Part 12. Let's Get It Started

A method for toasted milk butter. Plus, the first and second day of opening a restaurant. We have 007 washing up and people falling from the sky.

Howdy! On this weeks Substack you're reading about the day we opened our vegetarian restaurant, Vanilla Black, on Friday the 2nd of December, 2004, in the beautiful city of York.

We drove from our home town of Stockton on Tees to York, about an hours drive, full of predictions of what could happen on our first day. Obviously, we had no idea of what was going to happen, how could we, it was our first day of opening. What we did know was that our Keanu (remember him, his real name is Keir) had agreed to hand out some leaflets, while Donna and I organised the restaurant. They were the only actuals we did know. The rest was questions we asked ourselves.

Would any diners  join us? 

If they did, would they like the food? 

Would we get tourists or locals? 

Would we make enough money to cover the rent?

Would we take enough money to actually pay ourselves a wage? Don’t forget, we hadn’t had any real wages for a long time, but luckily we had a bigger mortgage to pay, that was comforting.

Would Keanu remember to wear black trousers?

What if a window had been smashed overnight?

What if the place had been burgled?

Oh no, the place has been trashed, all that work destroyed.

Isn’t the imagination great, it’s always there to comfort and reassure you.

So we parked up in the closest car park, York was closed to traffic from around 9am to 5pm back then, we paid the million pound parking fees, and walked to Swinegate. When we arrived, the place hadn't been burgled and the windows were still in one piece. The imagination was incorrect. But our Keanu was stood waiting for us, he was wearing his black trousers, good lad. 

We opened up and started to get ready, Donna and Keanu set tables, I prepared food, and longed for the stainless steel benches to arrive. We listened to Keane again, and swapped predictions for the day with each other. We had our mini first staff briefing, we talked through the order of service, table numbers and the menu, just so we were all on the same page. At around 11:30am, our Keanu went off on his leaflet mission, armed with enthusiasm and a bundle of charm. Donna and I continued to set up for service, not sure whether to brace ourselves for a riot or not. 

Our Keanu arrived back after his mission, but now he only had around half of the leaflets left in his grasp. He told us the results of his task, a few people sounded interested, some people took leaflets and a couple of questions were asked. He told us that he didn't know the answers to some of the questions, so he made them up. Thanks our Keanu. So, fairly positive, but to be honest, we were a little deflated. We expected our Keanu to come back all bedraggled, with ripped clothing and covered in cuts and bruises because people had attacked him, desperate for a leaflet and overwhelmed with excitement. But unfortunately, he was intact.

Anyway, we unlocked the door at noon and turned the door sign to open, and then we stood around waiting, and waiting. We were almost stood to attention, staring out of the window and expecting every passer by to be the first. 

We joked a little that our Keanu should grab a few people and pull them in. Then we joked that he should go naked into the street and do a little jig to attract attention. He wouldn’t, but dared me to, but I wouldn't either.  So for some time the passers by kept passing by, and we held our soldiers positions. But then, at around 12:30, a couple walked in, oblivious that it was our first day, and that we were three bags of nerves. 

But, if you're a tourist, you wouldn’t know it was our first day of opening, the place could have been there for years. That realisation actually took the pressure off a little, just a little. So they chose from the menu and ate. Then another couple joined us, and then another few arrived. And you know what, it was actually a very pleasant experience. So by our reckoning we had done 12 covers (restaurant speak meaning amount) and they arrived intermittently, which makes things easier. They were all happy, gave a few compliments about the decor, food and service , paid, and left. Then another couple arrived, again, nice and easy. By now it’s around 2pm, so lunch is coming to an end, and it has been fairly successful. And a few minutes after 2pm, a chappy came in, alone, sat down at his chosen table, waited a minute or two, them had a little grumble and changed tables. Donna took his order, and he passed comment that the chairs were uncomfortable and needed some more  padding in them. The cheek, what could he expect, they were two quid each from an auction. 

Donna informed him that they were old and had  a bit of character, but you know some people, they enjoy being miserable. Unfortunately, these are the ones you remember, not the first couple who joined us and loved everything. Well, he ate, paid and left, and then we locked up. 

