(If you want to read Sunday's story first, click here.)

By Chuck Martin cmartin@enquirer.com
The Cincinnati Enquirer

Jean-Robert de Cavel with his beloved daughter Tatiana. | ZOOM |

        It was unseasonably warm for mid-January in Cincinnati, with puffy white clouds racing through deep blue sky. The weather seemed to mirror the optimism in Jean-Robert de Cavel's eyes. On this Monday, a Chicago designer and architect were in town to present a revised design for his restaurant, and he was hopeful.

        The French-born chef was realizing his dream. After working at the Maisonette for seven years, making friends and adopting Cincinnati as his new home, he left to open a restaurant with the help of four investors. He would call it Jean-Robert at Pigall's, and it would be in the building on Fourth Street that once housed the five-star restaurant Pigall's.

        Two partners, Tom and Kathy Huff, had inexplicably withdrawn from the project in August 2001. This especially hurt Mr. de Cavel because the Huffs were friends and the first to offer to invest in his restaurant. But his remaining partners, Martin and Marilyn Wade, were committed.

        Wearing a leather jacket and a striking paisley scarf that rippled in the breeze, he stood on the roof of his restaurant-to-be, gesturing, trying to explain what it would look like. Asbestos had been removed and the interior had been demolished. Steel beams were exposed along with scuffed brick walls. Pink foam insulation oozed out from around ugly pipe joints.

        The oldest part of the building, about two-thirds of the structure that faces Fourth Street, is three stories tall. Initial plans called for adding a third story to the two-story rear for restrooms, offices and a laundry room. Already, Mr. de Cavel had decided his staff would wash the restaurant's linens and uniforms — as the finest restaurants do. Rented polyester-blend linens washed by someone else weren't good enough.

IF YOU GO

Jean-Robert at Pigall's, 127 W. Fourth St., will open Tuesday.   Dinner will be served 6-10 p.m. Tuesday-Friday and 5:30-10:30 p.m. Saturday. (Closed Sunday and Monday.)   The restaurant may begin serving lunch in December.   Reservations: 721-1345.   Information: www.jeanrobertatpigalls.com.

        “I thought about doing a bistro or something more casual,” he said. “But that's not what I wanted to do. And I realize that might sound arrogant to some.”

        Although he didn't issue it as a goal or an ultimatum, it was obvious Mr. de Cavel aimed to open not only the best restaurant in Cincinnati, but one of the best in the country. He may have denied it, but his restaurant would compete with Maisonette, which, a week earlier, had won its 38th consecutive Mobil five-star rating under new chef Bertrand Bouquin.

        “I'm very lucky,” he said reflectively. “A year ago, all I had to do was worry about the first week in January (when Mobil announces its restaurant ratings). And I could've probably stayed there another 15 years.”

        Now, he had much more to worry about.

        Later that afternoon, Mr. de Cavel sat in a conference room at Mr. Wade's office building on Court Street, downtown, to hear the presentation from designer Jordan Mozer and architect, Jeff Carloss. Four months earlier, the chef and his partners had demanded a revised design from the Chicago firm, derisively calling the first draft a “retro-diner.”

        Seven others came to the meeting, including the chef's German-born companion, Annette Pfund, the Wades, Cincinnati design consultant Tessa Westermeyer, communications consultant Drew Hester and construction company president Kenneth Oswald. They sat at a long, glass-topped table cluttered with samples of tile, fabric and carpet, sheaves of drawings and a velvet rope.

Annette Pfund de Cavel, a graduate of Swiss hospitality school who works for Air France, met de Cavel when they both worked for a New York hotel. (Michael E. Keating photo) | ZOOM |

        None of the principals in the Pigall's project had ever opened a restaurant.

        The Chicago designer moved haphazardly during the two-hour meeting, presenting ideas for table settings, the front door and a whimsical rendering of an askew fleur-de-lis to decorate bathroom walls. Mr. Wade fidgeted while his wife sketched and took notes. Mr. de Cavel watched and listened intently, his right fist held over his mouth.

        When he was a baby, Mr. de Cavel's right arm and hand were accidentally splashed with scalding water — the scars are still visible — and his mother treated the burns with a soothing mint-scented salve. Since then, whenever he is stressed or nervous, the chef instinctively brings his hand to his face for comfort.

