THE State Liquor Authority might yank Arrigo and Giuseppe Cipriani’s liquor license this month.
Would the agency really take such a step, which would have consequences far beyond denying us the right to pay $34.95 for fried calamari? Like it or not, Cipriani restaurants and catering halls are inextricably woven into the fabric of New York City life. Closing them down – the inevitable, immediate consequence of pulling the booze permit – won’t do any harm to the town’s Italian culinary pride.
It would, however, cost more than 1,000 jobs, leave our most iconic celebration spaces empty for the foreseeable future, and knock the fizz out of the city’s culture of excess – the golden goose that keeps the talent-fleeing, jobs-hemorrhaging “Empire State” afloat.
Don’t get me wrong; I have no love for the Ciprianis, who pleaded guilty to tax evasion last fall. Their mediocre food is comically overpriced.
I once called Giuseppe Cipriani “Public Enemy No. 1” for turning the beautiful old Rainbow Grill into something like an airport lounge. I’ve written that pasta at their Harry Cipriani “flagship” is worse than at tourist trap Alfredo’s.
Because the swaggering Cips make such juicy targets, there’s a global media frenzy to pile on them. Britain’s Guardian was the latest to salivate over a showdown between Daniel B. Boyle, the “no-nonsense” ex-cop who is the Liquor Authority chief, and an outfit known for selling $40 veal to celebrities. Locally, more than a few Cipriani haters are hoping Boyle cripples the empire at the Liquor Authority hearing on Aug. 18.
But how, exactly, will the public benefit from that?
Anyone who thinks the Rainbow Room complex or the 42nd Street ballroom can be turned over to another operator overnight has had too many bellinis. In fact, all of Cipriani’s venues might take years to find new users. In a time of sinking morale driven by widespread economic fear, the city does not need its landmarked banquet halls forced to stand empty.
In today’s crazy real estate market, it can take 12 months just to re-lease a drugstore. How long to find a company able to buy or lease a 1,000-seat ballroom and run it profitably?
The Harry Cipriani eatery at the Sherry-Netherland does indeed exist mainly “to affirm its patrons’ ability to throw away money,” as the Times’ Frank Bruni wrote. But their ballroom catering is another story – a seamless blend of style and substance no operator at any other venue can match.
For all their faults, the Ciprianis have masterfully managed the noble, soaring former banking halls at 55 Wall St. and 110 E. 42nd St. Last year, they rescued the second-floor dining terrace at 55 Wall, closed since 2002, from oblivion and launched their best Manhattan restaurant there.
Yes, the Liquor Authority can deprive convicted felons of liquor licenses, no matter what the collateral damage. But it’s been a highly selective punishment, to say the least. Leniencies and loopholes have allowed even felons who served prison sentences to stay in the business.
For example, Jeffrey Chodorow and Ian Schrager both served jail terms in previous lifetimes. Yet Chodorow today runs a respected national restaurant empire. Schrager pioneered glamorous “boutique” hotels with trendy cafes and bars.
Leona Helmsley went to prison, too. Although she was supposedly stripped of her management roles at the Park Lane and other hotels, it would come as news to anyone who worked there – or who read my colleague Andrea Peyser’s column of June 16, 2004, when Helmsley said, “Whatever comes up in my hotels, I run it.”
There’s no way to call what the Liquor Authority will decide in the Cipriani case. But it’s certain what a ruling against them will bring – a calamity for the whole town. Bet your bellini on it.