That was our first opening day, pretty uneventful really, it was almost an anti climax after all the rushing around prior to opening day. We opened without a fanfare, some people came in, ate food, said they liked it, and that was that. It would have been a better story to tell if something mad had happened, but it didn’t. Even if our Keanu, and me had actually done a naked jig in Swinegate to the tune of Everybody’s Changing by Keane, that would have made the story more errrr, interesting, but nope. The biggest thing was Mr. Upholstery man. He became the topic of conversation as we washed up and prepared for the next day. The cheek, who does he think he is, doesn’t he know how much work we’ve put into this place, while he was sat at home on his memory foam sofa. And the ranting turned into laughter as we calmed down, and we went over the days events, surprised at  how easy it had been. And yes, Mr Upholstery man became a regular, eventually we grew fond of him! Ish!

Ok, so at this rate we wouldn't get rich, but remember, we wanted to prove a point about veggie food and restaurants. So  if we wanted to get rich, we should have  been serving pasta bake and vegetable balti. Now that would be too easy, we needed the challenge. But it was an OK start.

And that’s that. We thanked our Keanu and went home for a few beers to celebrate. Not much else to do really.

It was twenty years ago so a very grainy picture.

The next day was Saturday, and we arrived to our car park again, fed the hungry parking ticket machine and walked to Swinegate. Our Keanu was waiting for us, good lad, we opened up and started again. Just like we did the day before. We joked about Mr Upholstery man a bit, then made predictions of what was going to happen this time. Generally, we expected it to be a little busier than yesterday, we did 15 covers the day before, so maybe 20 today.

So, as we did the day before, we opened at 12pm and stood to attention, the three of us looking like bouncers. However, today a couple came in pretty sharpish, just a few minutes after opening, no standing to attention for half an hour for us today. Then another couple came in, then a four, then a two. Hey, this was getting busy, better pick up the pace. Busy busy.

I’d like to tell you what happened next, but it’s not possible. Why?

Because the sky opened up, and hundreds of people dropped down to earth, landed outside our little restaurant, looked at the menu, and said to each other, “let’s go in”.

It was mayhem, we just couldn’t keep up. Every table was almost instantly full, they were queuing at the front door, and there was even people lined up in the corridor to the toilets, waiting for a table. Even though Donna informed everyone we were full, they were willing to wait for a free table, even when told it would be a long wait. There was no stopping them.

Then that thing kept happening when diners are ready to leave, and they stand up and offer their table to other diners, but you’re too busy to clear or clean the table, never mind take a food or drinks order. Stop it, you’re not helping.

Our Keanu went from a smart front of house guy, all dressed in black, looking and acting like a twenty one year old Pierce Brosnan. The next minute he’s in the kitchen, he suddenly becomes a chef, and he’s learning how to burn his fingers, and he’s juggling pans with me, frying and grilling, then he’s washing up because we’re running out of plates. I can’t read the tickets because they’re scribbled in such a hurry, I can’t even tell if it’s Donna’s handwriting or Keanu’s, so I can’t ask. Then our Keanu runs out of the kitchen to help Donna. The noise level just grew and grew, and the place was just buzzing with atmosphere. Over the years we have noticed that even though a service might feel crazy, or disjointed to us, it often goes unnoticed by the diners, they just seem to sit back enjoy the buzz and activity. None of them offer a helping hand though do they. 

I’m plating dishes up, but I can’t put them anywhere because the steel benches didn’t arrive. So I’m using the hot cupboard (in case you don’t know, they’re about the size of a chest freezer and you use them to keep plates warm), except it’s not even a hot cupboard because we could’t afford one, it’s an 80’s Hostess Trolley. Four plates fill the top of the trolley, I need them collecting, but I know Donna and our Keanu are busy, and I can’t take them because I have another three thousand dishes to do. Cabbage puddings, bloody cabbage puddings. 

Donna is taking orders, making up soft drinks, making teas and coffees, taking food to tables, dealing with even more people at the door who are pushing for a table. Then our Keanu is back to front of house, collecting those teas and coffees and taking them to tables, helping Donna to keep the crowds back, and just generally being everywhere, shaken, not stirred. It’s fast, crazy and confusing. At the same time, Donna is still is nursing mode, and referring to the tables as beds, just to add to the confusion. 

Then joy of joys, someone wants to speak with the chef, someone in bed 4. “What do they want?” I ask, “dunno is the reply”. 

Well, I had plenty of time didn’t I, so I straighten my hair, remove my stained apron, and march out to see why I’m being summoned. Turns out a young guy loved the olive oil which was dressing his sprightly leaves, and he wanted to chat about it. “Ohh it’s grassy with undertones of lemon isn’t it? Is it Spanish olive oil?” 

I told him it was Spanish, but I actually couldn't remember. Of course he was very pleased that he was correct. 

