All right, I returned to Hyannis on June 1st and worked at The Paddock Restaurant until the end of September in 1971. This restaurant was already recommended by the Mobil Guide in its second or third year. It had a AAA rating, Wine Spectator’s Best Award of Excellence, and was voted Best Fine Dining, Best Mid-Cape Restaurant by Cape Cod Life, and Best Restaurant by Boston Magazine. The restaurant was run by John and Maxine. It provided affordable excellence in fine dining, and as I mentioned, I was there in the third year.

The Paddock Restaurant at the West End Rotary in downtown Hyannis was located right next to the Melody Tent. Aside from great service and hospitality, The Paddock offered a delicious menu and an extensive wine list. Owners John and Maxine operated the restaurant, having met as college students working at The Flying Bridge in Falmouth. Later on, their two sons also helped out.

Appetizers included treats such as baked clams casino, fresh littlenecks, steamed mussels, and fresh Chatham oysters on the half shell. In the entrée department, you could find choices of fine meat and poultry dishes such as grilled filet mignon, grilled New York sirloin, or Tuscan lemon chicken. You might also opt for grilled or poached fresh Norwegian salmon, or perhaps something closer to home, such as Chatham scrod or native 2 lb. baked stuffed or broiled lobster.

The Paddock used to offer specials each week. John and Maxine let me do whatever I wanted to do as long as the regular entrées were done to perfection. All our entrées included a fresh vegetable plate and your choice of garden salad, or a soup du jour. The Paddock was open from April to mid-November for lunch and dinner. We had early evening discounts and many entertainers came in after they were finished at the Melody Tent.

I only worked there until the end of September. Even though the restaurant had only been in business for a short time, John, who is still my friend today, told me, “Gert, you’ve got to leave.” I asked why, as we weren’t finished. He told me, ” Gert, I can’t afford you anymore because you know, this is our first season.” I totally understood that it is not easy to operate a restaurant, especially when people think that in the restaurant business, you become a multimillionaire. They have absolutely no idea what they’re talking about.

So many people want to own a restaurant because they love to eat well. But if you do that, it’s like a sailboat—it’s an absolute money pit because if you don’t know what you’re doing, just forget it. Gretchen came down for the summer to work again at the Sheraton Hyannis in reservations. I started the day after I arrived at The Paddock Restaurant, which was right across the street from where I worked the previous year.

We decided to move in together and found a nice room with a private bathroom and shower. Both of us worked in the evening. I had to be at work around noon and Gretchen around 3 PM. Both of us worked six days a week, but the hours were the same, so we had the night and morning off together. Our days off were also the same, so we spent all our free time together. I had never lived with a girl before, but it seemed we both enjoyed each other’s company. On our days off, we checked out many towns and beaches. We didn’t have a car, but the public transit system was good. Plus, our little place was just a few minutes from where we worked.

At the end of the season, I got my first driver’s license and bought an old Ford station wagon from Gretchen’s parents. The Paddock Restaurant was a very busy place. We had three cooks on the hotline: the broiler cook, myself on sauté (plus slicing the roast beef, which was a lot of work), and a helper in the middle to garnish plates and tell the waiters their orders were ready. For about four hours, there were no breaks—not even to go to the bathroom. The pantry was managed by an experienced girl who was very good and got some help from a high school kid. Our dishwashers were Irish kids who spent the summer on the Cape. Everybody got along very well.

The broiler cook—I’ve forgotten her name—was a character. Once, when I asked her for help, she told me, “Honey, I’m the broiler cook. I broil and that’s it.” John and I still chuckle about her when we reminisce about the old days. Even though she could be a pain, we got along just fine.

After I finish writing about Cape Cod, Newport, RI, and even Lakeway, I will write about the menus that were served in the 1970s in good restaurants throughout the United States. These were often called continental menus, based heavily on French and Italian cuisine with a few local specialties, especially in the evening menus. Even menus in hotels and coffee shops, which relied on many salad dishes, sandwiches, and lighter fare like pasta, grilled fish, a bistro steak, hamburgers, and grilled chicken breast, reflected this trend. It’s not like Europe, where people take much more time for lunch, and in many countries, the main meal is lunch. But during my time in Europe, the food I cooked was much more elaborate. In my career in hotels in the 70s, we had three times as many staff to help in the kitchen, but I always tried to get the freshest and best ingredients money could buy. I always told the purchasing agent to find new and exciting provisions. Maxine and John were always ready to try new things for me to create unusual specials, as long as our regular menu was executed to perfection.

I learned a lot from John. If a customer wants something a little different done with a dish and you have the ingredients, just do it. If a customer wants the chicken on the side of the salad or no bun for the burger, these are easy things to accommodate. If they want a 3 lb. lobster, I’ll get it for them. Like all great maître d’s, John made you feel like you were the only guest in the restaurant. Even when I worked at the Sheraton Hotel, my boss, Eddie, had the same attitude.

The Paddock Restaurant was next to the Melody Tent, which hosted many artists—singers like Tony Bennett, comedians, and plays. Many of the artists had dinner before the show or after they finished their set. Even though The Paddock was only in its second or third season, it already had a great reputation. I only worked there in June, July, August, and part of September, but I learned a lot about the food that New England customers like or dislike. The season was much too short. At the end of August and September, I talked to placement agents to find me a job. It took a while to decide where I wanted to work.

