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Everywhere I look….

I see reminders of you.




Never never never leave your bike unlocked. Not even for I minute.

Bye Bye bike,

Missing you already.

360 reviews: customers do the darndest things

In my old life, working for the government, we used to have 360-degree performance reviews where everybody in the organization, from management to the mailroom, got feedback on how well they were doing their job. In hospitality, however, it’s a one-way street.

Customers can tell the waiters what they think of their performance through the tipping system and restaurant critics are allowed to say whatever they want about the talents of the chef and the standard of the service when they review a restaurant. But what about the views of the shop assistants, chefs and waiters: the ones earning £5.50 an hour, on their feet for 10 hours, and expected to accept that the customer is always right despite everyone knowing that claim is statistically impossible?

I’d like to see customers receive a score, given by the staff, for how well they performed: were they polite and appreciative, were they adventurous in their meal choices, did they overstay their welcome...


If you want to score highly you should avoid the following:

Talking loudly on your mobile phone while being served and then whispering to the person serving you as though they are the person you shouldn’t really be having a conversation with.

Asking for some jam, watching the waiter run up and down the stairs to get it, then asking for a glass of tap water, watching the waiter run up and down the stairs to get it, then asking for a new knife because you’ve just dropped yours…And don’t preface the request with “I hate to make you run up the stairs again but…” Clearly you are enjoying being waited on hand and foot. I know I do.

Ignoring the meals listed on the menu, which have been carefully thought out by someone who is trained and skilled in this area, and asking if you can order something that you have created. That’s what your own kitchen is for.

Losing perspective: On an insanely busy Saturday I was told by one irate customer that I had ruined his day because he and his friend’s breakfast had not arrived at the same time. Annoying, sure, but hardly worthy of ruining your day. It’s only breakfast and you have the whole day ahead of you sunshine.

After nearly twelve months working at Tom’s Deli I’m finally leaving so I can focus on getting the café started. For the next few weeks I’m going to enjoy being the customer, safe in the knowledge that I will not be shamed by a low score even if I behave like a complete twat.

Bye bye Tom’s. Missing you already.

Never never never give up

Another lesson I'm learning in the process of trying to open the café is that perseverance is key. A lot of Antipodeans I’ve spoken to in London say they had also thought of opening a café, or knew of someone who wanted to, but had never gone ahead with it.

Perhaps there are only so many disappointments, knock backs and unreturned phone calls that these people can take before they say, ‘I give up’. But if there is one thing I’m not, it’s a quitter. Like Winston, I never give up.

The other week I saw that Tamasin Day-Lewis was speaking at a lunch at Books for Cooks. Now, I have to explain that my sister is infatuated with Tamasin. She feels that she and Tamasin are kindred spirits: both involved in high pressure jobs in creative industries, both mothers of three, and both passionate about food and cooking. If only they could meet, she is sure they’d become best friends.

When I went to Books for Cooks to arrange this meeting I was told that the event had sold out, they couldn’t possibly take any extras and already had a waiting list. A thin lipped assistant assured me that my chances of attending were “doomed I’m afraid”.

The following week I was serving in the deli at Tom’s when I looked up to see Tamasin at the cheese counter. I knew I would kick myself if I didn’t seize this opportunity. Caught completely off guard all I could think to say was “My sister is completely obsessed with you”. She laughed a little nervously and said “In a good way I hope”. I blundered on and by the time she was walking out the door with her bag full of cheeses she had secured me seats at her lunch: “Call Eric and tell him that Tamasin said its ok for you and your sister to come”.

The phone call was made and on the day of the event we were the first to arrive. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no, non” said Eric Treuille, the French proprietor of Books for Cooks, “I thought it was just you. One of you can come but two is impossible”. Despite my pleading and offers to stand and not eat, Eric is also a man who does not give up and I was left pacing downstairs waiting to see if a ticket holder didn’t turn up. 30 agonising minutes later I was allowed in, giving Eric and Tamasin a triumphant smile as I sat down to lunch.

We chatted, we laughed, we ate, we bonded and my sister left with her arm around her new bestie. Well almost – a copy of Tamasin’s new cook book with a personal inscription.

Ink: A site to behold part 2

It’s official. After many weeks of nail biting negotiations and escalating legal fees today the contract was signed and we are now the proud tenants of the café site in Charlotte Place, Fitzrovia W1. My emotions swing between euphoria and terror on a minute by minute basis.