But I wasn't pleased, while I’m listening to his story about his last holiday in  Spain, where he went to an olive oil tasting, and he loves olive oil, and did I know that blah blah bah, there’s a list of food not getting cooked, and people are having to wait because of his reminiscing. So I have to use a polite sentence to escape and get back to it. Sorry mate, things to do.

And it went on, the line of people did not stop. We could only seat 28 people, but how many we actually did, no idea.The tables were certainly earning their keep that day. 

But as the time rushed on, the crowds dispersed, and as the dust settled, as the Brazilian wooden flooring relaxed, and as the chairs creaked back into position, the three of us just looked at each other, shook our heads, and then laughed. We laughed with happiness at making it through, we laughed because it was so funny that we had just muddled on, and we laughed because it worked. 

We locked the doors, turned Keane up, then battled with the aftermath. As the crowds continued with their day out in York, looking for ghosts, we washed crockery, cutlery and glasses, we swept, we stocked fridges, we mopped floors, and we continued, until the place looked like it did a few hours ago. All in all, we got absolutely hammered on our second service, but it was good, we felt a sense of achievement, we had made something happen.

A plan of the restaurant which includes the bespoke flooring.

And then, just as we were finishing, somebody was giving a little a little tap on the door to attract our attention. Oh no, not more customers, please. But no, it was a chap who introduced himself as Jonathan Cainer. Now, I hadn’t heard of him, neither had Donna, but our Keanu had. If you haven't heard of him either, he was an astrologer, he wrote horoscopes for a newspaper, fairly well known in the horoscope world, but not in our world. He was very nice, and it turned out he wanted to book a table for one evening for six people. We were flattered that he wanted to book a table with us, especially as we had only been open for two days, so we could have been crap for all he knew. But hang on, we weren't open on an evening, we didn’t have an alcohol license. That didn’t bother our Jonathan, he informed us that it could be a private event, so we didn't need a license. Wrong or right, we didn't argue. I was a bit reluctant at first, but then he told us that one of the guests was Uri Geller. Yes, that Uri Geller, the bendy spoon guy. A celebrity was going to eat in our restaurant. Oi, this was 20 years ago, he was a celebrity then. This could be excellent publicity for us, just what a new business needs. We said yes. Our Keanu was excited.

A less grainy picture, no idea where this came from

Anyway, we had done a full two days and we were knackered, but very chuffed, a lot had happened in two days, and soon we would get our alcohol license and open evenings, and next week we would host a private event for a celebrity. It’s all go.

Okey dokey, this week we don’t have an actual recipe, more of method. This method came back to me because of a WhatsApp message I received the other day, from Tall Tom. Tom worked for us in London some time ago, can’t remember when, and he was tall, about eight foot tall. I recalled a time when we were looking at ideas for a different flavour butter for the sourdough, we’d done smoked, Marmite and various other dead good flavours. But we wanted something simple for a change. We decided on brown butter, you know, when you heat butter to a certain point and it takes on a nutty flavour. However, after Tall Tom did a test he found that it didn’t re set as whole butter. So he tried browning half, then mixing with the other un browned half to stabilise it. This worked, however, as half of the batch was not brown, the flavour diminished. But one day, Tall Tom was struck by lightning, because he’s so tall, and had a brilliant idea. We know that when we brown butter it’s the milk solids which colour and give flavour, so Tall Tom suggested that we buy some milk powder, toast it, and add it to the butter. And you know what, it worked. So there we go, brown butter, which you can spread on your bread, or toast, or add to a sauce or, or spread on a cheese scone, and other things.

This is a fairly large amount, but the original recipe was for 10kg, so I’ve knocked it down quite a bit. 

Toasted Milk Brown Butter 

Ingredients 

1kg                 Unsalted Butter

50g                 Milk powder

5g.                 Regular table salt, no fancy stuff please 

Method

-Weigh out 850g of the butter, leave at room temperature to soften. 

-Add the remaining 150g butter to a saucepan and melt it gently.

-Now add the milk powder to the melted butter and increase the heat. Give a good stir.

-Take the butter to 135c, if you don’t have a food thermometer, just stir and wait until the milk solids are caramelised and dark brown, but not burnt. 

-Leave it to cool to room temperature, then add to the 850g of softened butter along with the salt and give a good mix.

-You can chill in one piece in the fridge and take bits as you need to, or if you’re a show off, pipe it into shapes on a fancy plate.

-Eat it.

Join us next week as Uri predicts our future, I get summoned to court and some York councillors pay us a visit. 

Thanks again for reading, Andrew and Donna