The paint was still tacky on the walls when the world changed. Laura Pensiero had spent months turning a former Chevrolet garage in Rhinebeck into a trattoria, working with architects, builders, and the village planning board. She had signed a 20-year lease. September 2001 had arrived, construction was running late, and she wanted to open before winter. Then came September 11.
Pensiero and her then-husband, chef Gianni Scappin, decided they needed to open. New Yorkers themselves, they understood the pull of being around other people. In the dining room at Gigi, customers found friends, picked up tables, and moved them together. The restaurant was becoming what she had imagined: a convivial place for a good bowl of pasta, a glass of wine, and company. “People didn’t want to be in their houses alone,” Pensiero says. “They wanted to be around other people.”
Twenty-five years later, that impulse still animates Gigi. Keeping the doors open has required a considerably broader education than Pensiero anticipated, encompassing personnel management, utility bills, a pandemic, and the delicate negotiations involved in removing a beloved dish. The surprise is how much she’s enjoying herself.
The Accidental Restaurateur
The original plan was to build a restaurant for somebody else. Pensiero and Scappin had returned from Italy, where they ran a restaurant together, and both taught at the Culinary Institute of America. They bought a house in Red Hook but also spent time working in New York City. On a weekend upstate, Pensiero spotted a sign at the recently built Montgomery Row and saw an opportunity.
As a weekender, she wanted straightforward trattoria cooking without a prolonged production. “I want to go out for a great bowl of pasta and a glass of wine,” she recalls thinking, “and then I want to be at the house that I never see all week.”
She envisioned promoting Scappin while continuing her own career in food and nutrition. A registered dietitian, she had worked with hospitals including Memorial Sloan Kettering and New York Presbyterian, developed recipes, and ghostwritten cookbooks. She liked her work and the independence it afforded.
In 2003, after splitting with Scappin, she and their investing partner bought him out. Pensiero, who had hoped to be bought out herself and return to the city, found herself running Gigi. She remembers his departure with “absolute terror.” Pensiero eventually bought out the remaining partner around 2018. “I’ve learned everything about being a grown-up at Gigi,” she says.
That included discovering that managing herself and managing a staff were different skills. Her own ambition and self-direction weren’t universal operating instructions. Some employees wanted advancement; others wanted a dependable income that supported ambitions elsewhere. Learning to recognize the difference became essential. “You shouldn’t push them into spaces that they don’t want to be in,” she says. Key members of her kitchen staff have now been with her for nearly 20 years.
A Menu with Room to Move
Customers have accumulated their own histories at Gigi. Children who ate their first gnocchi or Skizza there now bring children of their own. The signature thin-crusted flatbread has survived every menu revision. Across the restaurant and the former Gigi Market in Red Hook, Pensiero estimates they’ve sold more than a million.
Other favorites have acquired similar tenure. The tagliatelle stays. But a restaurant can become crowded with dishes nobody will allow it to retire, leaving little room for the person responsible for cooking up new ideas.
For Pensiero, expanding beyond regional Italian food into the wider Mediterranean provided that room. North Africa, Greece, and Spain offered more possibilities while connecting with her longstanding interest in public health nutrition. She calls Gigi her “living laboratory.”
That might mean a seasonal salad with fresh turmeric–apple cider vinaigrette, or Spanish shrimp paired with creamy white beans. Gnocchi Alpini combines speck, Savoy cabbage, and a caraway-Parmesan cream sauce. Familiar pleasures remain, with enough movement to keep both diners and the kitchen interested.
Her collaboration with chef Rich Reeve has supplied another creative opening. Together they develop specials and the Table & Place supper series, exploring Mediterranean regions through food, wine, and conversation. They’re also developing menus for smaller private gatherings. Their planning sessions have restored a pleasure she had missed: having another experienced cook to bounce ideas around with.
The partnership even helped her summon the resolve to remove lobster ravioli. Customers liked it. She didn’t feel it belonged.
The Price of Being a Regular
Keeping Gigi accessible requires another kind of creativity. Pensiero wants entrees to stay below $40, a threshold tied to the restaurant’s purpose. Some customers eat there more than twice a week. “I don’t want to be just a special occasion restaurant,” she says. “It’s never been what Gigi is.”
She balances dishes with stronger margins against those that yield less, accepting a smaller return on steak if the menu works overall. Some ideas never reach the plate: A fall dish of Dolcetto-braised beef short ribs became impossible once she priced the meat.
Food costs, at least, offer choices. Energy leaves less room to maneuver. Pensiero says her propane and electricity bills together exceed her rent.
The pandemic sharpened her understanding of menu economics. She moved her desk to the bar, brought her puppy, and revised takeout offerings daily according to availability and customer feedback. Federal Paycheck Protection Program money helped her retain a core staff, paying participating employees based on their previous year’s average earnings. When limited dining resumed, she had an experienced team ready.
Support also arrived in 2017, when her now-husband, Cornelius Du Toit, left financial brokerage work and joined the business. He handles bookkeeping, payroll, and repairs, freeing her to concentrate on food, beverages, and people. “I don’t think I’d be in it this long if he didn’t come on board,” she says.
Pulling Tables Together
Pensiero has thought about selling. Looking closely at those moments, she realized she was exhausted and needed more space for the creative work that sustained her interest.
One particularly satisfying project began with conversations with women who felt comfortable dining alone at Gigi. Some had moved to the area and found that a beautiful house and a remote job didn’t necessarily produce friendships. Pensiero kept thinking of people she should introduce.
About two years ago, she started women’s networking gatherings. Professional connections are welcome, but friendship is equally central. Four participants became close enough to travel to Europe together. They still return, occasionally announcing that they’re happy with their existing group and simply want dinner.
The restaurant continues to make room for those encounters, even as Pensiero senses that diners have become less inclined to mingle beyond their own tables. Bringing people together remains work she wants to do. “I’ve let go of a lot of stuff and I’ve got good people around me,” she says. “I’m just cherishing the moment.”
A quarter-century after customers began rearranging the furniture, she’s still finding reasons to pull a few tables together.