Gretchen and her roommate offered to let me stay with them in Boston. They rented a small apartment in Cambridge, which was more centrally located than Cape Cod and made job searching easier. I had many interviews, including one in New Orleans at Brennan’s Restaurant for a sous chef position. Even though I wasn’t interested, it was something to do, and they offered me a free flight and hotel room. My reasoning was that I could experience a new city without paying for it.

My ex-boss from the Sheraton in Hyannis called me from Cleveland, OH, and told me he had an offer for me to be his assistant, operating a small chain of Holiday Inns. He booked me a flight, and off I went. Arriving in Cleveland, which was still going strong with heavy industry, I couldn’t even see downtown from the highway—the pollution was so bad. When we arrived at the hotel and entered the lobby, which was supposed to look like a Roman forum, it was filled with white plastic statues of Roman gods. I almost had a meltdown—from Rome’s Cavalieri Hilton to fake gods in a lobby. Thanks, but no thanks. But Eddie and my visit to see him was still very enjoyable.

Another offer came from Cincinnati, a town founded by German immigrants. I found the city very charming, and on my flight back to Boston, I told myself I needed to get serious. Maybe instead of flying around the country, I should find a job in Boston. I went to Anthony’s Pier 4, which at that time was the biggest grossing restaurant in the United States. I met the owner, an Albanian immigrant who had fulfilled his American dream. He was very nice to me. He gave me a tour of the place, and you have to give the man credit—it was without a doubt a well-run restaurant, and any celebrity who came to Boston ate there at least once, with their pictures displayed on the wall everywhere. In Europe, that would be considered poor taste, but we are in the United States of America.

After the tour, we sat down for lunch, and he offered me a job as a sous chef. I asked if I could meet the chef, and he informed me that he was the chef, the manager, the maître d’, the banquet and catering manager, and the owner—basically the absolute ruler of his kingdom. Next to his office was an apartment where he slept most nights. Supposedly, he had mistresses who kept him company. In all my time working in Switzerland, Germany, and the US, this man had the biggest ego I had ever encountered. After lunch, he asked if I would join him. My answer was, “Let me think about it.” That was one sentence he did not want to hear, and his demeanor changed in a second. “Young man,” he said, “this is a once-in-a-lifetime chance for you to work with me. I want your loyalty and total dedication. You are German, aren’t you? I need a yes or no.” My answer was no. He got up from the table without saying anything. I left the restaurant and never returned. And I felt I had made the right decision not to take the job, even though it would have paid very well.

My next interview was at a new hotel called The Colonnade. I had a meeting with the food and beverage manager and the executive chef. They gave me an idea of what the hotel and restaurant’s mission would be. They basically told me it would be the best in the city. When I asked them where they had worked before, I was told that it was none of my concern—that I would work for them, but they would not work for me, and they would be making the decisions. I was very polite, even though my thoughts were very much the opposite of what I was saying. They knew very well my qualifications since I had sent them to the general manager. I tried to tell them that my knowledge could be very helpful in making the restaurant great. After all, I had worked in some of Europe’s finest hotels, and at the Queen Elizabeth in Montreal. I was told the only position they had was a line cook. I asked the chef, “Why don’t you tell me where you worked before you took this position? Are you afraid of my knowledge?” The last years of his career, his mouth hung open. He got red in the face, and he almost lost it. I got up from the table in my most diplomatic way, wished him a good day and lots of luck making it the best hotel in town. After I left the lobby and was in the parking lot, I muttered a few obscenities. What a waste of time that was.

After I talked to the apartment, I found a message from a friend I had worked with before in Germany. I think he got my address from a headhunter I once used. He managed the Hilton Hotel in Northampton, MA. He begged me to come visit him—his chef had walked out, and his sous chef was not ready to take over. “Why don’t you help me out for a little bit until I can find a full-time chef, or you might actually like it here?” I spoke to Gretchen to see what she thought about it. It was Friday, and she had Saturday and Sunday off, so we thought we could have a nice weekend together, stay at a nice hotel, eat good food, and see some new sights.

I called him back and asked if he would mind if Gretchen came along. I told him we would leave in a few hours and should be there by late afternoon. Off we went. The hotel was very nice and well-kept. It was located outside Northampton, where the Hilton franchise and the developers of the hotel owned three other Hilton franchises—one in Wakefield and one in Boston. When we arrived, my friend greeted us. He got us our room, we changed, and met him in the bar for cocktails. Afterwards, we had dinner at the restaurant. The food was very good, and the clientele was upper-middle-class. I was very pleased. We talked about what he needed, and I was very honest with him. This area of Massachusetts was not exactly where I wanted to live, and I was looking for a more prestigious job. After a lovely evening, we came to an agreement to meet in the morning. The hotel had a pool, so Gretchen and I spent the morning lounging on pool chairs. I was introduced to the rest of the hotel management. There was no food and beverage manager, so I would directly report to my friend. I told him I would give him an answer in the early afternoon. He suggested I should visit Northampton and Holyoke to see if I liked the two cities, which Gretchen and I did.

We talked about it, and she said I should take the job. After all, it was only two hours from her apartment, and she could come up on Friday and leave on Sunday evening. She said, “Tell him Monday needs to be your day off. Leaving on Sunday after lunch or brunch is actually a good time since the hotel is usually not busy, and most meetings start Tuesday or Wednesday.” So, I took the job. I made some money instead of using my savings, but I was only there for a very short time.