Russian Roulette

Shocking doesn't even begin to describe the turn of events at Red this past year. The story illustrates how—despite popular success in this business—poor management can always snuff out the hot fire of opportunity.

When Red opened last spring, it was a smash. Many critics—and most patrons—were wowed by the contemporary Euro-Russian cooking of chef Marianne Miller, whose oversized and luxurious menu made clear her lofty ambition to create a dining room that could compete with the best in town. The goose hung high for several months, but soon Red’s owners (a troika of Russian expats led by Vlad Fogel, along with silent partner Steve McCarty) had parted ways with Miller, replacing her with sous chef Matt Kempf. Before the first snowfall, Red had been evicted, having defaulted on its lease. In the middle of the night, eighteen-wheelers hauled away everything that wasn’t nailed to the ground, and no one was talking. Within weeks, Miller had signed a letter of intent with Foshay Tower to reopen.

Red always seemed out of balance. The kitchen was professionally run, but the front of the house wasn’t. Servers, hosts, and managers seemed embarrassed, stumbling to describe food they didn’t understand, bumbling in attempts to open wine bottles. The menu was very big, loaded with high-buck perishables, and the kitchen was staffed to the gills. Industry watchers, myself included, wondered how this place was going to sustain itself over the long term.

And then the chef was gone. Subsequent visits indicated Red had taken a big step backward: Hot food served cold, menu combinations and techniques that didn’t work, pretension trumping common sense—very little worked. It reminded me just how integral well-made food is to the success of a fine dining restaurant. But I was still shocked when Red closed three weeks later.

According to Miller, she quit last summer when the owners demanded she tone down her menu in size and ambition. She scoffed at what she characterized as foolhardy suggestions (among others) that she use frozen vegetables instead of fresh to save money. Was her exodus an artiste’s tantrum? Not in light of the fiasco she says existed from day one: Despite healthy revenues and controlled costs, bills were not being paid to purveyors, and on several occasions she came to work to find electricity and phones shut off for nonpayment. Fogel, McCarty, and other principals declined to return calls for comment. Kempf told me he was “in the dark” about the whole affair.

“We were making a profit every month, and I couldn’t figure out where the money was going, and they [the owners] refused to keep records,” Miller explained. “I knew something scary was going on and that’s why I left. They were using the restaurant like their private bank, and I don’t know where the dollars went, but who takes the trips they took, or buys the suits and the cars [they had], and doesn’t pay the bills?”

Many restaurateurs use their business to finance their lifestyle, but exercise enough caution that the cash cow gives milk for years, not months. When Red folded, it left behind a staff without jobs, a cadre of vendors with holes in their balance sheets, a landlord due months of back rent, and more questions than answers.

Red was dying when it left the starting gate, because its management and kitchen weren’t on the same page about food, service, or how the business was to be run.

Those who put up the dough for this place need only blame themselves. They opened a restaurant with only one bullet in their gun—a good chef—then oddly, turned it on themselves. I think they call that Russian roulette.