        Overall, the group liked the new design, but worried they couldn't make changes and implement it in time to open in mid-May.

        “This will by your house, chef,” Mr. Wade said. “You have to like it.”

        After much debate, the meeting broke without a decision. Looking forlorn, Mr. de Cavel walked out into the cold darkness to his blue BMW for the drive home.

        “I'm not good at making these kinds of decisions,” he confessed. “In the kitchen, yes. But not these.”

        Before the end of January, the Pigall's group would terminate the designer's contract, but retain the architect, Mr. Carloss.

        To keep himself in the public eye, Mr. de Cavel continued to teach cooking classes and appear at benefits. Increasingly, though, his attention turned to Ms. Pfund, who was expecting their first child in early March. The couple had been trying to have a baby for a while, and friends hoped the birth would be healthy.

        Mr. Wade remembered the phone call Sunday night, Feb. 24. Mr. de Cavel was in the delivery room.

        “Everyone thinks their baby is cute,” the chef said excitedly over the phone. “My baby is really cute.”

        The little girl arrived a week early, but she was healthy and full of spunk. They called her Tatiana Juliette only because it was a wonderful name.

        “She was the miracle baby,” said friend Paula Kirk, Tatiana's godmother.

        Everyone thought Tatiana would grow up to be as beautiful as her mother, but they also agreed she looked like her father. She had dark, almost black, hair, large brown eyes and his long eyelashes. And there was something else: At times, Tatiana had that determined look of the chef in the kitchen.

        More happiness was on its way. A month before the baby was born, Mr. de Cavel told Mr. Wade a secret: He was going to ask Ms. Pfund to marry him. Finally.

The couple were married by a justice of the peace in Covington. | ZOOM |

        They had met in 1991, when he was chef at the Plaza Athenee in New York and she was a concierge at the hotel. She had a boyfriend at home in Germany, and was going to stay in the United States for six months, but the young French chef persisted. She finally went out with him and fell in love.

        Friends who know the couple say Ms. Pfund always has been much more than a companion. She is his sounding board, the one who pushes him to make decisions when he is indecisive — which is often. Ms. Pfund convinced the chef to apply for the Maisonette job in 1993, and later prodded him to leave to open his restaurant. A graduate of Swiss hospitality school, she loves her career in sales at Air France, but her devotion to him is selfless.

        “If he needs me, I will leave Air France,” she said firmly. “The restaurant comes first.”

        The chef had it all planned. When Ms. Pfund's parents flew in from Munich for Tatiana's Easter christening, he would properly ask Ms. Pfund's father, Dieter, for his daughter's hand on Good Friday.

        That morning, Ms. Pfund wasn't too surprised when he popped the question. They had talked about marriage. When he asked (wearing his boxer shorts), she thought he meant they would get married a year later, after Pigall's was up and running. She was surprised when he told her to get dressed. They were getting married that day.

        Mr. de Cavel had already arranged for a justice of the peace to perform the ceremony in Covington. He got a little lost on the drive to Northern Kentucky, but finally found the justice — and the 40 or so friends he had invited. Later, the newlyweds shared lunch with everyone at nearby WildFlour Bakery. Mr. de Cavel secretly planned that, too.

        Construction continued slowly at the restaurant in the spring. The wet weather hindered workers, as rain fell through a gaping hole in the roof into what would be the dining room. The chef and Ms. Wade, who earned an art degree in college, made decisions on carpeting, wall coverings and other decor details without a designer.

        “It was scary,” Ms. Wade said. “Neither one of us had ever done this.”

        At times, the chef had difficulty articulating what his restaurant would look like, but now it was coming into being — like one of his creations in the kitchen. His restaurant would be relatively small, serving 75 downstairs. Waiters would wear charcoal suits and ties — not tuxedoes.

        For his menu, the chef would use locally grown vegetables and other products. He would cook with the modern French style he had honed at Maisonette. His style.

        The look of the restaurant would be contemporary French, with a casual Northern California feel — distressed copper bar up front, warm honey-maple walls and rich, dark mahogany booths. “Soft, pretty and elegant,” he called it.

        No whimsical fleur-de-lis in the bathrooms.

