It was the Newsweek article on bankrupt farmers that made me want to meet Larry Spatz.
So I dug my best summer trousers out of the closet, found a clean shirt, put on some shoes and socks, and tromped downtown to the Tijuana Yacht Club, Spatz’s new restaurant at the corner of Grand and Clark streets.
I raised my eyebrows.
Yes. A lot of our help are would-be actors, actresses, and comedians. We expect them to be loose and uninhibited. It’s like theater. So we have auditions. We’re having one in a few minutes right here in the bar. Want to see?
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Spatz introduced me to his in-house publicist, a well-tanned woman with jet black hair. (If you need any information, call me anytime, she told me). Then, he introduced me to Gabe Nicolella, the Baja’s manager. We shook hands. Let’s talk later, Nicolella offered. At the moment, he was busy. With the kids.
When I left, Spatz seemed entranced by it all; he was watching the would-be waiters with a small, satisfied grin on his face.
To Spatz’s left sits the other Larry–Larry Siegel. He’s one of Spatz’s top executives. He’s talking on the phone. I can see the in-house publicist, wearing a lime green jumpsuit. She’s on the phone. And there’s Sonya, Spatz’s secretary; she’s on the phone, too. Almost everyone in the office is on the phone.
