In August 2011, Hurricane Irene was barreling north and heading straight for the mid-Atlantic coastline. With wind predicted to blow the windows out of skyscrapers, we all prepared to batten down the hatches in the West Village. On nights like this, in neighborhoods across New York City, a whiff of an impending snowstorm, rainstorm, or otherwise dramatic weather event sends throngs of hungry, hunkered-down locals to whatever neighborhood restaurants and bars are within their walking distance. And it was for this reason—a kinship and responsibility we felt for our neighbors and regulars—that we kept Little Owl and Market Table (my restaurant with my business partner Mike Price) open for abbreviated dinner services. We also had a birthday party scheduled at Little Owl the Venue that we decided to honor.
But with a mass transit shutdown amid the threat of Irene, on this particular Saturday night, I staffed all three locales with a skeleton crew of employees who lived in Manhattan, and I took a place cooking on the line in Market Table’s kitchen for my partner Mike, leaving Little Owl’s kitchen in the hands of my trusted sous chef, Gustavo.
In December 2010, a snowstorm buried New York City, and the mayor’s office was dealt some tough blowback from their inadequate if not ill-prepared and dangerous response that left New York City crippled. If Bloomberg wasn’t taking any chances, then neither was I. And to top it all off, there were rumors of looting afoot among the small business owners in the West Village. While long the home of artists, bohemians, and eccentrics, our Greenwich Village has developed into an affluent starter neighborhood for a transient, younger crowd, as well as celebrities who can afford some of our most beautiful landmark buildings. But we were not without our share of New York City looters who were apt to go for broke during a power outage. And power outages and major flooding were expected across the five boroughs.
We pulled the plug on service around 9 p.m. and before I left for the night, I directed the manager to give me all the cash to take home for safekeeping. With Little Owl only a few short blocks from Market Table, I rolled up on my hoverboard scooter (remember those things?) to collect that night’s cash from my maître d’, Chris. We had a few quick pops and off I went to Little Owl’s Venue, at 93 Green-which Avenue, with $8,000 in cash stuffed in my pockets, to pick up the rest of the business’s cash and provide closing instructions for my manager Jon.
I never made it there.
When I got to the corner of Bleecker and Charles, a little white car ran a red light. I slammed on the breaks of my scooter and flew across the hood of the car. The side-view mirror hit me squarely on the hip as I spun through the air and landed on my head on the asphalt. In shock, I picked myself up and headed home. One look in my bathroom mirror snapped my badly shaken self into reality and I called Chris at Little Owl to take me to Bellevue Hospital in the East Village.
I suffered a busted skull, a fractured supraorbital, impaired vision on my left side, and a fractured C1 vertebrae. I also broke my pinky. But, I didn’t know I broke my pinky until 3 months later. Because the hospital evacuated me at 4 a.m.
The next morning, the now-downgraded Tropical Storm Irene pounded New York City with heavy rain and winds, while I drifted off under a stupor of painkillers. As soon as the Holland Tunnel reopened, my mom, Patricia, was able to come into the city from Philadelphia to take me in for my follow-up. And of course, she cooked for me—as only your mother can. Gustavo and my staff also came to see me and nurse me back to health with some of my favorite dishes. They are my family, as much as my own back home in Philly.
Since that night, I haven’t worked a complete dinner service at either of my restaurants, making it only until 10 p.m. or so. My chronic sciatica makes it impossible to withstand a full shift.
Each year, we celebrate the anniversary of Little Owl’s opening. And each year, I am so grateful that Little Owl is still so well loved and thriving, especially in the cutthroat world of New York City restaurants. The feeling of big love extends beyond cooking and running a restaurant; it is a practice of kindness that we, my staff and Little Owl family, wish to cultivate and put out into the world. And that practice is needed now, more than ever. Once upon a time, I was one little white car away from losing it all.
Here’s to cooking, eating, and living with boundless joy, appreciation, and care that is big love.
— Joey Campanaro
June 2019