        Cincinnati has been enamored with French food for more than half a century, but Jean-Robert at Pigall's would be unlike any French restaurant in town.

        “It should be expensive enough to be an experience,” Mr. de Cavel explained. “But affordable enough that people will feel comfortable.”

        Always, he demanded the best: Italian floor tile, French linens and china, custom-made chandeliers. (The Wades decline to specify an amount, but some estimate the investors have spent as much as $3.5 million to renovate and furnish the restaurant.) At one meeting, when someone suggested they buy stainless coffee pots and serving ware instead of the more expensive sterling silver, the chef's reply was terse: “Fine. Maybe I should also serve sandwiches to save money?”

        They bought the sterling silver.

        Boldly, Mr. de Cavel decided his menu would be prix fixe , meaning diners will pay a fixed price ($65 is the minimum) for three courses. Ordering a la carte would not be an option. Later, he and his partners also decided to make the restaurant service compris, meaning gratuity is included in the menu price.

        This is all very French — and some would say also very risky — in a frugal town like Cincinnati.

        For his support staff, Mr. de Cavel assembled a talented group that shares his vision. He hired Todd Westermeyer, an artist and close friend who worked for him at Maisonette, as sous chef — his second in command in the kitchen. Gary Boswell, a confidante, former waiter and French wine buyer at The Party Source in Bellevue, agreed early to come on board as assistant maitre d' and sommelier. No other restaurant in Cincinnati, including the Maisonette, has a full-time sommelier or wine steward.

The chef and maitre d' Richard Brown discuss seating arrangements. (Michael E. Keating photo) | ZOOM |

        Mr. de Cavel also lured Richard Brown to his restaurant as maitre d'. Mr. Brown served as maitre d' at Maisonette for eight years before leaving in 2000 for a similar position at the Palace in the Cincinnatian Hotel, downtown. When seating and moving patrons in crowded dining rooms, he possesses the calculating deftness of an air traffic controller. A native west-sider, Mr. Brown can spot Cincinnati VIPs as they hand their car keys to the valet, and he has their birthdays, anniversaries and other important dates logged in his little black book.

        Mr. de Cavel had thought his friend was happy at the Palace, but then heard Mr. Brown was interviewing at a Dallas restaurant. The men met and struck a deal in April. Mr. Brown, who waited tables at Pigall's in the early 1980s, brings a clear mission to the new restaurant.

        “I want this place to take people's breath away,” he said.

        The hiring of Mr. Brown and other small victories encouraged the chef. And even though he was forced to postpone the restaurant's opening again to July, construction was progressing.

        But for him it was a blissful spring mostly because of Tatiana's cries and laughter. His schedule was based loosely on meetings and occasional appearances at the construction site, so Mr. de Cavel was able to spend time — more time than many working fathers — with his daughter. Sometimes, he would only reluctantly take Tatiana to the babysitter.

        “He would come to meetings late,” said Mr. Westermeyer. “And we knew it was because he just decided to play longer with Tatiana.”

        Friends had never seen him happier. He carried a plastic bag packed with pictures of his daughter to show everyone.

        “He would say she was everything he ever wanted,” Mr. Brown said.

        He and his staff joked about Tatiana taking over the restaurant in 20 years. They discussed naming a house champagne “Tatiana.”

        At a May lunch meeting, Mr. Brown boasted he had driven his daughter, Lauren, to school every day for 12 years. Mr. de Cavel listened quietly.

        The next day, he blurted to Mr. Wade, without any question: “I think I will do that,” he said. “I think I will drive Tatiana to school every day.”

        Everyone remembers the warm, slow rain that Thursday, June 13.

        Ms. Wade had met Mr. de Cavel in town that morning to look at fabric samples for chairs. She then went home for a late lunch. He went to Pigall's.

        The phone rang sometime after 4 p.m. at the Wade home in Blue Ash. When Mr. Wade answered, he at first didn't recognize the hysterical woman's voice. Then he couldn't believe the words.

        It was Annette de Cavel. She was screaming that her daughter had died at the babysitter's.

