THIS summer, by his own count, Greg Grossman seared 75 pounds of scallops, cured 30 pounds of salmon, plated 200 micro-green salads and reduced at least 20 bottles of red wine.
He could have done more, but hey – they don’t give catering licenses to 13-year-olds.
MORE: Greg Grossman’s Signature Scallops Recipe
That hasn’t stopped him from saucing and searing his way ’round the Hamptons this summer: an art-gallery opening here (his parents are in the fine-art biz), a family party there (“my friend Ben’s grandmother – everything had to be low fat, low cholesterol”).
“The fact that Greg is young has absolutely nothing to do with his job as a caterer,” says Janet Lehr of the Vered Gallery, for which Greg recently turned out “killer” truffles and fish soufflés.
“Look at Mozart!” Indeed.
Vered is the same gallery, incidentally, that was busted this summer for serving wine at an opening without a liquor license – but that was not Greg’s party. Vered and other clients keep from violating child labor laws because Greg doesn’t call himself a caterer, but a personal chef.
“I’m not working for an employer,” he explains. “I buy their food, I help them prepare it and they compensate me – they just tip.”
East Hampton’s tony Ross School, where Greg’s an eighth grader, has been a big booster – though it had someone else cater its Jonas Brothers bash this summer.
“Danny Meyers’ Union Square Hospitality Group did it,” Greg says, shrugging. “They’re pretty good competition.”
In the capacious kitchen of the Ross Café (which is what the progressive school calls its cafeteria), Greg and his friend Pablo Kozatch sliced and diced.
Pablo is either Greg’s partner or his sous-chef, depending which one you ask. (Pablo: “Partner!”)
Theirs is a somewhat uneasy alliance, perhaps because Pablo, who turned 13 on May 25, the same day Greg did, runs a Web-design business on the side.
And according to Pablo, Web design pays better than catering.
“I don’t really like my 13-year-old working so hard,” concedes Greg’s mom, Terre. “He did go to camp a few summers ago, but he said the food was awful!”
Over a late lunch at Citta Nuova in East Hampton, Greg muses over the path the Food Network and his own palate have led him down.
“I’m wondering, as I go deeper and deeper into food, will this be my career?” he says. “For now, it’s my passion, but that could change at any time.”
This from a boy who, his mother says, practically teethed at Nobu, Cipriani and the Four Seasons Hotel in Palm Beach.
His first big coup came at 10, when he presented his folks with pan-seared sea scallops under a balsamic vinegar glaze, accompanied by what he describes as “a wild-mushroom melody.” From there, it was just a hop, skip and a saucepan away to sake foam and faux caviar.
He’d prefer not to discuss missteps along the way: the gritty risotto; the caramel sauce that refused to caramelize; the time the valve got stuck on his Thermo-whip cream whipper and he was forced to spray all the cream into the bushes (luckily, it was an outdoor party).
“Williams-Sonoma replaced it,” his mom says. “They know him there. And he practically lives in Citarella’s!”
The food arrives, and Greg eyes the smallish Caesar salad and oblong mushroom pizza with dismay.
“Who’s in the kitchen today?” cries the boy whose business cards read “Greg Grossman: Personal Chef.”
If the catering doesn’t pan out, he can always become a critic.