Tizzy Beck Is Bringing Babbo Back

In ELLE’s series Office Hours, we ask people in powerful positions to take us through their first jobs, worst jobs, and everything in between. This month, we spoke with Tizzy Beck, the director of guest relations and experience at Babbo, the beloved Greenwich Village restaurant that was closed earlier this year but reopened this fall with a new team. Beck works with her life partner, Mark Ladner, who was on the Babbo team when it first opened in 1998 and is now head chef. A native of Staten Island, she studied at FIT before working for the artist management agency Jed Root as an agent for hairstylists and makeup artists. During more than a decade living in Milan, Beck opened a burger spot she called Tizzy’s N.Y. Bar & Grill. When it closed, she returned to New York City and worked at Eataly and the Waverly Inn before meeting Ladner, with whom she opened the Cambridge, Massachusetts, restaurant Bar Enza. Here, Beck speaks about the heartbreak of closing an establishment, the joys of working with her partner, and why every night is like a dinner party.

I dabbled with little menial jobs, but my first serious job where I was getting a paycheck was at Atrium, a multibrand clothing store. It was the place to be.

I wouldn’t stay at a job I didn’t like, first off. Life is too short to be unhappy. I didn’t like Boston, [where I worked on the launch of Bar Enza], but I didn’t hate the job. I loved the people and I loved the operators we worked for, but I wasn’t happy there.

I decided I was going to move to Milan completely on a whim. I think I was about 28 years old. I just had these feelings of, Oh man—is this it? Am I just going to be in Manhattan my whole life? I had this yearning for something more. So I thought, You know what? I’ll go to Milan—there’s a fashion scene there—and I’ll be able to find a job. If not, I’ll spend a year, live life, and figure it out.

I went there. Jed Root decided to open an office in Milan, which I headed. And we worked with, obviously, the London office, and he had offices in L.A. at the time, and, I believe, Paris, too. I got headhunted to work for Management Artists in Paris. So I did that and didn’t love it. I wanted to go back to Milan. So I did go back to Milan. At that point, I just remember thinking: What am I going to do with my life? I don’t want to be an agent—I want to be the star.

I was always interested in hosting parties. And growing up in New York, eating out was what we did. Restaurants are essentially our kitchens, our communities, and our social lives. It was always in the back of my head that I wanted a restaurant. And it was at this time when we [had gone] back to comfort food, and burgers were having a real moment. And I was like, “I really want to open a restaurant in Milan.”

I thought, How hard could this be? There are so many restaurants—I can do this. I started looking at spaces, was able to get an architect, came up with logos, and did all the things to put together a really proper deck, and then I shopped it around. People took me seriously. I got funding through my family and some other avenues. It wasn’t as heavy a lift as opening a restaurant in New York. I literally did it brick by brick. It was just a runaway success, and the funniest part of the story is that the first day I worked in a restaurant was the first day I opened Tizzy’s.

I was blind, and I didn’t know better. Sometimes, when you don’t know better, it’s helpful because you’re just thrashing through without the knowledge of how things are actually done, so you don’t have that fear. You’re like, “I believe in this; I know who my guest is; I know this is going to work—and go for it.”

When I got a write-up in The New York Times for Tizzy’s.

It wasn’t a very happy closing—they never are. It was a low point. I will say that losing Tizzy’s felt like a death. There was a lot of grieving that went on and a lot of processing. I lost my identity at that point because Tizzy’s was my life; it was my community; it was my livelihood. I had lived in a different country; I was coming back to a city that felt familiar to me, but I was reentering New York City as a 40-year-old. So, there was a lot to sift through, so to speak, and I sifted. I put on my fighting face and got on with it.

When I met Mark, he had just closed [the New York City fast-casual restaurant] Pasta Flyer. [After Tizzy’s,] I just remember feeling like I didn’t know who I was anymore. We met, and I explained to him, “You don’t understand, I had this thing, and now I don’t have it anymore,” and he was like, “Oh, I understand.” Because he had just closed Pasta Flyer. It’s hard to explain that type of loss to someone, but to meet someone who’s actually going through it was great. It’s funny because everyone was like, “You’re dating Mark Ladner,” and I was like, “No, he’s dating me.”

[Ladner and I] met and spent COVID together. COVID was obviously pretty debilitating for the hospitality industry, and we both weren’t sold on staying in New York. We had this opportunity to open a restaurant in Boston. He’s originally from Massachusetts, and we took it because—why not? I wanted to do another opening because I just love openings and the magic of it. But then I learned very quickly that I am definitely a New Yorker, and I will never, ever leave again.

When I had my own restaurant, I learned pretty early on that if I didn’t date someone in hospitality, I would never see them. How many people are available on Tuesday at 11:00 P.M.? For me, it’s normal. If he’s going to be the chef and I’m going to be working in a restaurant, why would I not want to work with him? We speak the same language in the things we like and the things we enjoy, and in our style of service.

It helps when you work with your partner. It also helps when you work at a place where your friends can come visit you. I’m at a dinner party every night.

This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.