Photo-Illustration: Curbed
In this series, “Looking to Settle,” Eddie Huang chronicles his search for a downtown restaurant space.
After two months of looking for a restaurant space, we’ve come to the fun part. We have a location. We have a concept. We have interested parties. I’m listening to Glaciers of Ice with Ghostface in my ear screaming, “I had crazy visions … I’ma rock it this summer!”
I send the letter of intent. 159 Second Avenue, could it be you?
For 1,200 square feet on the ground level with a Wu-Tang Killa Beez–yellow HVAC barrel running through it, plus 900 square feet in the basement, I offered $186,000 per annum, or $15,500 per month, with 3 percent escalations per year and an initial lease term of 12 years and 8 months. Because the build-out and renovation was going to take time, I also requested eight months of free rent. I didn’t want surprises, either, so we asked the landlord to deliver the premises in white-box condition with a gas line, 3-phase 400-amp electric lines (a standard high-power setup), working electrical outlets, a new HVAC system, and a certificate of occupancy for its use as a commercial restaurant. For my East Village–, Abe Lebewohl Park–adjacent, long-term home for Gazebo, I wanted a solid base and started at a number that felt like a win for both sides.
The former Yummy Hive location on Second Avenue next to Abe Lebewohl Park seemed like an ideal corner location for Gazebo.
Photo: LoopNet
Within 12 hours, the landlord countered with $234,000 per year — the original ask on the listing —with a concession of half the rent for eight months ($9,750), and the space “as is,” meaning it was completely on me if something like the HVAC wasn’t in working order. They basically told us to fuck off.
But I’ve been shopping around, and I knew I wasn’t lowballing them. Sure, there are spaces in the city going for $234,000 per year, but they’re on the edge of neighborhoods like Nolita, Soho, or the West Village, where getting dinner can sometimes be a bloodsport. This spot is firmly on the upper boundary of the East Village, which is significantly sleepier. I also have to consider that I bring value to a location and want concessions from a landlord. I wasn’t sure what kind of landlord was managing the Yummy Hive space, but I know one thing: Old-school landlords don’t care about all that. They’ll see someone getting a big number for similar square footage and a similar use in another neighborhood and ask for the same rent without considering whether they’re on the same level. Then there are the landlords looking to develop their properties and attract valuable tenants; they’re a bit easier to reason with because they believe they can find a mutually beneficial middle ground. That kind of landlord takes responsibility for things that aren’t in working order, fixes any issues, and delivers the space ready for business.
It was clear we were dealing with the former.
Personally, I was ready to move on to the next location, but Noah recommended that we at least get a contractor to look under the hood and check it out since I did like the location and it had a lot going for it.
In my estimation, the build-out, furniture, wine, liquor, opening salaries, and contingency we needed for opening was around $800,000. Several investors I spoke to saw it going up to $1 million and were comfortable with that, depending on the structure of the deal, but I like to make money year one.
It sounds pie in the sky, but most of my restaurants have been in the black by year one, besides that one restaurant where I sold all-you-can-drink Four Loko. (Most new restaurants give it two years minimum.) With Gazebo, the unrealistic goal I set for myself was making $5 million per annum. I always set an unrealistic goal and insist on hitting it because I’ve never seen a successful person who didn’t have an irrational confidence in themselves. Every single person around me that has gone on to do well sounded like they needed to be committed when they vocalized their goals. Everyone laughs at them in the moment, but years later, they did it. So I have been adamant on finding a space that requires an initial investment of $800,000 or less because even if I fell short by $500,000, I would still make everyone their money back year one.
You may be asking why I care about making everyone back their money year one when most restaurants take two, three, five years (or never) while the chef takes 5 percent off the gross revenue whether their establishment is making money or not. Simply put, I don’t like owing people money. When I owe money, I feel guilt, I feel less than, I walk around my crib in circles feeling incomplete until I can call and say, “I have your money.” All of this is probably tied to my childhood, but I’ll save that for another day. The bottom line is that the sooner I pay everyone back, the sooner I can actually enjoy the restaurant I’ve built.
Huang asked a contractor to quote him a cost for cutting the 24-foot-long vented hood space in half and building a marble bar around it.
Photo: LoopNet
Eddie found that the basement of the former Yummy Hive does not have a second exit, so it can’t be used as a restaurant kitchen or dining space until it does, and the previous tenant seemed to use it mostly as a storage space.
Photo: LoopNet
A week before the July Gazebo dinners, we asked a contractor to come take a look at Yummy Hive. The first issue that came up was that the kitchen wasn’t permitted for cooking; even the three-compartment sink that was already installed wasn’t permitted either. He recommended bringing the sink up, doing all the cooking and dishwashing upstairs, and using the basement for dry storage and simple prep that could be done on stainless-steel tables. This was a bummer since the dining room barely fit 55 seats as it stood.
