics, music, literature, art, the remaining arts, such a performing, and food, of course. The Italian-American Club had the best Italian food in the vicinity of Albany, NY. It's chef, Arturo, was world-known. People not only came from the Tri-Cities to sample his traditional Italian dishes, but from Boston, Chicago, New York and Senators and Congressmen from Washington DC itself. Arturo, in fact, even had a reputation as an international World Class Chef specializing in all dishes Italian, be they from the North or the South. As a result the Club thrived.
But is hadn't always been like that. The previous chef, who has also World Class had died and my father had been charged with finding a chef of equal or greater character and reputation and who was willing to work more for that than than for actual recompense. To be recognized and receive accolades was far more important to the American-Italian Club than to be highly paid.
Those who had been chefs at the American-Italian Club, after a few years, often moved to even more highly celebrated Italian Restaurants all over the w0rld among the highly compensated Italian chefs in the world. The budget for hiring such a specialized chef by the Albany American-Italian Club was only diminished by the level of fanfare and attention given to the importance and international recognition given by restaurant gourmet chef by my father who faced with a such vital challenge as well as a rushed challenge. His times to travel around the world in search was quite limited as was any travel funds. So he stayed local, looking for the very best. He traveled all of the local area; going to many restaurants himself to check out fare of the various chefs. Eventually he found the perfect chef for the job and lured him away from his current employer.
His name was Arturo. He was the perfect Italian chef, able to make everything Italian, and quite well. After a brief period the contract was signed and he worked dedicatedly and devotedly for the Albany Italian-American Club. The only caveat was that he required that he worked mostly in solitude with his staff and never interacted with the public, including his patrons at the Club. So this caveat was put into force; the staff he worked with were tight-lipped on the threat of losing their jobs his customers, and the kitchen as arranged so the customers could not see into it. It was an effectively closed system.
Until I was eating dinner at the Club and my father decided I should go meet Arturo. We followed secret passageways until we arrived at the kitchen where he was cooking. My father was his friend and had hired him so it was permissible. We said hi and shook hands. He said "call me Artie." And then it was over; we had to sneak back. I understood all the need for secrecy at that point. Arturo was a black man.
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