Photo: Jonas Fredwall Karlsson for New York Magazine
You go to the trouble of arranging the rapprochement of the century, and the clouds open up. Four years after an Instagram-fueled contretemps threatened to founder their 40-year relationship, Keith McNally and Graydon Carter met, ostensibly, for a hatchet-burying déjeuner on a street corner near their respective restaurants Morandi and the Waverly Inn. At the appointed time, it poured. But you’d be hard put to find two men the heavens are less likely to cow.
McNally and Carter have already done more than most to refashion the city into their idealized image of it, as their best-selling memoirs reminded us this year. Having spent their early careers gatekeeping, they opened their own ersatz watering holes of old-new New York. One year, their families even spent Christmas Eve together. Then, a rift.
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In Keith’s telling, trouble had been brewing for some time, but the final straw came when Carter’s assistant made a large reservation at Morandi, then canceled it at the last minute. McNally, already a well-practiced Instagram troll, went on the attack: He called out Carter and banned him from McNally restaurants. The press swarmed. This was red meat to the small slice of the human population that cares deeply about New York dining and media. “I never had any animosity for Keith during the troubles. It was an internet fantasy feud that provided good grist for his Instagram,” Carter says.
Like all fine beef, theirs softened with age. They were ready to begin anew even before we called. At the shoot, sitting at a table laid with the bounty of both of their restaurants, McNally companionably grasped Carter’s forearm and the two chatted about children and vacations. As the rain beat down, Carter offered McNally the shield of his large umbrella; McNally, with an Englishman’s grit about inclemency, repeatedly declined. Détente at last, more or less. “He used to say that I was a good restaurateur — for a writer,” Carter says. “Now, I say that he is a good writer — for a restaurateur.”
But some of the old pepperiness remains. “No one said anything about burying the hatchet,” McNally writes me later. “The jury’s still out about that.” Still, they made plans to get together. “I agreed to coffee, not lunch,” McNally adds. “One step at a time. I actually enjoyed my feud with Graydon and I’m going to miss it.”
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If you prefer to read in print, you can also find this article in the December 15, 2025, issue of
New York Magazine.
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If you prefer to read in print, you can also find this article in the December 15, 2025, issue of
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