Finding the right recipe for kitchen satisfaction
The relationship between those who eat and pay and those who cook and serve is fascinating, almost as complex as cookery itself. The door dividing the kitchen and the dining room means that neither cook nor diner really understand much of what goes on beyond their line of vision.
This is probably just as well when there are particularly gross people at a table, braying and honking about how often they eat at Le Manoir or Le Gavroche, or when the cooks are cursing a particularly difficult order or have just cocked up some essential part of a dish.
The perverse aspect to this is that cooking holds enormous interest to the dining public. People want to look at the kitchen after their meal, meet the chef and discuss their own dinner-party treats.
They buy huge quantities of recipe books, and some chefs have become stars well beyond the world of restaurants and hotel kitchens.
But for most chefs it is the cookery, the fiddling with garnishes and the technical achievements, that holds the attraction. The punters themselves are barely relevant.
Motivation
I like to find out from my wife Anja after service what sort of people sat at each table and whether she thinks they enjoyed the evening. But I am probably no better than your average chef in that I am motivated more by the food and its possibilities than the diners who are shelling out to eat it.
Even the terminology is fraught with pitfalls. When-ever a word such as "punter" is used to describe those at the paying end, it provokes squawking from people in the trade who believe it is derogatory.
Nothing could be further from the truth, as it is almost affectionate. Most of us could think of far worse things to call people, and the term is appropriate as there is an element of risk for both parties to the restaurant arrangement - that what you think is brilliant, great value for money and perfectly executed grub, will be the coincidental opinion of those eating.
Horrible, mealy-mouthed substitutes are suggested, words such as "client" (brothel overtones there surely); "guest" (unless prefixed with the word hotel, this in my mind implies that no money changes hands); or even "customer" (a description that is nearer the truth but perhaps describes a much more straightforward transaction than any meal will be).
The truth is that they are an essential part of the arrangement and it is fortunate that the Merchant House has managed to lure enough to have another good month. There were no empty tables on any evening, though the restaurant has from time to time filled with very small numbers.
There have been no letters of complaint so far this month, no unexpected bills, nor any other minor catastrophes.
It could be quite dull, apart from the work - and, of course, the punters.
Next diary from Shaun Hill is on 29 August