One of the positives was that there were over 24 feet of vented hood space in the kitchen plus a black iron, horizontal vent on the roof. Personally, I only needed 12 feet of vented hood space for Gazebo, so I asked the contractor to give us a bid based on chopping off half the vented hood space, building a marble bar around it, and leaving space at the front of the restaurant for a large round table, which I tend to like in the front window when possible.
A week later, while I was prepping for our Wednesday dinner in July, Noah received the bid. “I’m a little skeptical, but it’s not bad,” he said.
“What’s the number?” I asked.
“It’s below your total number, but adding in opening labor and contingencies, it’s tight.”
“What’s the number?” I reiterated like an asshole.
“$619,920.”
“That’s not bad. That’s not bad at all. Lemme get into the line-by-line.” I looked at the proposal and added 20 percent because contractors always leave crucial items out on purpose, then ask you for the money when you’re already committed. Then, when I got into the line-item numbers, I saw there was a bit of fat to shave off in his quotes for carpentry, HVAC, and tiling.
“Noah, this is pretty doable. I think we can probably get him to take the job at about $550,000 and then at some point when he feels he has leverage, he will get us for $30 to $50K more.”
“That sounds about right. I like the space and I think you can make it work, but there’s just a part of me that feels we can do better,” he said.
“I feel you. I feel the spot in my head but not in my body.”
“Right!”
Before we hung up, Noah confirmed he was coming to Gazebo that night with an investor and potential operator. It stressed me out thinking that I had to perform that evening, but it’s what I signed up for. I just couldn’t acknowledge it on the phone to Noah and hung up.
I got in the kitchen and was trying to put it all in the back of my mind when I was informed that the HVAC in our pop-up space had just died.
“How did it die?” I asked the kitchen manager.
“It just die. It keep dying.”
“This has been happening since the last dinners. Why didn’t we get it fixed before?”
“We have been fixing. It keep dying.”
I was frustrated. I was looking for someone to blame, but really this was completely on the HVAC. Once your HVAC dies in a New York summer heat wave, it just keeps dying no matter what you do.
After beginning the day ahead on prep, the HVAC repair man told us that we would be unable to prep or cook for a minimum of two but most likely four hours, and my head exploded. It was three o’clock, four hours before opening.
Suddenly in possession of an excessive amount of time on my hands to spiral, I called my wife, Natashia, who came downtown and started walking Eldridge with me to chain-drink iced coffees and try to stay positive.
“Babe, when you are on the one-yard line, you always panic,” she reminded me.
“No, I don’t.”
“You do, but then you always figure it out.”
“Yeah, but I can’t count on that every time.”
“Count on what?”
“Luck! Figuring it out. I don’t like being in that position where I need luck or help.”
“It’s not luck if you figure it out every time. You’ll figure it out,” she said. And for some reason, I believed her.
Hours later, I did figure it out. Were there two or three dishes in the 7 p.m. seating I wish I could re-fire because we were rushed? Yes. Was this a pop-up restaurant with a rotating menu every month? Yes. Should I give myself some grace? Probably.
But luckily, I usually seat investors and prospective business partners at the 9 p.m. seating because of situations like this. If this were a full-functioning restaurant with weeks of ramp-up and F&F dinners, none of this would be happening, but it is a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants pop-up that I put on my back every month without a sous-chef. So the big homies would be dining at 9.
Noah came with the investors, the potential operator, and a friend, and it looked like they enjoyed their meal, having one of everything.
“Did they really like it?” I asked Noah.
“Loved it. They’re in.”
“You’re sure? You can tell me if it sucked.”
“It didn’t suck. Everyone really enjoyed it.” He laughed.
“All right, ’cause I won’t die if it sucked.”
“Don’t die. We’re doing this.”
Relieved, I walked back inside and filled a quart container with ice, Casamigos, soda, cranberry juice, and some limes. When I turned around, the broker that I had originally worked with to find a restaurant space was standing right in front of me.
“How’s it going, Eddie? Great dinner.”
“Yo! Wassup?”
“Look. I know you’re working with people, but I got a pocket listing for you.”
“Eh, I’m really happy working with Noah, but I appreciate you coming.”
“Listen, I have what you’re looking for. Prime West Village, second-generation iconic restaurant in operation. The landlord wants a better operator. I emailed it to you. If you like it, you call me. Happy to work with Noah.”
I shook his hand, refreshed my email, and was stunned. I immediately voice-messaged Noah.
“Remember those brokers I was working with before Hanna introduced us? They were at dinner tonight and they have a crazy pocket listing.”