While economists and politicians may try to dampen our enthusiasm with reports of rising food prices, a credit crisis and a sharp decrease in consumer spending, we are standing firm in our belief that our café will succeed. Richard prophetically told his disappearing sister Karen in the movie Superstar: the Karen Carpenter Story, “You gotta eat”. We too believe that the London population gotta eat somewhere so why not at 13 Charlotte Place.

So now onto the next item on the to do list: find a chef.

Here is the ad I’ve been running on Gumtree for the last couple of weeks with under-whelming results.

Head Chef/Sous Chef wanted

We are an independent startup in Fitzrovia looking for an experienced chef who is highly motivated, creative, feels passionate about seasonal cooking using best quality ingredients, and shares our dislike of chains and the bland coffee and food they serve.

You would be taking the creative lead in designing the menu which will focus on breakfast/lunch dishes with a gourmet twist, and be responsible for managing and training a small team. Good working knowledge of Australian café/restaurant culture would be an advantage. Salary 26-28k plus bonuses.

So if any one knows a good chef…

A chef for all seasons: interview with Oliver Rowe

In the spirit of furthering my knowledge about seasonal, locally grown produce I recently ate at a restaurant in Kings Cross called Konstam which tries to source all of its ingredients from within the London area.

The thing that strikes you when you first walk into Konstam is the visibility of the kitchen which is integrated into the dining space. Our table was so close to the prep counter I had to stop my hungry brother eating the mise en place.

It feels like you are eating in owner/head chef Oliver Rowe’s home kitchen, chatting to him while he cooks, asking him about ingredients and giving him our opinion (which he asked for) on who had ordered the best main- a difficult verdict arrived at through the time honoured practice of ‘a bite for a bite’. Perhaps we were a little conscious of the immediacy of our feedback but we each told him that our own meal was the winner - mine was slow roasted shoulder of lamb with apple and blackcurrant compote.

I often wonder if chefs and restaurants that make ambitious and worthy promises about their food sourcing policy manage to stay committed to their vision or whether they live to regret their absolute proclamations when the margins get skinny and the customers lose interest and move onto the next fad.

Oliver seemed like such an affable chap that I went back a couple of weeks later to record an interview with him about his food sourcing philosophy and whether consumers really care.

It’s about 8 minutes long and a large file so you may want to go and make yourself a cup of tea while it downloads.

Trying to act seasonally

One of the difficulties I’ve found in moving from Australia to England is establishing my seasonal bearings. I'm unfamiliar with such extreme contrasts in weather from one season to the next, complicated by the fact that the seasons don't seem to follow any rules, changing back and forth in the space of a week.



When I was little the world was a smaller, less complicated place. There were essentially two seasons: summer and winter. Meat was bought from a butcher, fruit and vegetables from the greengrocer and everything else from the Ironside shop’s Cut Price Store; a 3 aisle Aladdin’s cave which contained everything from dog food to cupcake papers. I had no idea where the fresh food I ate was grown or reared but I assumed, probably correctly, that if I was eating it, it was in season and hadn’t traveled very far. I also always assumed that price was a good indicator of seasonality. Over summer, mangoes would go from being $2 each to a $2 a tray special in the space of weeks as they reached the peak of their season.

Now I walk into a supermarket on the other side of the world and am faced with rows and rows of choice; lots of little styrofoam cling-filmed trays filled with an endless variety of trimmed and ready to cook meat, fruit and vegetables that are available every month of the year. Often the cheapest produce has a little sticker of a plane showing that it has been flown from Thailand, Chilli, Morocco or some other far flung country where the sun is shining and the labour is cheap.

While I’m loathe to jump on what seems to have become the latest foodie bandwagon, I do care about food miles, although I admit, my motives are largely selfish. Food tastes better when it is in season and hasn’t had to travel long distances with lots of people handling it before I eat it.

So without price and availability or even weather to help me navigate the UK food seasons, I rely on the local Farmer’s market to educate me. There I've discovered why the English are so skilled at making preserves and chutney’s – they’ve had to survive a lot of long chilly months when there’s not much grown apart from root vegetables.

Last Saturday I picked up these slender little conference pears and poached them in a vanilla syrup (1 vanilla bean split open and a 1:4 ratio of sugar to water).


I ate them for breakfast the next morning as the snow gently fell from the sky. So does that make pears a winter or spring fruit?