How Restaurateur Drew Nieporent Created Hot Spots for New York’s Rich and Famous

You may not know his name, but you almost certainly know Drew Nieporent’s restaurants. The 70-year-old opened some of New York’s most celebrated dining rooms in the 1980s and ’90s: His first, Montrachet, earned a coveted three-star review from The New York Times soon after its debut in 1985. Nieporent would go on to partner with Robert De Niro and chef Nobu Matsuhisa to open Nobu, which has exploded from one location into a global network of restaurants, hotels, and branded residences.

While the hospitality industry isn’t all Champagne and caviar, Nieporent’s golden touch can sometimes make it seem like a star-studded dreamscape. Take Tribeca Grill, the New American hot spot that closed earlier this year after more than three decades serving New York’s downtown set. The restaurant, with backing from De Niro and a coterie of other boldface names, was catnip for supermodels, statesmen, and normal folks hoping to rub shoulders with celebrities. More than occasionally, they succeeded. 

The first few weeks, the crowd was a little rough. De Niro’s name attracted a lot of wannabe tough guys, Jersey boys styled out in ridiculous suits and slicked-back hair. (That started to die down when they realized the menu wasn’t Italian.) With so many celebrities attached to the space, people were coming just to try to catch a glimpse of someone famous, and they’d camp out at the tables waiting, which went against my turn-the-tables MO.

The rubberneckers usually got lucky, especially in the beginning, when the Grill really was a hangout for the downtown film scene. There were the actors who had invested, obviously, but plenty more came in to see and be seen, too. Madonna wanted to come by but was concerned that her ex, Sean Penn, had a piece of the place. She thought maybe he’d put something in her food, and I had to assure her, no, no, Sean doesn’t go into the kitchen. Tony Danza got mad at me for “burying” him at a table toward the back, which happened to be where De Niro liked to sit.

When Nelson Mandela made his first visit to New York after 27 years in prison, Tribeca Grill held a fundraiser in his honor. It was an absolute who’s who of an event, with limousines and flashbulbs and a police barricade to keep Mandela insulated from an enormous crowd outside. De Niro was in the house, along with Eddie Murphy, Spike Lee, Cyndi Lauper, Robin Williams—and Joe Frazier, which was the most exciting to me.

It was a sit-down dinner, and all the money went to the African National Congress. The room went silent when Mandela, a boxer in his youth and lifelong boxing fan, stood up to speak—and called Joe Frazier up to join him. As Mandela spoke about his time in prison, Smokin’ Joe began to weep, and I swear to God half the room did too. It was a momentous occasion, which cemented our reputation as the spot to be in 1990.

My wife started calling me “Forrest Gump” because of all the celebrities I’d wind up with in pictures.

One night, Don Johnson came in. It happened to be the same night that Naomi Campbell, who had dated Bob, was having a private party upstairs. The paparazzi were all lined up for her, but Mr. Miami Vice thought I’d tipped them off to his presence. He berated me, accusing me of calling the photographers on him. Don’t flatter yourself, Don, I thought, they’re not here for you. Of course he wanted to sit at a prominent table near the front. As he was finishing his meal, I offered to escort him out through the kitchen to avoid the photographers. “Oh, it’s alright,” he said. “They already got me.” It was all I could do to keep my eyes from rolling a full 180-degree rotation inside of my head.

My wife started calling me “Forrest Gump” because of all the celebrities I’d wind up with in pictures. At a certain point, I asked myself, Is there anyone famous I haven’t met? I never got starstruck, though—I had a job to do, and I took that job seriously. And despite all the VIPs pouring in, I still worked hard to ensure that we treated the noncelebrity guests well, too. We treated everyone the same, delivering good service consistently. That’s how you keep people coming back, which is the only way to survive in the long term. And there is no magic trick to making that happen except to be really fucking good at your job, over and over and over again.

Okay, I admit there was one time I was a little starstruck.

Bruce Springsteen had a manager named Barbara Carr. Barbara’s daughter, Kristen Ann, had died of sarcoma, and Bruce was playing a charity concert in her honor at Madison Square Garden. The president of the Garden, Bob Gutkowski, had arranged for the afterparty to be held at Tribeca Grill. I went to the show—watching Bruce is always epic—and I’d informed the restaurant that he would probably play for three hours, so we should be ready to go around 11:00 p.m.

At midnight, Bruce was still onstage, not even thinking about finishing. I must have found a payphone, because I called down to the restaurant to tell them that it would be a late night. Bruce eventually made it down after one in the morning, and he and his entire posse hung out until the sun came up. Tribeca Grill hosted a lot of famous faces over the years, but that’s a personal highlight for me.

Adapted from I’m Not Trying To Be Difficult: Stories from the Restaurant Trenches by Drew Nieporent with Jamie Feldmar, published on September 23, 2025. Copyright © 2025 by Drew Nieporent. Used by arrangement with Grand Central Publishing, a division of Hachette Book Group. All rights reserved.