Andrew Silverman paced coatless in the courtyard beside his restaurant, City Crab and Seafood Company, in Lutherville's Greenspring Station.
It was barely 10 o'clock on a freezing weekday morning not too long ago, but he'd already quizzed the hostess twice on how many reservations were booked for lunch. A grand total of six, she replied, had shot up to nine.
Frosted by this news, if not by the single-digit temperatures outside, Silverman sighed deeply, sending forth a plume of visible despair.
"Snow is one thing, but this is bone-chilling," he said. "I've been in the business 25 years, and I've never seen anything like this winter. It's killing me."
A lot of things "kill" Silverman. The price of fresh tuna, for instance. Dining chairs that wobble. Or, bathrooms that haven't been tidied within the last 20 minutes. "There's no such thing as a restaurant that's too clean," he's fond of saying.
Silverman, 49, is not exactly a malcontent, but his sensibilities are more finely tuned toward spotting mistakes than in finding things to rejoice over.
But, suddenly, his thoughts were on spring, and he rhapsodized about the pleasures of alfresco dining and how festive this courtyard would look filled with tables.
As he began to hum a Sinatra tune, Silverman's shoulders swayed slightly.
Then, these sunny possibilities froze on the vine. "I think I'd better see what we're up to for lunch," he said, as he disappeared back inside and barreled once again toward the maitre d' stand.
Like many restaurateurs, Silverman is no fan of winter. When the mercury drops, people go home instead of go out. Which means tables are empty not only at City Crab (which will celebrate its first year anniversary with an open-to-the-public party on March 11), but at Silverman's 20 restaurants in New York City, among them such popular spots as Steak Frites, Sushi Samba and Chat 'N Chew.
Above his dark eyes, Silverman's eyebrows protrude in a downward thrust V as if they were about to shoot forth from his forehead. This is especially noticeable when he gets angry, which is frequently. A large man (he's 6 feet 2 inches and more than 200 pounds), he carries himself with surprising grace, though he'll admit that weight gain is a clear and present danger.
"I pick around in all my kitchens. That's my job. You can't taste 10 meals a day and ... " He paused in midsentence, having thrust out his torso in a gesture that seemed slightly defensive. He relaxes, grins. "I go to Rancho La Puerta [a health spa in Mexico] once a year," he said. "Maybe I should go twice."
