"I Didn't Know! (A Seinfeld Story)"

Because nobody wants the food... until it's gone.

Someone once asked me, “What’s the smallest number of people you ever catered for?”

My answer? One.

And this story—which I hadn’t thought about in years—is one of my absolute favorites.

One of the venues I had a great working relationship with was at De Anza College in Cupertino– It housed one of the largest theaters in the area. My contact there—Paula, I think? Yes, Paula!—called me one day and said, “Hi Debbie. Listen, I know you don’t usually do small events, but I have something you might be interested in…”

Small events don’t tend to be profitable—not for the work involved. Our minimum at the time was 25 guests or $2,500. Anything under just wasn’t worth it.

But I liked Paula. We didn’t do a ton of events together, but when she called, it was usually something important.

So I asked, “How many guests?”

“One,” she said. Then paused. “It’s Jerry Seinfeld.”

Embarrassingly, I almost squealed. “WHO? WHAT?? Jerry Seinfeld? Ahh okay  YES, okay—YES. When?!”

She gave me the date—it was just four days away.- They had an in-house guy that ran the ‘intermission- catering regularly - either Paula wanted something more or the client did- but I got the call and I was bending my own rules. 

…breathe, Debbie.

I breathlessly responded, “I think I’m available. Let me just check my calendar.”

I’m not normally that starstruck. (The last time I acted like that was meeting the cast of Cirque du Soleil.) But I kinda had a thing for Jerry’s show. And his stand-up. So yeah, I was a little extra.

Eventually, with my pen and paper in hand, I composed myself. “Tell me more.”

Paula asked, “Can you take care of the rider?”

It wasn’t a crazy week, so I asked, “How many pages is it? Anything insane in it?”

She laughed. “No. Totally reasonable.”

“Send it over,” I said.

She promised Jerry’s three meal requests and the rider would be in my inbox by that afternoon. There would be three setups: a pre-performance snack spread, a break menu, and an after-show dinner. She mentioned he might have his producer and a couple friends, so I should plan for four. Deal.

I hung up and immediately called my husband. “You won’t believe the call I just got,” I said. “I’m doing this.”

Normally I’d send an event manager or one of our top servers—plenty of them could have handled it—but this one? This one was mine.

When the rider arrived, I could barely contain my smile. The requests were oddly specific and hilarious—very him. I don’t remember everything, but it was surprisingly tame compared to some I’ve heard about (An unnamed female star - once had the Fairmont Hotel change all the carpet and furniture to white—true story).

For Jerry, I was shopping for Chapstick, car magazines, a basic black hair comb, bottled water, Kleenex, brand-new hand towels, and so on. Totally normal. Totally Jerry.

The one catch? I was not supposed to be in the dressing room at the same time as him. I’d have a backstage pass and could watch the show from a chair stage-left, which was more than fine by me.

Only… that’s not what came down.

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Jerry’s pre-show menu was cute. Deli meats, breads and condiments, Dill pickles, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on white bread, cereal and milk and maybe a few sweet things I’ve since forgotten.

I arrived in plenty of time. Setting up for a “party of one” takes just as long as it does for 25. I carefully placed all his rider items. (Where do you put the Chapstick so he doesn’t miss it?) The room was medium-sized with black leather sofas and a coffee table. I even brought a houseplant from home—just in case. It ended up being perfect.

Once everything was set up, I went to find Paula to let her know I was ready. Jerry was expected in about 15 minutes, so I had time to check on my chef in the truck outside and figure out where I’d watch the performance. As I walked back, I saw Jerry go into the lounge.

My heart jumped. What is wrong with me?! He’s just a comedian and a TV star! my inner voice said.

I found Paula. We chatted. She gave me a chair and showed me a special stage clock so I could time the next “break menu” switch. Within minutes, I was laughing with the rest of the crowd, totally immersed in the show. But the job was still top of mind.

I stepped away in time to go swap the food. But… he hadn’t touched a thing.

Now what?

I called Paula—no time to wander. She said, “Switch it out.”

It felt wrong, but I did it. Twenty minutes later, the second setup was done.

As I walked down the corridor, Jerry was walking toward me. I smiled, kept moving. I was dumping pickles at the kitchen truck when Paula caught up with me.

“Jerry wants the first food back.”

I looked at the pickles I’d just thrown in the garbage. Then back to my chef.

“You have more of those, right?!”

It was a mad rush, but yes—we had more. Only this time… Jerry would be in the room when I brought the food in.

Here’s where things got surreal—like I was an understudy suddenly thrown on stage with the star.

I walked back in with the platter of pickles and PB&Js. Jerry looked at me and—true to form—said in that classic Seinfeld voice:

“You know, nobody eats the food… but if it’s gone, suddenly everybody wants it.”

Without missing a beat, something Elaine-esque rose up in me. I placed the platter down- threw up my arms and said, in a New York accent:

“I didn’t know!!  - Look, I work in food, you work in jokes—let’s not switch roles.   And what’s the deal pbj’s & pickles?”  

OMG- I just said that.

He smiled, then grinned.

“So you just threw them away? Like yesterday’s soup?”

And I replied:“I  panicked okay - I didn’t know-!”

We all laughed.  Life’s best medicine.

We had this improv moment, totally natural. Somewhere deep inside of me, the persona of Elaine had taken over. It just happened.

Jerry was kind, funny, present—the guy you hope he actually is. Not some celebrity too self-important to see people. He introduced me to his friend, made me feel completely at ease.

There was one more food change—this time I decided to combine the break and the after-show menus. It was the right call.

I watched the end of his set from my side-stage chair,  barely focusing on his jokes, giggling to myself the entire time. I was on a natural high for days.

I couldn’t believe I had a comedic conversation with Jerry Seinfeld.

And for years, I told anyone who would listen.