Genius is in the details at Spice
By Jessica Willis, Special to The Eagle
Berkshire Eagle

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Thursday, August 03

The delectable scent of night-blooming jasmine on North Street should be all the proof one needs that the times (and the smells) are changing for the better in downtown Pittsfield. Gone are the more, um, pedestrian olfactory assaults; here to stay are gigantic planters filled with Spice co-owner Joyce Bernstein's lavender and three kinds of rosemary. Are we in Pittsfield or southern France? Standing in Spice's vestibule, it's not difficult to feel positively dreamy. And I haven't even looked at the menu yet.
"It's been here for a month and a half, and it hasn't been fed," Bernstein says of her jasmine after we've been seated in the lounge. "I usually use an organic fertilizer. If I kick it now it will be like a snow drift. I'm a little obsessive about my plants."

Plants are not the only object of Bernstein's obsession. Everything about Spice, from its bathroom lighting to its salt and pepper shakers, had to pass muster with Bernstein and her collaborators. This mishmash of educated opinions often caused what Bernstein smilingly refers to as "lively discussion." On many occasions, the testing process got a little, well, creative.

"In the beginning, we tried to keep some level of consensus," she said. "I wanted Spice to be really pretty. We found a number of glasses, and everyone was arguing. Finally I said, 'I know how we're gonna make this decision. I'm gonna throw 'em all up in the air, and the one left standing is the one we're gonna use.' "

The result? A lot of broken glass, and one perfect long-stemmed goblet that didn't shatter when all the others did. Talk about grace under pressure.

The 17,000 square foot restaurant has been under construction for two years, and although the first half of the process was devoted to the nightmarish task of excavating and reinforcing the superstructure (which had been severely damaged in a fire generations ago), the second year of construction was dedicated to the equally exacting process of picking out plates and silverware. Not surprisingly, "we were all fighting over that," Bernstein says with a laugh. "My hands are really small, (head chef Douglas Luf's) hands are really large, and we were all still getting along well at this point, but our nerves were getting frayed."

When the 11th hour came, as it always does in the fickle and frazzled restaurant business, Bernstein panicked when she realized that they didn't have any salt shakers or bud vases. "It was like nine-tenths of the last two years didn't exist," she recalls. "You can't wait until someone orders the darn martini to go out and get the gin and olives."

It was during this time, about two or three weeks prior to opening, that some of Spice's quirkiest and most endearing details were created. The preposterous salt and pepper shakers — which can only be described as smiley dancing spacemen with magnetic palms — were a surprise hit, although they almost didn't make it to the table.

"I had seen them at a trade show," she says. "Thierry (Breard, Spice's general manager) and Douglas came into my office with a look of outrage on their faces. And then they started laughing. Because they're silly. We decided it was okay to have a sense of humor. People ask for the salt and pepper shakers all the time. We've been selling them."

Bernstein knew exactly what she wanted when it came to creating the atmosphere in a restaurant that she calls "a catalyst for other things to happen on North Street." Taking cues from some of her favorite restaurants, which include everything from very fancy places with white linen and spotless silver to the "corner hot dog joint," Bernstein knew she wanted Spice to be gorgeous yet un-stuffy. "I want everyone to feel welcome," she says. "Not just the summer guests, but particularly the local residents of Pittsfield. I don't want Spice to be what people traditionally call their favorite restaurant. You only go there on special occasions. We want it to be the kind of place you come to a couple of times a week, and then come and have something from the bar menu. And you would feel comfortable, and it wouldn't be totally outlandish price wise."

Spice seems to be a place where khaki and evening wear are equally at home, which is terrific for couples and friends who can't seem to agree on a place to eat. Restaurants have long been seen as the primary battleground for the neuroses of the sexes — it's a place where men can obsess about money and women can obsess about food — but Bernstein, the self-described "serial entrepreneur" (along with her business partner and "spouse equivalent" Lawrence Rosenthal, Spice's other owner) has put a great deal of thought into what makes a restaurant not only a destination, but a true feel-good accessory for both men and women.

When world-renowned lighting designer Howard Brandston asked Bernstein what she wanted Spice's lighting to look like, she simply said, "I want women to look beautiful. I want the wrinkles to go away, I want to lose a few pounds, and he said, 'no sweat.' He relit the Statue of Liberty, and he told me that the greatest challenge of his career was making a woman with green skin into a beauty."

To Tom O'Brien from Martino Glass, who installed the all-important mirrors in the bathroom, Bernstein requested "fun house mirrors that make women look skinnier and taller." That idea got scrapped, but she had made her point. "It sounds shallow, but those things are really important to me. Let's face it, when you go out, you wanna have a good time and feel good about yourself." Indeed, the restroom mirrors at Spice are divine: clear, faultless and luminously lit. Even after feasting on incredible andouille clams with a warm, slow heat ($9) and duck confit, I don't hate my reflection.

There's more to love about the restroom: as soon as one locks the deadbolt, the light goes on (no more fumbling), and a red light is lit above the door so outsiders know the restrooms are occupied (no more cries of 'wait just a second!'). What's more, there's a diaper changing station in the men's room as well. All things being equal.

Even the typical sound of a spacious restaurant — the clatter of silverware, the cacaphony of voices and footfalls — has been reduced by Bernstein and Rosenthal's use of an acoustician, who padded all of the tables in the dining room to reduce the annoying clatter that can make or break a restaurant's all important vibe.

After leading me through the labyrinthine underground, past the walls of chiseled bedrock and the immaculate production kitchen, we resurface in the dining room, where an energetic group has taken up residence at a long table in the lounge. Bernstein refers to them as "the 5:01 Club," an informal group comprised of the local captains of industry who meet up for light bites and chat after the closing whistle.

It's barely 7 p.m. and the restaurant is filling up quickly on the eve of their sixth Saturday in existence. "I'm still counting," Bernstein says with glee. She looks around with a smile of satisfaction. The details that make a restaurant great are all here, and it matters little if patrons notice them. To her surprise, many of them do. "People recognize the little details we worked so hard on," she says. "When I was visualizing this restaurant I closed my eyes and could see people sitting in the seats. I imagined what they might look like, and it came true."

Spice is at 297 North St., Pittsfield. For reservations, call (413) 443-1234.

SPICE 297 North Street Pittsfield, MA 01201 413.443.1234
www.spice-restaurant.com