“Dear Colman,” read the fax I got from George Lang one morning almost 20 years ago in my office in Santa Monica, after I'd had to revise my itinerary for a planned trip to Europe. “1. I did change my schedule to be able to meet you in Budapest. 2. I am switching a few dozen appointments in a half a dozen cities to be able to be with you on Monday the 19th. 3. If you change it again a fourth-century curse of the ancient Hungarians will be invoked against you and its results are not faxable. Therefore: I hope to see you between 9:30 a.m. and 10:30 a.m. at Gundel. Perhaps you could come through the employees’ entrance…”
Gundel, which opened in Budapest’s City Park in 1910, was once the most famous restaurant in Central Europe, the so-called Maxim’s of the East. Until Hungary’s communist government nationalized it in 1949, Gundel welcomed — as Joseph Wechsberg put it in Blue Trout and Black Truffles — “every tourist, painter, banker, singer, diplomat, king, ex-king, musician, politician, and… restaurateur on the Continent, and many from elsewhere.”
The communists, of course, botched it, as they botched almost everything, and eventually closed the place down in 1972, reopening it eight years later in a stripped-down, “modernized” version. I visited it in the late 1980s, and it was pretty grim. The famously glittering old Gundel interior was now dark and junky-looking, with room dividers of cheap paneling and rows of unset tables stretching into the gloom.
I had lunch on the terrace, beneath a yellow Camel cigarette umbrella, next to a white plastic latticework planter, eating fish of some description in a spongy egg batter topped with frozen peas and a lumpy cream sauce that had, I scribbled in my notebook at the time, the consistency of library paste mixed with canned applesauce. It took a good deal of imagination to imagine Gundel as Wechsberg must have known it.
George Lang saved Gundel. It was hardly his only accomplishment, however. Born in 1924 in Székesfehérvár, about 40 miles southwest of Budapest, he studied violin as a child and moved to the U.S. immediately after World War II — both his parents had died at Auschwitz, and he was himself imprisoned in a Hungarian labor camp and nearly executed — to become a concert musician. He won a scholarship to Tanglewood and played briefly with the Dallas Symphony Orchestra — but, he once told me, he made the mistake of going to hear Jascha Heifetz play one evening, and came away realizing that he would never be a truly great violinist.
He gravitated to the restaurant business instead, working as a waiter, cook, caterer, and banquet manager at a series of places until he was hired in 1960 by the legendary restaurateur Joe Baum (left, with George Lang) to help develop new establishments for Restaurant Associates. He opened the Tower Suite atop the Time-Life Building for RA, and managed the Four Seasons for several years before leaving to launch his own restaurant consulting business — one of the first such enterprises, if not the first, anywhere — in 1970. (Photo courtesy Gerry Dawes)
He helped create or remake scores of establishments for various clients over the years, and in 1975 himself took over the venerable Café des Artistes on New York's Upper West Side, revivifying it and turning it into a popular destination for tourists and locals alike. (It closed in 2009 and has reopened as an Italian restaurant.) Along the way, he found time to write the definitive Cuisine of Hungary and a memoir called (this must have seemed like a good idea at the time) Nobody Knows the Truffles I've Seen, and several other books.