Part 56 Breakaway

A place called Shoreditch, no strong smells and a lowered floor.

If you put a Like at the end of this, absolutely nothing will happen.

Hiya, how are you? OK then.

So, a tiny recap because you probably have the memory of a gnat. The restaurant reviewer, Jay Rayner, had been to visit us and his followers wanted to sit in the same chair he had sat in. And we had an offer on the restaurant, a chap called Amal had come up with a decent price, put solicitors into gear and sworn us to secrecy.

Also, we had asked Lozza if she wanted to join us in London and start a new adventure with us. She was happy with that.

But in the meantime, we needed to search for a property in London.

And this is how that went-

Pick up the phone and call a commercial property agent in London.

“Hi, we’re looking for a restaurant site.’

“We can certainly help. What type of restaurant will you be operating and how many covers?”

“Covers….errr, something like a fifty seater would do it. Vegetarian, it’s a vegetarian restaurant.”

“Ahh, we have just the place for you, it’s on a side street in Camden.”

“No, we don’t want to be in Camden.”

“Why not, it’s perfect for a vegetarian restaurant.”

Here we go, the blood slowly starts to simmer.

“Tell me why it’s perfect for a vegetarian restaurant.”

“Well, it’s Camden, there’s lots of young people around.”

The blood temperature is around forty celsius by now.

“OK. And how old are you Kyle?”

“Me, I’m twenty eight. Why do you ask?’

“Well you’re young. Are you a vegetarian?”

“No I’m not.”

“Have you ever been to Camden?”

“Yea, a couple of weeks ago with some mates, jus drifting through some bars.”

“So you’re young and you’ve been to Camden, but you’re not vegetarian.”

The blood temperature is starting to spike.

“Look, I get what you’re saying, but you know what I mean.”

“No not really, but can we start again? We’re looking for a restaurant site, but let’s say that it’s a meat restaurant instead. That should make it easier.”

Time after time we went through this conversation with agents who assumed that we were going to be another Beanbag Cafe peddling three bean casserole for a fiver.

“Hey, we have a place close to a university, that would be great for you guys.”

“Oh yea, we have the perfect site on our books. It’s a great location, it’s two doors down from a health food store.”

These people had their impressions stuck between 1971 and a Quorn Family Roast.

Unfortunately, the internet wasn’t up to full speed at the time, so we couldn't just say, “Hey, Google me.” Instead we had to let the blood cool down and give a brief explanation.

But viewing some of these premises helped to lower that blood temperature.

We saw some very special sights.

Some examples for your pleasure.

A decent sized restaurant in Notting Hill which caught our eye, literally. It was a nice location, just tucked away dow a little leafy street. It was decorated by a gang of goths who must have been having a darker day than usual. Gloss black walls, black painted floors and blood red doors and skirting boards. It felt like you had arrived at a fun fair and jumped on the the ghost train ride, but without the train. And the agent told us a little story, and remember, this was twenty years ago, he told us that the place was taking around eight thousand quid a week, a bloody good amount, but another ten thousand in cash which was put in the owners back pocket.

We talked ourselves out of that one.

Another one in Islington. Now this was interesting, Islington was very trendy twenty years ago, everyone wanted a restaurant there. This place was in good order, wouldn't need much doing to it, just a lick of paint here and there. The kitchen was organised in such a way that we could start using it straight away, perfect. It was also close to Angel station and it wasn't too far from the destination of Gods, Upper Street. Too good to be true?

The catch. The chap who owned it was happy to sell the leasehold for the restaurant, but he would hold onto the upstairs and continue to live there. Fair enough.

However, he had stipulations. We would have to close at a certain time, as stated by him. The wheelie bins had to stay inside the building, he didn’t want them out the back because he didn't want it to impact on his area.

No strong cooking smells were allowed either. Not sure how that could have been avoided, and define strong. And no loud music. And he didn’t want the restaurant to be open on the weekend. There were many other points which needed to be followed, all of them were to protect his peace. Fair enough, he was living there, but we couldn't operate a restaurant with boundaries like that.

We talked ourselves out of that one. Very quickly.

On another visit to London we went ‘over the river’, to the south side. We’d looked at a lot of restaurants but never on the south side of the Thames. This time we took Lozza with us, she was very excited, she’d only ever been to London once before.

We ended up with an agent in a place called Bermondsey. Currently, Bermondsey is described as a hip village with lots of indie shops and a large selection of eateries close to Tower Bridge.

Back then, it was none of the above, apart from being close to Tower Bridge.