        Immediately, the Wades tried to reach the chef, but he wasn't answering his cell phone. Ms. Wade finally called the construction foreman at Pigall's, who handed the phone to Mr. de Cavel. She only told him Tatiana had been rushed to Children's Hospital. He began running down Fourth Street, frantically searching for his car. Mr. Boswell, who was outside the restaurant, stopped him and offered to drive.

        While en route, Mr. de Cavel pulled out his cell phone to call his wife. Hands shaking, he punched in her number. She answered and told him Tatiana was gone.

        Mr. Boswell described the man's agonizing scream as the sound of someone's soul breaking.

Sometimes teary-eyed and his voice cracking with emotion, de Cavel talks about the tragic death of his infant daughter. (Michael E. Keating photo) | ZOOM |

        When the news circulated that evening, chefs walked out of their kitchens to be with their friends. But the de Cavels were beyond consolation.

        The next day, word came from the coroner that Tatiana had died from sudden infant death syndrome (SIDS), the mysterious disorder that steals more than 2,000 infant lives every year. Though it did little to ease their own pain, the parents asked to call the babysitter — an experienced child care provider — to let her know the death wasn't her fault.

        The funeral Mass was held at noon the following Monday, at the majestic, old St. Rose in the East End — the same church where Tatiana had been baptized two months earlier.

        The weather was eerily pleasant — blue skies and almost cool for mid-June. More than 400 turned out for the services — many of them restaurant owners, including Maisonette's Nat and Michael E. Comisar, chefs, cooks, waiters, bartenders and busboys. Others were friends the chef had met through his cooking and generosity.

        At the church and funeral home, there were pictures of Tatiana on public view. The photos were taken early on the morning before her death while she was at home with her father outside. Before the slow rain began.

        Those who know Mr. de Cavel know his laugh — a distinctively deep, guttural bellow. On this day, in front of the church, they heard that voice as a wounded wail.

        “There was nothing to say to him,” said Jimmy Gibson, a friend and executive chef of the Jeff Ruby restaurants. “Those words haven't been invented yet.”

        Many had seen the chef in the kitchen, fearless, coolly in charge. Now they cringed to see him helplessly devastated by the loss of his child.

        The services were well-orchestrated and excruciating. In his eulogy, Mr. Wade drew smiles when he told how Annette would quiet her crying daughter in German and then say: “See, we have a German baby.” Then her husband would do the same in French: “See, we have a French baby.”

        Without accompaniment, a soloist on a rear balcony sang “Jesus Loves Me” over the sobs. As the Mass ended, the couple braced each other while following the tiny casket down the aisle.

        That afternoon and evening, at a reception at a friend's home in East Walnut Hills, the de Cavels hugged anyone who came close. Chefs brought food. Waiters from Maisonette served. Someone heard Mr. de Cavel say he didn't realize he had so many friends.

        Later that night, the couple went to see Tatiana at the funeral home one last time.

        Two days later, the de Cavels flew to Paris to stay with friends. To put distance between themselves and the hurt.

        At least for a while.

        The de Cavels flew home to Cincinnati Saturday, June 29. The couple returned to work that Monday, probably too soon — it was just a little over two weeks since Tatiana's death. In their mind's eye, they could still clearly see her smile, her little hands and fingers.

        But Mr. de Cavel felt obligated — his partners had invested money in his restaurant and his employees had quit their jobs to join him. And all those people, his friends and colleagues, who stood in the church with him that June afternoon. They wanted to see him open his restaurant.

        The Wades admitted they discussed the possibility of the chef walking away from the project. But they never really thought he would.

        At his first staff meeting after returning from France, Mr. de Cavel wore sunglasses and rarely spoke. He had stopped shaving. His staff tried to pull him into discussions and decisions. They were encouraged when, at one point, he became angry about something “foolish” someone said and stalked out to feed his parking meter.

        “We thought it was a sign he was getting back to normal,” Mr. Wade said.

        The next day, though, the chef didn't leave home. And for the rest of the week, he stayed away from the restaurant, telling Mr. Westermeyer he was “afraid” to see it.

        Mr. de Cavel couldn't put it off much longer, though. The project had dragged on for more than a year. And the terrible irony was, now, when he desperately needed time to heal, there was no time. Walls were up, tiles and carpet were being laid. This was his restaurant, and he was needed to make decisions, big and small.

