first women to work in contract food sales. Cuomo talks about his parents as if they were celebrities. More than recounting memories, he describes them with a sense of awe. When he tells stories of his father’s food warehouse, his eyes sparkle. He talks excit- edly, waving his hands and leaning on the table. “He made me start working in his ware- house at nine years old,” Cuomo says. “And I will tell you, that first week, it was hard. He said, ‘You don’t stop moving. You keep going.’” From then on, Cuomo worked there during the summers, learning from a dad who was encouraging yet tough. When Cuomo wasn’t in the bustling warehouse, he’d head to the lake. Before he learned to drive a car, he learned to drive a boat. As a kid, Cuomo became a skilled bass fisherman. He competed in tournaments around the Northeast and secured sponsors who paid his entry fees. “It was truly a passion of my life, and I was getting tremendous at it,” Cuomo says. “By the time I was in high school and I could have my own driver’s license, my parents would let me leave school to go fish these bass tournaments.” When he was 17, away at a fishing tour- nament on New York’s Cayuga Lake, his mother died. She’d lost her battle with cancer. For years, Cuomo couldn’t bring himself to return to the water. Instead, he leaned into the lessons his mom taught him. “My mother was a brilliant woman,” Cuomo says. “She was always like, ‘Travel the world. Go.’ She always pushed me to go and do things. To not be afraid. Be fearless.” Cuomo’s eyes well up behind his thin- framed glasses as he reminisces about his mom. As he talks, I think carefully about my next question. Then, in a blink, three beverages hit the table. Cheyenne Sullivan, the head barista, delivers a signature lavender latte, a matcha cortado in a thick cup, and an iced creme brulee latte topped with cold foam and chocolate biscotti. Are these for tasting? For photo- graphing? Unsure, I do both. The chef gathers himself and steps away to check on the kitchen. Sullivan sits down. She has a bouncy dyed-blonde bob and a soft smile. She came to Maeva from Flagstaff, where she helped open the renowned all-day restaurant Sosta. At 22, she curates the entire coffee program. In the mornings, the bar is her domain and she creates new drinks for the ever-rotating cafe menu. Five minutes after he left, Cuomo returns. “She’s a rock star,” he says with hands extended, “Literally. She has, like, three bands. She goes to shows. Part of my job as a leader is to identify talents. People’s weaknesses, people’s strengths. Push them to where they can go. But I truly feel she’s been becoming this super creative person.” Cuomo has a way of heaping praise on his staffers. It’s a way, I gather, to pull them into the spotlight and perhaps to deflect a little from himself. He also nudges them to dive headfirst into their passions, as he learned to. CHEF ON THE MOVE Cuomo attended the Culinary Institute of America in St. Helena, California, before moving to the Napa Valley. After many long nights in the kitchen, he was driving home one night when his car was hit by a garbage truck. It was a wakeup call, he says. He was ready to stop studying what he calls “the grande cuisine” from afar. He wanted to start living it. He left California and took six months to drive back to New York. Along the way, he staged at restaurants across the country, from San Francisco to Chicago and “every- where you could possibly imagine,” Cuomo says. Then, he kept going. Cuomo headed to Europe, where he worked and traveled for two and a half years. He made a home base at his aunt’s house in the Rhone River Valley, before working in San Sebastian, Barcelona, Paris and London, absorbing everything he could about each city’s and country’s cuisines. He filled his free time at bookstores. Too broke to buy the books he wanted, he’d camp out and read for hours about food and culture. “When I lived in London, I worked at a butcher shop,” Cuomo says with a grin. “They gave me 200 pounds a week and all the meat I could eat.” After having his fill, and dining at as many Michelin-starred restaurants as he could earn invitations, Cuomo returned to the States and moved to Chicago, where he picked up a gig at Charlie Trotter’s. He took more than a shiny pot away from that kitchen. “Charlie, to this day, I feel, is one of the greatest hospitality heroes we have ever had,” Cuomo says. “He really, truly taught us: Treat it like it’s yours, and someday, it will be. And I will tell you, that meant painting the garage. That meant cleaning the dumpsters. (But) the level of people that came there, the level of hospitality, it just took my mind to another level.” From Chicago, Cuomo returned to New York. He worked in various roles at Del Posto, Per Se, The Lambs Club and Blue Hill NYC. Then he struck out on his own and founded his first restaurant consulting company. He connected with a hospitality company called Restaurant Associates, which handles culinary programs for large companies. Restaurant Associates was where Cochrane happened to work. She was in sales, and they often crossed paths. “However, he had a girlfriend, and I had a boyfriend,” Cochrane says, with a laugh. Cuomo brings precision to everything he does. (Jacob Tyler Dunn) Cuomo brought in Chef Ben Klein to helm the kitchen at Maeva. (Jacob Tyler Dunn) Dishes including Maeva’s Branzino are plated with care and creativity. (Jacob Tyler Dunn) >> p 15