Well, we were viewing this restaurant which overlooked a small scruffy carpark which was protected by a few layers of barbed wire. The building was on four levels, but first of all we had a look at the kitchen on the ground floor.

First thing we noticed was the stove. We hadn't seen one like this before. Instead of the usual flat top stove or gas burners, there were these metal chimneys lined up next to each other, about twenty centimetres high. The agent explained that the site had been used as a Chinese restaurant in the past and this was a wok stove. The gas would fire up through these chimneys and the wok would sit on top of the chimney to gather all of the intense heat. I wanted one, brilliant idea. He then explained that the restaurant had been closed for a few years and he wasn't sure who owned it now.

Onto the next floor. Upstairs, all of the rooms had been turned into bedrooms. And in some of the rooms, people were still sleeping, just laying there, flat out as we walked past. Walking past them and their piles of dirty washing felt a little uncomfortable. The agent happily told us that these people had rental contracts and we if we took the place we could collect rent from them, another revenue stream.

We talked ourselves out of that one.

And all the time we were travelling around London, meeting agents, our little 50p A-Z was with us.

If you think we deserve a coffee for telling you this story, that’s the button.

There were other places we visited, dumps in Crystal Palace, grease pits in Knightsbridge and suspiciously cheap places in Soho.

And each time we were there, we were meeting several different agents in one day.

And one particular agent had a little gem for us, well, that’s how she described it. It was trading as a pizza restaurant and it was in a place called Shoreditch.

We hadn’t heard of Shoreditch, not many people had heard of Shoreditch in 2007.

“Is it a nice area?” we asked.

“It’s up and coming. It’s kinda edgy,” was the reply.

When translated, it actually meant that it’s a bit rough.

But we went along and had a look. The building was smart, the walls still had the original Victorian tiles clinging to them. There were loads of big old arched windows which looked out onto the piss stained street, and the heating was via those old chunky cast iron radiators. Everywhere we looked there were some nice features, Donna and I were starting to create a vision, almost immediately.

And the guy who owned the place was there, over in a corner near a huge wood fired pizza oven, kneading the dough for evening service. A wood fired pizza oven was pretty rare back then, this was impressive.

So I pointed to the pile of logs which were stacked up either side of the oven, “Hey mate, do you go through a lot of logs for that thing?’

“Nah, it’s a gas oven, the logs are just for display.”

Ha, this guy was good.

We left and chatted to the agent outside of the restaurant for a few minutes. Donna and I knew, without even speaking to each other, that we liked the site, but the area wasn't for us, it was a bit grim.

And the enthusiastic agent asked, “Well, what do you think?’

“Look, it’s a nice building, but this area isn't for us. It might be on the up, but when will it get there? Sorry, it’s not for us.”

And we walked away from a cheap site in Shoreditch, just before the place became the coolest, hippest area in London.

One more?

We were dragged to another pizza restaurant, with another huge pizza oven, and this one was definitely fired by wood. This place was immaculate, everything was brand new, there were even three mopeds propped against the wall which were being used for deliveries. The tables were set, the wine fridge was full, and the fridges in the kitchen were full of food.

“What time are they open?”

The agent looked confused, “They’re not opening, they stopped trading a week ago. The chef and the investor fell out.”

“But the place looks like it’s only been open a little while.”

And the agent confirmed, “Yes, it was open for two weeks, that’s it.”

And here we go, the reason. Are you ready for this? Apparently, the investor spent fifty thousand quid having the dining room floor lowered by thirty centimetres. The whole restaurant floor. Joists, skirting boards, electric sockets, plastering, everything had to be redone.

“But why?”

“Because that light fitting in the centre of the room was too low.”

“What, why didn’t he just adjust the light fitting, or buy a new one?”

“Apparently he wanted that particular light fitting and he wanted it that length.”

Meanwhile, back in York, the legal process was speeding ahead and we went against the wishes of Amal. Sorry Amal, we couldn't keep the secret. We told the team that we were selling up. They were sad, we were sad. We told them that Lozza was coming with us and we offered the same option to all of them. They were mainly students, so the last thing they wanted to do was give up their university courses to go on a mad adventure with us.

Briggy said she didn't want to go with us because she didn't like London and Tricky was doing the baby thing, so that wasn't ideal.

Rosie was still at school, so it was best she stayed there.

How could we leave?

The more we talked about the move, the stronger the feeling of breaking away became. We were both happy and unhappy, a strange cocktail of emotions at the time.

Right, that’ll do, getting a bit soppy now..

Catch us next week, do we actually end up selling this restaurant?

Thanks for reading, Donna and Andrew.