        If only a little, his day-to-day involvement at Pigall's began to distract him from his pain. Although his eyes appeared hurt and tired, friends saw him smile again, even laugh.

        But the loss of his child had smothered the chef's creative spirit. The man who could once quickly compose flavors and ingredients now couldn't bear to think about writing a menu for his restaurant. He hadn't cooked in weeks.

        “After all this, it has become a lot more empty,” he said.

        As he talked, he stood with his wife at a makeshift sawhorse table in the restaurant. Upstairs, in what would be the private party room, it smelled of fresh paint and new carpet.

        It was a hot Wednesday evening in mid July, a little more than a month after Tatiana's death. As he tried to hold back tears, his wife reached to the floor to find her purse. She pulled out a tissue, folded it neatly and placed it out for her husband.

        “Today, the most important thing for me is not there anymore,” the chef said, nervously shuffling his feet, the back of his right hand held to his mouth. “You see the books that say you should not feel punished, but you cannot help yourself.”

        He never spoke Tatiana's name.

        His wife stared down at the bare plywood table, then silently wiped away a lone tear.

        In a matter of minutes, Mr. de Cavel provided a glimpse of his agony, his weeks of soul-searching: What if he had stayed in France? What if he had never left New York? Why was he in Cincinnati? Why did she die?

        “I don't even know what our goal is for this restaurant,” he said, shaking his head. “I think my goal is just to be happy.”

        A few weeks later, Mr. de Cavel was still far from being healed. But by early August, he was a changed man — driven, uncannily decisive. Everyone saw it. He paced the dining room in sockless clogs, holding his head in his hands, mockingly.

        “You have to think of every single thing!” he shouted, walking away.

        Mr. Brown, who was in the dining room folding napkins, smiled.

        The napkins and tablecloths — a gorgeous, light apricot color with subtle jacquard background design had just arrived from France. They were the linens the chef insisted on buying because rentals weren't good enough for his restaurant. But now, Mr. de Cavel was upset because several of the tablecloths were slightly oversized, meaning the design fell off the table, unseen. It was a detail only a perfectionist restaurant owner might notice.

        “Life is not easy,” Mr. de Cavel yelled from the vacant bar.

        After moving rapidly for six weeks, construction had slowed to the whine of a single saw, somewhere upstairs. Inevitable delays had forced him to push the restaurant's opening back again, to the last week of August. But Mr. de Cavel had finally finished his menu, composing the flavors and dishes in his head, without tasting a morsel or touching a pan.

On his first day working in the kitchen, de Cavel instructs cooks Jerid Whalen, Roy Silcott and Austin Heidt. (Michael E. Keating photo) | ZOOM |

        On the Wednesday afternoon before the restaurant was to open, he joined his giggling cooks on the range line for the first time. He had shaved his beard, leaving his face pale and tender, and he wore a crisp white jacket emblazoned with the restaurant's colorful logo. The kitchen smelled sweetly of roasting fennel, simmering tomatoes and red peppers, and the soundtrack from Amilie, one of his favorite French films, sang out overhead. The chef was lost in the moment, completely happy again.

        He paused upstairs on another August day to admire three original oil paintings hanging in the dining room. The shaded chandeliers cast soft light on the table linens and maple walls below, evoking a warm seductive glow like sunlight on an autumn afternoon. Taking it all in, Mr. de Cavel struggled to stifle a proud smile. It was as he envisioned it well over a year ago. His masterpiece.

        “I am looking forward to see this restaurant open,” he said, quizzically. “But I'm not excited about the opening.”

        The passage of time and all those maddening questions and decisions had helped him, forced him, to move on. But the death of Tatiana had left the indelible mark of sadness. He couldn't deny it. His perspective had changed. Mobil stars didn't mean much to him anymore.

        “It's weird,” he tried to explain. “I wish she could've seen it ... .”

        He stopped before his voice broke again.

        “But maybe this will give me some peace.”

Sunday's Stories

PART 1: Restaurant's opening bittersweet Can new restaurant succeed downtown? Pigall's building dates from city's early days

Monday's Stories

PART 2: Restaurant's opening bittersweet Menu favors seafood, vegetables Prices, tips European-style Imported furnishings, local artists decorate restaurant