At Babbo, each dish grew out of a conversation, trying to put something forth that was new and different. It was a combination of culinary adventurism and the dining-room experience with respect for the classic but with an eye toward innovation. And it was about eating locally, whether produce or fish or meat.

Pasta is the one food I can't live without. It's the food I eat to fuel my running.

Maitre d's are at the financial spigot of the restaurant, meaning they control who gets in and who doesn't, but aside from that, they don't do anything. And yet they get paid as much as the highest-paid people in the place.

Being a cook doesn't necessarily mean you are a competitor.

With four-appetizer, four-entree menus, it's like, give me a break. That's not a restaurant, that's a dinner party.

I was brought up to believe I could achieve anything. My mother instilled in me the belief that there was always something great coming. For example, even though I'm afraid of flying, I always think the plane can't crash because there are so many better things still to come.

It's one thing to execute dishes on your own time for family and friends, but quite another to perform and be judged in a competition. And that's what cooking in a high profile restaurant is. It's a competition. You're up against every other three-star restaurant in your city, and if you want to stay in business, you'd better deliver.